I hustled out and into my softly lit foyer, going straight to the door. I saw the hulking shadowy figure that was silhouetted by the outside lights through the filmy curtains that covered the windows in the door and knew who it was immediately.
I turned the locks, threw off the chain, and looked up into John Priest’s aloof but handsome face.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Yo,” he replied.
“Come in out of the cold,” I invited, stepping aside for him to do just that.
He did and I caught a glimpse of his Suburban, stark black against the white tufts of snow in January in the mountains of Colorado.
I closed the door on the chill and turned to him to see he was standing, facing the registration book, but his head was turned toward the kitchen.
“Cookies,” I explained the scent in the air as I rounded him and his eyes tipped down to me. “I’m in the mood. Christmas does that to me. I’m an extreme baker at Christmas and it doesn’t wear off until after Valentine’s Day.”
He said nothing. Showed nothing. Just stared at me.
I forged into the silence.
“We’re pretty full up but eleven is open.”
He jerked up his chin then turned to the book.
I kept talking.
“We have new flat screen TVs, with Blu-ray players. And cable.”
He kept scribbling.
I kept blabbing.
“And I figured out how to take bookings on-line. I did it all by myself. It works great!”
I sounded excited because I was. I fiddled with that for-freaking-ever. So long I thought it’d be the death of me. But in the end it worked beautifully.
He dropped the pen and straightened toward me.
I didn’t stop blathering.
“I also have a library of DVDs. There’s a menu in your cabin if you want to check one out. I usually require a credit card for that service but we’ll skip that part seeing as you’re a repeat customer, so I’m guessing I can trust you won’t take off with my copy of Lake House.”
That got me something. His full, attractive lips twisted in distaste.
“Not a Sandra Bullock fan?” I asked.
He shocked me by sharing, “Keanu Reeves.”
I grinned at him. “This is the difference between men and women. Many men don’t get Mr. Reeves.” I leaned in and finished conspiratorially, “Every woman absolutely does.”
He made no comment and showed no hint of understanding or humor.
Instead, he asked, “I take it it’s no longer seventy.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. And it’s high season so it’s a hundred a night.”
And it was one hundred dollars a night and I added ten dollars a person if there was more than one.
I had eight of the eleven cabins filled, with Priest there was nine.
This meant I was doing it.
Finally.
Utilities and cable were crippling. Not to mention taxes. The day-to-day work was constant and there was still more to do to get the cabins as I wanted them to be. I wasn’t rolling in it and I could use some help, like someone to help me clean and do laundry.
But I was doing it. I might not be able to pay my dad off with interest anytime soon, what with all the stuff that needed doing to the house, not to mention the fact that two winters in Colorado running my business with my car were two winters too many without a truck or SUV, so I had to get on that and soon.
But I was doing it.
Finally.
John Priest reached to his wallet, pulled out some bills, and handed me three hundreds, saying, “Two nights.”
“Just two this time?” I asked.
His gaze sharpened on me but he said nothing. I had no idea how to read this except to think he wasn’t a big fan of me keeping tabs on how long he stayed.
Which was weird.
And scary.
And thus totally John Priest. A man I’d seen repeatedly. A man I did not see at all when he was in one of my cabins, except seeing his SUV drive up and down my lane when he came and went. And once, I watched him carry groceries into cabin eleven.
That was it.
Therefore, he was a man I did not know. Not even a little bit. Except for the fact I was pretty certain his name was not John Priest, and since he gave a false name and paid in cash, it was likely he was not an upstanding citizen.
“Okay, just two,” I muttered.
“Key,” he prompted and my body gave a slight jerk in response, seeing as I totally forgot about the key. Mostly because he wasn’t there often, months passed in between, but he was the only one who came back time and again and it felt strangely like he should have his own key.
I moved to the cabinet, got him his key, and walked it back, hand out toward him.
He took it as I offered, “Would you like to take some cookies with you? I have plenty.”
He gave me that sharp look again and surprised me by saying firmly and extremely rudely, “Absolutely fucking not.”
“I…uh, o-okay,” I stammered. “You don’t like cookies.”
He didn’t confirm this fact.
He dipped his chin, turned to the door, opened it, and disappeared through it, shutting it behind him.
I stared at it a moment before I moved to it and locked my three locks again.
When I looked out my filmy curtains, I saw nothing but porch lit by my outside light, the gray mounds of snow beyond, and the darkness of night.