Total pages in book: 7
Estimated words: 6671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 6671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 33(@200wpm)___ 27(@250wpm)___ 22(@300wpm)
I pull the car up to the lodge, and a bellhop comes outside to help us. Given the weather, I opt to valet the car. I check us in at the reception desk, and again, we are upgraded to three individual cabins because they overbooked the lodge itself. I don’t understand our luck, but I don’t look gift horses in the mouth. The receptionist gives each of us a key and breakfast vouchers for our inconvenience. As if luxury upgrades are an inconvenience.
“Dameon will bring your luggage along shortly. We’ve laid fires for each of you, as it’s a little bit of a walk, especially you, Miss Courtnee.” Why especially me? Also, did she just wink at me? What the hell?
“Thank you,” we say in unison.
“Just through those doors there. Ashlee, you are down path two, cabin six. Stacee, you are down path one cabin twelve, and Courtnee you are down path eight, cabin nineteen. Again, I do apologize, but please stick to your cabins. Our guest list must be accurate for the fire inspector.” I smile and nod, all the while thinking that doesn’t sound quite right, but really what do I know about running a hotel? Not a damn thing.
It's late and I just want to get warm, so I don’t argue. We walk out the doors, and I watch as my sisters go off in the direction of their cabins, with the promise to meet for breakfast tomorrow, if we can. The snow near their paths was bad, but not terrible, yet it’s still coming down.
It’s much heavier on the ground as I walk down my path. The other cabins look empty, by the time I get to my cabin, I’m soaked through to the bone, the sitting snow up to hips. I must have trudged two or three miles, probably less, but the snow makes it hard to tell. There are lights on inside and smoke curling lazily up from the chimney. I don’t think I would classify this as a rustic cabin as the receptionist did. It’s more of a large house. I unlock the door and see that my suitcase is already neatly placed inside the door. The bellhop must have had a golf cart or something. A little shiver washes over me as I look around the room. I feel like I am being watched, but I push that out of mind.
It doesn’t matter. I’m here now and my vacation can officially begin. I close out the cold and snow, locking the door. I then take a tour. There is tons of firewood, a giant tv, a large couch, and a fully stocked kitchen with my favorite food and drinks, somehow. I pull my phone out and text my sisters.
UMMMM…. Is your cabin amazing?”
S: Yes!!! Nothing but skinny girl popcorn, diet coke, and champagne.
A: Same here, except chocolate and red wine.
Me too. Cheetos, Dr. Pepper & sex on the beach ingredients and Gallucci Brothers beer. Maybe that was left over from the last guest.
S: Did you tell them?
No.
A: Weird. Maybe we have a stalker.
S: I have lots of stalkers. This isn’t stalker behavior. This is husband/brother-in-law behavior.
A: Huh, which one of is getting a husband????
Not me.
S: Could be you. Guys love a teacher.
Ugh… gross.
A: Keep an eye out for a guy that clearly cares about us.
S: Two of us are collateral, but I will let you guys know if I see anything.
I put my phone down on the counter and shake my head.
I continue on my tour and find the bedroom. A king size bed dominates the space. It’s covered in daisies, my favorite flower. Where the hell did someone get daisies in December in Vermont?
“I ordered them from a nursey in Arizona,” a voice says from me. I whirl around and find myself face to face with Nunzio Vitali. He’s got a few days’ worth of beard growing, different from his clean-shaven look at the coffee shop. He’s big, and brash, and so hot. Handsome really. The almost invisible scar over his eye makes me want to reach out and run my fingertips over it and ask him how he got it.
“I didn’t realize I said that out loud,” I say.
“You didn’t. I kind of knew what you were thinking.”
My mouth drops open a little bit at that. He steps closer to me, extends one long finger and touches my chin, closing my mouth.
“What are you doing here? What is all this?” I ask.
“I’m courting you.”
“Courting me?” I ask, confused. “This is stalking.”
“A little,” he says nodding.
“I don’t understand. Why me? We’ve met one time.”
“It’s been longer than that for me, Courtnee.”
“What?”
“It’s been weeks. I know it’s crazy.”
“Maybe not that crazy.”
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“No. Should I be? Are you going to kill me and get away with it?” I ask, sarcastically.
“You looked me up.”