“That you will,” she agrees.
I drive back to my shitty motel and drag my luggage back into my room. I stand in the middle of the tiny space and look around. What can I do to make this room a little bit more clean and homey?”
I have an idea, and with that, I head back out to see what the local store has to offer.
Two hours later, I’m standing in my nice—er, nicer—motel room. I’ve stripped the bed of its pea-green comforter and replaced it with bedding of my own. I purchased a homemade quilt the store was selling on behalf of someone here in town. It’s white and has tiny little flowers sewn onto it. I bought new pillows, sheets, and throw pillows to decorate. I got a couple of rugs so my feet never have to touch the dirty carpet. I ordered a new flat-screen TV on Amazon—I literally had to hardwire my laptop to get internet access—and it’ll be here in a week. I even bought my own mini fridge, microwave, and hot plate so I’ll be able to keep food and prepare it in my room. It’s not the best, but it’s better than it was, and it will have to do—at least for now.
Now that my room is a little more livable, I head to take that shower. The hot water feels amazing beating against my tense, sore muscles. My lavender body wash eases away the stress I’ve been carrying all week and almost makes me forget that I’m in a town that has nothing to do. I wonder what people do here? I push the thought away, choosing instead to focus on resting and relaxing so I can get to work tomorrow. I need a clear head. I have a lot of people to meet around town, including Mr. Slade, and I have a lot of cases to familiarize myself with before I can represent my clients.
When I finish my shower, I step out, pull on some pajamas, and sink into my nice, fluffy bed. My cell phone rings and I see Gavin’s name flash on the screen. I answer but the call drops. I quickly send him a text, letting him know the landline number for my room. Minutes later, the phone beside the bed is ringing.
“Hello?” I answer, a smile stretching across my face.
“How was the trip, beautiful?”
I want to giggle, but hold it back. “Long, tiring, boring. Not eventful at all unless you’re amused by fields and tractors. And in case you’re wondering, I’m not.”
He chuckles. “Really? You struck me as a modern-day Daisy Duke,” he jokes.
“Ha ha,” I retort, and my fake laughter makes him laugh.
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve arrived safely.”
“Thank you for checking on me. How are things at the office?”
“Same old,” he says. “Jeremy’s been telling anyone who will listen that the company moving you out of state is their way of pushing you out. He’s got people taking bets on whether or not you’ll return next year.”
I scoff. “Ugh. I hate him.”
“What’s the deal with you two, anyway? Everyone knows how much you hate each other, but no one knows why.”
I chuckle. “It started back in college. I was his only real competition. That competition turned into hate. And then we both somehow got a job at the same company, and all that competition came back with a vengeance. He thought he was finally rid of me, but there I was, still beating him at every turn.”
He laughs. “Yeah, sounds about right. From what I’ve seen, you do kick ass at your job.”
My face flushes with the compliment. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.”
His voice gets low and hushed. “Tell me we’re still on for that date next year when you return? I just can’t get you off my mind.”
Hearing the desire in his voice makes my heart race. “Absolutely. If you think I’m passing on that, you’re crazy.”
“Just . . . don’t go falling in love with a cowboy or anything, okay?”
I laugh long and hard. I don’t stop until my eyes are watering and my lungs crave oxygen. “That’s never going to happen. Could you see me on the arm of some cowboy?” My laughing picks back up just from thinking about it.
He chuckles. “Good night, Celeste.”
“Good night, Gavin.” I hang up the phone, turn out the light, and curl up in bed. The only thing I can think about is Gavin and our lunch date and how things could’ve been between us right now if we’d revealed our feelings sooner.
My alarm goes off at 5 a.m., and I move quickly to shut it off. When the room is silent, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hoping to prepare myself for the day. I throw back the blanket and get up—moving toward the small single-serve coffee pot sitting on the counter. I start myself a cup as I move toward the sink. I brush my teeth and wash my face before starting on my hair and makeup. As I apply the finishing touches, I finish my coffee and toss the paper cup into the trash.
I pull on a black skirt and a white button-up dress shirt. I tuck the shirt into my skirt and put on a wide belt. I slip my feet into my favorite black heels and look myself over in the mirror. My hair is down—curled to perfection—and my makeup is perfect—not too much, but just enough to make me look professional. I add a silver necklace, my hoop earrings, and a thin chain bracelet. I put everything I’ll need into my purse and grab my briefcase on my way out the door.
On my way to the office, I swing by the diner and grab a muffin and a cup of coffee. The restaurant isn’t full, but it isn’t completely empty either. There are a few old men sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, eating breakfast, and talking. They give me quick glance, smile, and nod their heads in my direction, but never actually address me.
When I get to the office, it’s going on 6 a.m. I park my car and carry my things to the front glass door. I insert the key I was given and notice that my name has already been put on the door. I smile to myself as I walk inside the dark, quiet office. I turn on the lights and lock the door behind me since we don’t open for two more hours. Turning to face the office, I look over everything.
Dark gray carpet covers the floor, and the walls are a light gray—almost white. The trim is done in white and there are lights on the walls, making it look clean and classy, but also like an upscale country office. The assistant’s desk is up front, and the nameplate on the desk reads Deborah Wiles. There are pictures on the walls, and I step closer to find that every picture is a little piece of town history. The photos show the local post office being built, a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the diner, the brewery, plus multiple photos of farms, animals, and tractors.
I move further into the building and find my office, with my name already on the door. I push it open and flip on the light. The same gray theme greets me. I have a big oak desk with a bookcase and filing cabinets. The desk is an L-shape, with one end holding the computer, and the other side empty and clear for when I meet with clients. There are two chairs on one side of my desk, and the remainder of the room has a nice little seating area with a couch, coffee table, and big flat-screen TV. If this place had a full bath and a kitchen, I’d stay here. It’s clearly nicer than the motel I’m stuck in now.
Instead of sitting down and getting to work, I take a moment to let it all soak in as I enjoy my breakfast and coffee. I sign in to my computer, email, and calendar. My meeting is already set with Mr. Slade. Listed alongside his name is his address with a note declaring the meeting is to take place on his property. I let out a sigh and shake my head. Clearly, Mr. Slade isn’t the come-into-town type.