Waylay glanced down at her filthy sneakers. There was a hole in the toe of the left one and a pink heart charm clipped to the laces of the right. With an extravagant eye roll, she toed them off and carried them upstairs.
Knox’s mouth pulled up in the corner as we watched her go, pretending she wasn’t the least bit excited or curious.
“Damn it, Viking!” The idea of spending a few weeks in a postcard-perfect cottage far away from the mess I’d left behind was intoxicating. I could organize the hell out of the shambles of my life while I sat on the back porch and watched the creek flow by. If I could afford it.
“Now what’s your problem?” he asked, stepping into the doll-house-sized kitchen and staring out the window over the sink.
“You mean, ‘What’s wrong, Naomi?’ Well, I’ll tell you Knox. Now Waylay’s excited about this place, and I don’t even know if I can afford it. She’s going to be disappointed on top of abandoned. What if we end up back at the motel tonight?”
“You’re not goin’ back to the motel.”
“What’s the rent?” I asked, biting my lip.
He turned away from the view and leaned against the counter, looking annoyed. “Dunno.”
“You have a key to this place and you don’t know?”
“Rent depends,” Knox said, reaching out to sweep a layer of dust off the top of the old marshmallow white fridge.
“On what?”
He shook his head. “On who.”
“Fine. Who?”
“Liza J. Your new landlord.”
My new landlord?
“And does this Liza J even know that we’re here?” I wasn’t conscious of gravitating toward him until my toes brushed the tips of his boots. Those blue-gray eyes were on me, making me feel like I was under a magnifying glass.
“If she doesn’t, she will soon. She’s rough around the edges but she’s got a soft spot,” he said, gaze boring into me. I was too tired to do anything but glare back at him.
“I picked our rooms,” Waylay shouted from upstairs, breaking our staring contest.
“We good?” he asked quietly.
“No! We’re not good. I don’t even know where we are or how to get back to town. Do you have Uber here? Are there bears?”
His lips quirked, and I felt my face flush. He was studying me in a way that people didn’t do in polite company.
“Dinner,” he said.
“Huh?” was my erudite reply. I knew he wasn’t trying to ask me out. Not after we’d spent an entire morning hating each other.
“Seven. At the big house down the road. That’s Liza J’s. She’ll want to meet you.”
“If she doesn’t know she’s my landlord, she’s certainly not expecting us for dinner,” I pointed out.
“Dinner. Seven. She’ll be expecting you by then.”
I was not comfortable with this kind of invitation. “What am I supposed to bring? Where’s the closest store? Does she like wine?” Hostess gifts were not just respectful—in this case, they would set the tone of a good first impression.
His lips quirked as if my angst amused him. “Go take a nap, Naomi. Then go to dinner at Liza J’s.” He turned and headed
for the door.
“Wait!”