Page 12 of The Fangirl and the Grump

Exiting out of the app, I search up the rental property site that lists Lycan Lodge and click on the listing. As I tap the calendar icon, my heart starts racing when I see the house is available for the next several weeks. Checking the weekly rates, I do a little quick math in my head.

My teeth tug at my lower lip as I weigh the pros and cons. I can afford to rent this place for eight weeks and stay in Evening Shade for the rest of the summer. I could be in a place I love, heal from my wounds, and come up with a solid plan for when it’s time to get back to real life.

But if I do this, I won’t have much money left when my stay is over. I’ll definitely have to leave Seattle. Start over somewhere new.

Which means, this might be my last chance to do something crazy like this.

Tightening my jaw, I take a deep breath. This feels right. I need it. To be anonymous and alone in this charming little town for a while until I get my head on straight.

Making the decision, I tap the screen and fill out the form to secure the rental. Looking at the dates again, I realize I’ll still be here when the Cursed convention and cast reunion comes to town at the end of August.

That little bonus almost puts a smile on my face. Almost.

When I finish typing in my payment information and hit submit, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the right decision for me. I know it is.

And the rest? Well, I’ll figure it all out later.

ChapterSix

Trace

As I make my usual Sunday afternoon rounds, I’m pleased to find each of my rental properties in good shape. The cleaning service I use will be out to each location in the morning, as they do every time guests check out, but I like to inspect each property to make sure there’s no damage that needs to be addressed.

As I pull into the drive at Lycan Lodge and park, I grab my phone and recheck its status. Sure enough, the reservation extension remains. The four guests staying here were supposed to check out and leave this morning, but one of them, Keegan Carpenter, extended her stay…foreightweeks.

When I first saw the reservation request, I stared at it for several minutes, expecting it to be some kind of error that needed to be corrected. I mean, who would rent a house in Evening Shade for two months? And why?

I finally decided her reasons are really none of my business and to take it as a win. Not only will I be earning money from her stay, I’ll also besavingmoney. I won’t have to pay to have it cleaned every weekend, and as the largest of my rental properties, it’s the most expensive to take care of.

Since this Keegan woman is staying alone, I would offer to move her to a smaller, less expensive location, but my other properties and the tiny houses at the inn are all booked for every weekend leading up to the Cursed convention. So, I figured the least I could do was introduce myself and give her my number so she can contact me directly if she needs anything. Guests usually message me through a contact form on the rental site, and sometimes those messages are delayed or I just don’t see them for a few hours. Texting is much simpler.

Climbing down from my truck, I push the door closed and walk across the gravel toward the porch steps. My brow furrows when it dawns on me that there’s no car here. So, she’s either gone out, or she came here with her friends who left and is stranded without transportation.

I pull my wallet from my back pocket and extract one of my business cards as I spin and head back to the truck. Opening the door, I lean inside and grab a pen from the center console. Flipping the card over, I print out a note with my cell number and instructions to text me directly if she needs anything during her stay. Tossing the pen back into the cubby, I push the door closed and head back toward the house. She’s probably not here. There’s no way her friends would just leave her stranded with no transportation. I’ll just tuck the card in the seam between the door and the jamb and be on my way.

As I climb the stairs and approach the door, though, I hear sounds coming from inside. The television is on, the sound drifting through an open window to the left of the door. Someone inside coughs, making me frown.

Sheishere.

Which means her friends did leave her car-less and stranded. Why would they do that? Why did she stay? Her reservation showed her home address as being in Seattle. She’s a long way from home, by herself, with no way of getting back.

I shake my head. It’s none of my damn business. I’m probably overreacting anyway. I’m sure she has someone coming to pick her up at the end of her stay, and town is close enough that she can reach most places she’d need to go by foot.

And again, it’s none of my business.

Lifting a hand, I rap my knuckles against the door in a quick rhythm. The television mutes, and I hear soft footsteps creep toward the door. One corner of my mouth lifts. If she’s trying to be sneaky and mask her presence, she’s doing a shit job of it. Besides, the old, squeaky floorboards make sneaking anywhere inside the lodge damn-near impossible.

“Miss Carpenter?” I call out when she doesn’t open the door. “I’m Trace Bardin, the owner of the property. I just stopped by to introduce myself and give you my direct number in case there’s anything you need during your stay.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? You could be here to kidnap me and hold me for ransom,” she calls out. Then she mumbles, “Who am I kidding? There’s no one who’d pay to get me back.”

“I assure you, I’m not a kidnapper,” I call back, pretending I didn’t hear that last bit. “Just a landlord.”

“Prove it,” she calls back.

I roll my eyes. “I can show you my identification, but that would mean opening the door to see it.”

“That’s what a real kidnapper would say,” she calls back, her tone oddly triumphant.

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