Chapter 1
December 13, 2020
Small towns held great appeal.
Or so Dean Krazowski had always been told.
He didn’t get it.
He couldn’t order Chinese food at midnight if he wanted to. He couldn’t even get Chinese food in this town.
Not that he ever ordered Chinese food unless a client wanted some.
But that wasn’t the point.
He walked the streets of Trumanville, Missouri and wondered what on earth had possessed him to come to a town with less people than his block in New York.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he wondered where he could eat in a town this size. There was a bakery across the street from where he walked. He stopped and debated jaywalking.
A shove at his back made him stumble into the street.
“Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry.” The female voice must accompany the hands that grabbed his arm and pulled him back onto the sidewalk.
Neither one of those things would happen in Manhattan.
Well, being pushed into the street might, but not by a door opening. The sidewalks were too wide in most places.
“Are you all right?”
Dean finally looked at the young woman, juggling an armload of canvases and a tote bag, and smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m going to be late for my class, and I didn’t look to see if anyone was outside when I came out.”
He glanced at the building. The storefront had to be well over a hundred years old, but rather than windows full of questionable antiques, they were covered by curtains.
“I’m fine.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on.”
“Thank you.” She hurried off, calling “I’m sorry” behind her as she did.
Dean thought about laughing but sighed instead. A message came in on his watch. His suite still wasn’t ready and wouldn’t be any time soon. He reserved a very specific suite at the resort on the southern shore of Serenity Lake.
But it wasn’t ready, and they didn’t know when it would be. With a growl under his breath, Dean started for the diner down the street. He could at least get something hot to eat.
Three people entered the building before him. The number of cars outside concerned him a little. But surely there weren’t enough people in a town this size who ate at the diner rather than at home. Sit down, Sunday night dinners were still a thing in the Midwest, weren’t they?
His hopes dropped as he walked in. Every table was full and so were the bar stools.
A waitress walked by with a coffee pot in her hand. “If you want to wait, you’re welcome to, but you’re probably lookin’ at about half an hour, sugar. If you want something to take with you, let me know.” Then she winked at him. “If you want a new adoptive grandma, Mrs. Braverman will take you in. Last booth on your right. She’ll even treat ya.”
The bill didn’t concern him at all. Dean looked to his right to find an older woman seated against the wall. She waved him over.
Well, he’d be sitting farther away from her than if he was on the subway. His stomach rumbled in confirmation that this was his best choice.
He slid into the other side of the booth, uncomfortable with keeping his back to the door, but having little choice. He held out a hand. “Hello. I’m Dean. You must be Mrs. Braverman.”
She shook his hand. “I am. Thank you for joining me. Mr. Braverman has the flu. I’m avoiding him like the plague so I don’t get it.”
Dean nodded. “Makes sense.” He glanced around. “Is it always this busy?”
Mrs. Braverman laughed. “Heavens no, though this is the best place to get a stick-to-your-ribs meal. Every family in here has someone at home who’s sick, and they’re all trying to stay healthy. The flu has run rampant through our little town. The school even closed a week early for Christmas break.”
He thanked the waitress for his water and the menu, but frowned as he thought about the illness sweeping the town. “Did no one get a flu shot?”
Another laugh. “Oh, yes. But we’ve got a different strain running through here. It’ll all blow over by Christmas, but until then, some of us are kind of staying away to keep ourselves healthy.”
“Does Mr. Braverman need help? Is he all right at home by himself?”
Mrs. Braverman waved a hand. “He’s fine. He’s sleeping and hasn’t been eating much anyway. I’ll take him some soup home. You’re an out-of-towner. Staying at the resort, the B&B, or a KrazBnB?”
He hadn’t even considered staying at a KrazBnB. Why not? He owned the company, but it hadn’t even occurred to him that there might be a place he’d be willing to stay in this area. “I have reservations at the resort, but I reserved a specific room, and it’s not ready. They can’t tell me when it will be.”
“Why not take a different room?”
He looked over the menu, considering that. “I wanted that particular room for a reason.”
“Then go somewhere else. There’s a lovely KrazBnB a block or so from here. It’s an 1880s storefront converted into a couple of apartments and three KrazBnBs.”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” he told her honestly.
“I’m sure the Milligan girls have at least one of the spaces open,” Mrs. Braverman went on. “They took it over from their grandparents.” She leaned closer. “They’ve both had this flu going around. The older of the two girls has been helping take care of their grandparents while they recover. The younger one is running the KrazBnB while substitute teaching and art lessons and those group painting classes where everyone makes the same picture.”
Classes? Wasn’t the woman who’d run into him on her way to give some classes?
He pulled out his phone and opened the correct app. Sure enough, there were two available KrazBnBs very close to him. After looking at the photos, he chose the larger of the two and reserved it. He might as well try out his own app and see how it worked. It had been a long time since he’d done so. His security team would likely have a fit, but they already weren’t happy that he was here without them.
“Thank you for the recommendation,” he told Mrs. Braverman as he took another glance at the menu. “I appreciate it.”
The waitress came by again to take his order. The next couple of weeks had the potential to be much better than he expected - or much worse.
Wendy Milligan juggled her bag with her art supplies, four canvases, and a large soda as she tried to dig her phone out of her pocket.
That particular buzzing pattern meant one of the KrazBnBs had a message or rental.
She groaned when she saw the message on the screen. It was good that the larger of the rentals was reserved, but technically check-in could begin any time after three in the afternoon, and it was already much later than that.
It was clean. That was taken care of already, but when she hadn’t had a reservation come in, she hadn’t pulled out any of the Christmas decorations.
She’d been just too busy.
The last couple of weeks she’d been substitute teaching every day, painting windows in the evenings or on weekends, and running everything else while her sister took care of their grandparents, who were both down with the flu. Normally, they both did more in a day than Wendy preferred to do in a week, but this virus hit them both hard.