Page 35 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
How crazy was this? I had expected today to be awkward after our dinner last night, but this was, hands down, the best possible outcome for today. And the afternoon wasn’t even over yet.
“So how’d you come to own the motel?” Hunter asked as he drove. “Was a career in hospitality always the plan?”
“Actually, I went to college for nursing. I did the four-year program, came home and started working at the hospital, but it wasn’t for me.” That was a bit of an understatement, but I kept going. “The previous owners of the motel were looking for a manager so I said, ‘What the heck?’ and gave it a shot. We got along really well, and when they decided to retire, they made me an offer to buy it from them.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years in June. The previous owners are now traveling the country in their RV, sending me postcards along the way, and I’ve spent those three years updating the inn.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of updates?”
I smiled and shifted in my seat so I could face him better, then I launched into stories about remodeling projects, spending the rest of our drive to Wade Lake talking about the Bitterroot.
The gravel road got bumpier the closer we got to the lake, and the trees that bordered the road were so thick you couldn’t see more than fifty feet into the forest. But as we coasted over one last rise, the trees opened and the lake appeared.
Hunter parked the truck in the wide gravel lot that met the lake’s shore. “I can see why you’d pick this place.”
“It’s hard to beat.” I kept my eyes locked on the scenery as I pushed open my door and stepped outside.
The water’s surface was covered with small ripples today. The breeze swished in the trees that sloped down steep hills to meet the water’s edge. With the sun shining brightly, the wavelets’ tips glittered as they rolled.
Picking up a flat rock, I flicked it toward the water, counting three skips before it sank. Hunter did the same, his rock going twice as far as mine.
“What kind of a photograph are you looking for up here?” he asked.
“How about a sunset? Or a sunrise?” I stepped over to a thick piece of driftwood and sat down.
“Sure.” He nodded and followed, taking a seat next to me as we both looked out over the water.
We sat quietly for a while, enjoying the view and the cool, clean air. It was just us today, the weather still too cold for much lake activity, but soon that would change. People would flock to the lake to enjoy camping vacations as my free time evaporated with the summer sun.
“Did you ever find out what happened to that guy you were supposed to meet last night?”
“Yeah.” I frowned. “I guess he showed but took one look at me and left. Apparently, I reminded him too much of his ex-wife.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s not even the worst of the dates I’ve had lately.” I smiled and told him my worst blind-date tales from the last few years. “How about you? Have you had any booger-eating first dates lately?”
He shook his head. “No. My ex-girlfriends were better about hiding their crazy. My most recent ex didn’t let hers show until we’d been dating for six months. She started stealing money from my wallet and telling people we were engaged. After I broke it off with her, she snuck into my house at night and crawled into my bed. I had to change my locks and get a restraining order.”
“Yikes.”
He shrugged. “It’s over now. Anyway, sorry about the guy who ditched you. He’s an asshole.”
I sighed. “I’ve been on an asshole streak lately.” A five-year streak, to be exact.
“I hope I’m not included in that streak.”
“Well . . .” I leaned over and playfully bumped him with my shoulder. “Since last night wasn’t a date, I guess you don’t count.”
He chuckled. “This is true. Maybe one of these nights you’ll let me take you on an actual date and I can try and break that asshole streak.”
My smile fell. Did he just ask me out?
Hell yes, he did!
I swallowed the urge to jump for joy—and by some miracle from above—managed to play it cool. “I’d, um, really like that.”
