Page 21 of If All Else Sails
I doubt she’d believe me anyway.
Shedefinitelydoesn’t believe me now.
“I haven’t decided if I’m staying long term,” she says. “But Iwill stay tonight. Be right back with my suitcase.” With that, she storms outside, slamming the door behind her.
Panic squeezes around my ribs. Along with a confusing swell of relief.
I don’t want Josie to stay. I also don’t want her to go.
While she’s outside, I hobble to the thermostat. It says the temperature is seventy-four, but it feels like ninety-four. I nudge the lever down to seventy, hoping it might help.
Josie reappears a minute or two later with a backpack and a rolling suitcase that’s bright purple with stickers all over it.
She waits for a moment, then says, “Well—are you going to give me a grand tour?”
“There’s not much to see.”
“You’d never make it as a real estate agent,” she says. “You know, if the hockey thing doesn’t work out.”
Her words strike too close to home, and I find myself tightening up. She must notice.
“Not that you’re thinking about changing careers,” she adds quickly. “I have no idea what your plans are after your recovery.”
“You and Jacob didn’t discuss my contract and my return to play?” I sound bitter, and once again I’m not keeping my emotions in check.
Usually this is not a problem for me. But whether it’s the heat, the events of the day knocking me off-balance, or just Josie, I’m cracked wide open.
“He seemed more concerned about you,” she says softly. “Not your contract. And normally, no—we don’t discuss you. I make it my business to know as little about Jacob’s clients as possible.”
I almost ask,What about his friends?but manage to keep at least this question locked up tight.
“You want a grand tour?”
“Actually,” she says, a yawn mangling the word. “I think I need water and a quick nap. Tour later.” She yawns again.
“A nap? It’s almost dinnertime.”
“Are you going to tell me when I can and cannot nap?” she asks.
“Follow me. If you’re serious about staying even when I’m telling you to leave, this will be your room.”
The hallway leading to the cottage’s two bedrooms is tiny with both of us crammed in here. I step back, gesturing toward the open guest room door with one of my crutches.
The guest bedroom is sparsely furnished with a brass bed, dresser, and a bedside table. I wish I’d done something to update the room, but at least I know the housekeepers washed the sheets recently.
Josie wheels her suitcase next to the dresser and then picks up a book I hadn’t noticed. Her lips curve into a smile as she holds it up to me. A shirtless man and a woman with a very low-cut dress are locked in a passionate embrace, their hair blowing in a fictional wind. I can’t picture Uncle Tom reading this, and I have no idea where it came from.
“Not mine,” I say quickly.
“Of course not,” she says. “I’m sure paranormal romance is more your speed. Wolf shifters, dragons, and all that. You just left this here because you want to share your love of steamy Regency romances with guests, right?”
I frown. “I don’t know what paranormal romance is. I certainly don’t read it. And I don’t have guests.”
“With your attitude I’m sure you don’t.”
“I don’t have an attitude.”
“Okay,” she says cheerfully.
