He started to close the door. Paige reached out to keep it from closing, losing the battle with one half of her skirt.
“A few days?” she squeaked.
“Maybe day after tomorrow.” He squinted at the sky. “Depends on the winds. If you give me your number, I can call you once we’re back in business.”
Her shoulders fell. “Great. Thanks.” She handed him one of her business cards and turned to leave.
“You really shouldn’t be out in this.”
If the guy’s name wasn’t Captain Obvious, he really should have considered changing it.
“Tell you what,” he said. She looked back to see him taking a key off a nail beside the door. “Take my bike. Lord knows I won’t be needing it until this passes.” He handed her a key chain that had the words North Carolina printed in scroll beneath a smiling sun. Talk about irony. “It’s the blue one at the foot of the stairs. Has a rack for your case too.”
“Thanks.” It was a kind gesture, but it hardly made a difference. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time she started to pedal back to the inn, and when she stepped onto the stone porch, her reflection in the glass door confirmed her suspicions: she looked like a drowned rat.
Perfect, she thought. Not only did she need to ask for her room back, but she had to do it with her hair plastered to her head and her sweater plastered to her boobs.
She raised her hand to knock, then lowered it. Screw him and his snarky “let yourself in” comment. She was a paying guest—the only guest, as a matter of fact. Damn right she’d let herself in.
But when she did, she immediately felt more like an intruder than a guest. From the next room, she could hear the owner of the inn speaking to someone, presumably on the phone since there weren’t any other voices. Guest or not, it felt wrong. She was turning to make her way back to the porch when the sound of her name stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Ms. Paige Parker from Chicago was a certified pain in the ass.”
Pain in the ass? While under some circumstances that might have been an accurate description—although personally she preferred to think of herself as a dedicated perfectionist—people usually had to spend a lot more than five minutes with her to reach that conclusion. What the hell was he basing it on, the fact that she objected to accommodations with peanut butter on the banister?
As if on instinct, Paige stepped away from the stair railing. When she did, she nearly bumped into a tall curio cabinet. Ugh. Paige loathed curios. All that clutter on display in a glass case? Just the thought sent a shiver across her damp skin. But this one wasn’t filled with the kinds of knickknacks she would normally have expected to find on display. No china cups or crystal statues. No thimbles or tiny silver spoons. Not even a pewter mug. Instead, the cabinet held a few dirty baseballs with illegible names scribbled above the seams, more seashells than you could collect in a month of beachcombing, and large chunks of driftwood.
Her scrutiny was interrupted by yet another derogatory declaration from her would-be host. “Good riddance to her and her overpriced luggage.” The disdain in his voice was impossible to miss, and although she couldn’t see him, Paige could picture the deep crease that was no doubt furrowing his brow. The image brought her a surprising amount of satisfaction. So did the thought of her plan to demand a refund from the booking agency based on false advertisement.
“Nice try, Soph,” he said. “Need I remind you that this is all your fault?”
Soph…short for Sophie? Wasn’t that the name of the woman Paige had been messaging on the rental site?
A beat of silence was followed by an exasperated noise that was half chuckle, half snort. “Oh no, no way I’m letting you pin this on me, Sis. You were the one who reactivated the listing, without bothering to ask my permission, I might add.”
Well, that would certainly explain the fact that the place was far from “guest ready.”
Paige eased forward, sliding her foot across the floorboard in an effort to keep the wood from creaking beneath her. She poked her head around the doorframe and stole a glance at Lucas Croft, reluctant innkeeper. He had his back to her, affording her a longer glimpse. With his broad shoulders and narrow waist, he was quite the sight for sore eyes, not to mention a waterlogged body. It had been months—okay, okay, more like years—since Paige had felt the press of warm skin against hers. Given her current state of near-hypothermia, climbing under a duvet with a hard, male body sounded like absolute heaven, and if there was one thing Lucas Croft had, it was a hard, male body. Every inch of him looked like an ad for a twenty-four-hour gym. Add to that the movie-star face and he was practically perfect.
Until he opened his mouth.
And what the hell was that actor’s name anyway? It would come to her eventually, probably in the middle of the night if history was any indication, but until then, it would nag at the corners of her mind.
Paige tilted her head to one side. Despite the fact that part of her wanted to climb him like a tree, another part of her, the one that thought with her intuition instead of her lady parts, couldn’t help but notice the tension that racked his frame. The tightness in his muscles was unmistakable—from the way he held the phone to how he shifted his weight—and when he spoke again, the same strain laced his words.
“Don’t you think I know that?” His shoulders sagged in a resigned exhale. “Look, I’ll figure something out. There’s still a few weeks until the payment is due.” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was an undeniable sadness in his voice. “If I don’t, then I don’t. Maybe it will be for the best. I’m not exactly the perfect host these days.”
That was the understatement of the century. Still, as a small-business owner, she could definitely relate. She hated the thought of anyone losing their business, but even more so when that business was also where they lived. Even crusty jerks deserved a place to call home. And yet for some reason, the sorrow she heard seemed to be about a much greater loss. It was ridiculous, really. She knew nothing about this man, aside from the fact that he was a rude slob, yet somewhere inside her she felt a strange twinge of empathy.
Lucas pushed away from the counter. Paige nearly gasped aloud as she ducked back around the corner. Asking for her room back was going to be awkward enough, but it would be a lot worse if she had to do it after being busted for eavesdropping. She was inching her way back to the entryway when a frame in the curio cabinet caught her eye. It was tucked behind a piece of driftwood that had a heart shape carved into its rough, gray face. She peered around the side of the case for a better view of the photo. It was a picture of Lucas with his arm around a woman who was very clearly pregnant. They were standing in front of the inn, which looked even shabbier than it did now, smiling like fools and holding a real estate sign that had the word SOLD plastered across it in bright-red letters.