“No, thank you.” She smiled, glancing around the lobby. “This is my first visit to Quincy. Your hotel is delightful.”
“Thank you.” I beamed at the compliment. “I think it’s rather delightful myself. Welcome to town. Are you here visiting friends or family?”
“My sister just moved here.”
“Ah.” I nodded. Had I met said sister?
Quincy was a small town. When it came to the locals, there weren’t many faces I didn’t recognize. Though lately, that had changed. More and more people were looking to escape city life, and my hometown was a rural gem tucked into the rugged landscape of western Montana.
“Enjoy your stay,” I told the guest. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.”
With a wave, she headed toward the elevator.
Beside it, the walls were lined with potted evergreens. The miniature trees were still adorned with the white twinkle lights we’d added for the holidays. Taking the lights off was on my to-do list, I just hadn’t gotten to it yet. Mostly because their tiny sparkles added a bit of charm to the hallway.
We were in the strange season in Montana, not quite winter, not quite spring. Beyond the glass windows that overlooked Main Street, there was a fresh skiff of snow on the sidewalks.
A wood fire crackled in the large hearth on one side of the grand room. I’d keep the fire going until the snow was gone. I liked the gentle, smoky scent it gave the hotel’s lobby. And the mantel, the stone column that towered to the rafters, just looked prettier with a fire burning in its hearth.
The Eloise Inn, named after my great-great-grandmother, had been in our family for generations. She’d been my namesake. Maybe it was fate that I loved this hotel as much as I liked to imagine she’d loved it too.
My favorite vanilla candle was burning on the coffee table, its sweetness mixing with the fire’s smoke. It was cozy. Warm. I wanted guests to feel like they’d been wrapped in a hug when they walked through the doors of the hotel.
My hotel. Sort of.
Technically, The Eloise belonged to my parents, even though I’d been the manager for years. Even though most people in Quincy thought it was mine.
Not quite yet. Not officially.
Mom and Dad wanted to make sure I was ready to take over. That I was mature. That I was capable of handling this level of responsibility.
A week ago, I would have volunteered to be the poster child for responsibility. Sensible might as well have been my middle name.
Except then I’d flown to Las Vegas last weekend. And gotten married on a whim.
“Oh God.” Every time I thought about Saturday night, I wanted to hurl.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was never, ever drinking again. That had been the most impulsive, reckless decision of my life.
“Ugh.” I dropped my face into my hands.
I was twenty-six years old. And married to a stranger.
My family was going to freak the fuck out.
Maybe Jasper and I could keep it a secret. Get it annulled before anyone learned the truth. Erase the marriage from existence. Then it could be more like a whoopsie. If it was null and void by the time they found out, my parents couldn’t get too mad, right?
Sneaking out of the hotel on Sunday morning hadn’t been the best idea. Jasper and I should have talked. At the bare minimum, we should have exchanged phone numbers.
Was Jasper back in Montana yet? He was coming back, wasn’t he? Because I was going to need some information, like his legal name and a physical address.
And I was going to need a lawyer. I didn’t have a lawyer.
In normal situations, I’d call my dad. He’d tell me who to call and what to say.
Not this time.
If I wanted to keep this marriage a secret, I’d have to find an attorney outside of Quincy. Missoula was two hours away. Was that far enough to keep any rumors from spreading? Not that I didn’t trust in attorney-client privilege, but I’d lived my whole life in a small town. Secrets always had a way of coming to light.
A plan. I needed a plan.
So I plucked a pen from the pen cup and flipped to a fresh page in the notebook I’d been doodling on earlier.
Step 1: Find a lawyer.
No, that wasn’t step one. I scribbled over the words, blacking them out. Then started over on the next line.
Step 1: Find Jasper.
If he was back in Quincy, he’d clearly been avoiding me. Not that I’d minded. These past few days, I hadn’t been ready to face him, to relive the shame of my drunken self.
Humiliation crawled down my spine, making me cringe.
I’d gotten married.
To a stranger.
In. A. Tube top.
“What is wrong with me?”
Alcohol had played a major role in the disaster that was Saturday, but it hadn’t been the only motivator. I’d gotten caught up in the adventure. In the spontaneity. In the charm of that chapel.
And Jasper had been so . . . certain.
Not once had he wavered.
He’d walked into that chapel, his hand holding mine, with sheer determination. And when he’d asked for a marriage license in that rugged voice, it had sounded like the best idea in the world.
Standing beneath that beautiful pergola, beneath a ceiling of wisteria blooms, I’d convinced myself it was fate.
Stupid fate.
Stupid Eloise.
It was okay. I could fix this. No more avoiding Jasper. After work, I’d track down my husband.
Talia had mentioned that he’d rented a long-term cabin from the Stewarts. They had four vacation rentals in town. Only one of those was a cabin. Which meant Jasper had to be staying in the A-frame on Alderson Road.
Well, I wasn’t going to call Talia and ask. If he wasn’t there, I’d swing by the other rentals until I found him.
Step 2: Ask Jasper not to tell a soul. Especially Foster.
The doors opened as my pen scribbled on the paper. My heart climbed into my throat as my parents walked inside the lobby.
“Hi,” I said too brightly, tucking the notepad out of sight. Then I searched their faces for any hint of irritation.
Mom was smiling. That was a good sign, right? If she’d found out about Jasper, she’d be in tears.
Dad glanced around the lobby, taking it all in. That was normal too. If he was mad at me, he’d be wearing the scowl.
Phew. Everything was fine. They didn’t know. They didn’t have to know.
I’d find Jasper, and we’d figure this out. This marriage would be gone in a flash. Deleted. Erased. A blip that had never happened.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Mom rounded the reception desk, standing by my tall chair. She touched a lock of my hair. “Your hair looks pretty today.”
“Thanks.”
Sleep had been impossible the past three days. Every time I’d drift off, I’d see Jasper’s face. Either I’d dream of him at the chapel, saying I do. Or I’d picture him in bed as he moved inside me.
Last night, I’d woken to a throb between my legs so powerful I’d climbed out of bed at three in the morning to deep clean my refrigerator. Then I’d spent an extra thirty minutes after a shower curling my hair.