Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I slide the key across the polished wood.
“Thank you.” She taps at the keyboard. The printer whirs and spits out a single sheet of paper.
I pull out my wallet, my credit card already between my fingers.
“Here you go.” She hands me the receipt, and I scan all the way to the bottom.
Total due: $0.00
“I…uh…I reserved the room with my credit card, but I thought you still needed…” I frown, trying to make sense of the bill.
“Nope.” She waves a hand and smiles wide, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Bill’s all taken care of. Paid in full last night.”
“Last night? By who?”
She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to share the juiciest of town gossip. “I’m not allowed to say. But…” Her eyes sparkle. “Tall. Handsome. Sterling reputation.”
Her clues land with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
If I didn’t feel like I was ripping out my own heart I’d probably chuckle at her antics.
Declan.
Of course he paid my bill. He already said he felt bad I barely spent any time here—like it was all his fault.
My stomach twists into a slow, aching knot.
He did it quietly without any strings attached. Just because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. More proof of his goodness.
My decision to leave stings even deeper.
“Thank you,” I murmur, forcing a polite smile. “For everything, Mrs. Applewood. The inn is lovely and I had a wonderful stay.”
“You’re very welcome,” she answers. “I hope we didn’t scare you off too badly and you’ll return next year.”
She must not have heard about my epic adventure last night.
“I’d like that.” I force a tight smile, then lift my camera bag. “And I’ll mention the Applewood Inn in my video.”
She flashes an indulgent smile, like free publicity is the last thing her inn needs. “That would be nice.”
I haul all of my luggage onto the back porch, back my car up to the stairs, and load everything into the trunk.
Once I’m behind the wheel, I send Wren a quick text to let her know I’m on my way and plug “home” into my GPS.
There’s only one road out of town that leads straight toward the Thruway. I don’t turn my head as I pass House of Ink & Iron.
At the cemetery, I allow myself one glance.
Sunlight cuts through bare branches, turning frost into scattered diamonds. The iron gates gleam, their sharp curls softened by the brightness of day.
No longer a warning.
The road unwinds toward a large black-and-gold sign marking the line between Crowsbridge Hollow and the rest of the world.
THANKS FOR VISITING THE HOLLOW
I pass it without stopping for a picture.
It hurts too much to look back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Declan
The engine of my truck rumbles low as I pull up outside the Applewood Inn. Emery said she needed to grab a few things last night. I haven’t heard from her since.
Only a brief answer to one of my texts.
My unease over her silence has been riding shotgun since sunrise.
I cut the engine and sit there for a beat, watching the front door. Sunlight spills across the porch. No fog or gloom today.
Inside, the scent of coffee greets me. Mrs. Applewood looks up from behind the desk. Her warm smile flickers for a second before she schools it back into place.
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Mr. Sterling.”
My bullshit meter dings. Something’s off with her today.
“Morning, Mrs. Applewood,” I say. “I’m looking for Emery.”
She hesitates. Glances down at the papers on her desk and shuffles them around.
“Ms. Corbin checked out a little while ago,” she finally says.
No.
Why would she leave without telling me?
“Checked out? Are you sure?” I ask.
“Spoke to her myself. Watched her load all her stuff into her car and drive off.” She waves her hand toward the back door.
Emery left without saying goodbye.
I nod once, smoothing my face into a mask of indifference. I’ll deal with this information later. “Okay. Thanks.”
“But when I was cleaning her room, I found this.” She pulls a long white envelope from behind the desk and hands it to me. “It seems to be for you.”
My name’s scrawled in loopy purple ink across the front. The seal’s intact. At least Mrs. Applewood didn’t open and read it.
I take it, my fingers closing around the paper, painfully aware this is the last I have of Emery.
“She seemed tired,” Mrs. Applewood adds, then smiles. “And surprised you paid her bill.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
Outside, the cold bites at my skin but I ignore it, slide the envelope in my pocket, and get behind the wheel.
The short drive to my apartment is a blur.
She’s not waiting for me by the back door with that adorable let-me-ask-you-some-questions smile. And a quick jog to the front of the shop only shows an empty sidewalk.
I stomp upstairs to my apartment.
No room is safe. An extra toothbrush on my bathroom sink. The T-shirts she borrowed to sleep in tossed on the bed. One of her sweatshirts hanging on a hook by the door. I stare at it like it’s proof she was planning to return.