Page 34 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’m sure. I want to do this. Please let me?”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” How had I gotten this lucky? How was it that this man, a photographer, had walked into my motel? I’d be thanking my fairy godmother for years to come if this all worked out right.
We ate a few more bites of our sandwiches as we strolled downtown. With Hunter’s food demolished, he tossed the wrapper in a trash bin and wiped his hands free of crumbs. “I think I’m set down here unless you had something specific to show me.”
“Nope,” I shook my head, “nothing specific here.”
“Okay, then how about you take me up to Wade Lake and show me around?”
“Sounds good.”
We turned around and walked back to his truck, me eating quickly and disposing of my own trash. As we pulled onto the highway and out of town, I decided to brave asking Hunter a question. I didn’t want to pry into his personal life but I did want to get to know him more. Ever since we’d left the motel, our conversation had been so genuine and natural.
I didn’t want it to stop.
Crossing my fingers on my lap, I took a deep breath. “Is talking about your new house a safe topic? Or should I stick to the weather?”
He chuckled. “The house is safe.”
I smiled at my small victory. “How’s it coming along?”
“It’s going to be great, but I went by this morning and there’s still a lot to do. I called my contractor and he said they’re behind.”
“Yikes. How long?”
“He thinks two weeks, which probably means four. I don’t suppose you’ve got an open room for another month.”
“Sorry. Two more weeks and I’m in full-blown tourist season. The only empty space I have is an old housekeeper’s room, and it’s more like a closet than an actual living space.” There wasn’t even a window. It had come as no surprise when the previous owners had told me that no housekeeper had ever chosen to live in that room.
“I’ll take it.”
My head whipped around. “What?”
“The housekeeper’s room. I’ll take it.”
“Oh, Hunter, no. I was kidding. That room is awful.”
“Hey, I’m desperate here. I don’t want to rent out a house and I can’t stay in mine until it’s finished. How bad can it be? It’s only for a month.”
“How bad can it be?” I repeated. “I’ve only ever used it for storage. It’s smaller than my college dorm room. And the finishes are . . . gross.” Hunter exuded class and stature. He would clash in every possible way with the seventies floral linoleum, carrot-orange bathroom counter and twin-size bed.
“I don’t care. Does it at least have a bathroom?”
“Yes, but there’s no kitchen.”
He laughed. “Considering that I don’t know how to use nine out of ten kitchen appliances, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Nine out of ten? Really?”
“Really.”
I opened my mouth to explore that further but didn’t let myself go down that bunny trail. “Anyway. I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow, I’ll go clean up that room a bit and you can check it out. If you still want to stay, you’re more than welcome. But if you don’t, I get to say ‘I told you so.’ ”
He looked over at me and grinned. “You’ve got a deal, Blondie.”
“I can’t wait to say ‘I told you so.’ ” I caught a look at my unbridled smile in the side-view mirror.
