Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Why are there two grills?” I asked. The second one was oddly shaped, too.
“That’s Cole’s pride and joy,” Brady explained, patting the dome-like shape on top. “It’s a pizza oven.”
“I thought you did the cooking?”
“I do. And most of the grilling. But Cole makes the best pizza in the state.”
“You do realize I live in Chicago, right?” I barely resisted snorting as I followed him down the stairs into the yard. There was a fire pit down there, and under the deck was an assortment of mismatched lawn chairs piled against the side of the building.
Cole led us through another sliding glass door into a finished basement. It was about the same size as the lounge upstairs, but there was a pool table, darts, and a bar at one end of the room. At the opposite end, there was an unlit hallway. “What’s down there?”
“Bathroom, laundry room, and the unfinished part of the basement. It’s mostly for storage,” Brady answered promptly. “We call this the rec room.”
“Mind if I take a video of it?”
When Brady nodded, I patted my hair into place, put on a smile, and then started the live stream. “You all, I’m learning so much about the inn where I’ll be spending the next week. They’ve thought of everything. Upstairs are board games.” I raised my eyebrows and made a face to show my followers exactly what I thought of this.
I circled the room as I talked. “And this place holds a lot of promise. There are darts—those might come in handy.” I trailed a finger along the hard little dart. “And a pool table. Color me excited.”
Still talking, I moved to the bar. “All right, this has some potential.” I panned the camera along the shelf behind the bar. It was stocked with a bunch of dusty bottles, and something else.
I zoomed the camera in. “Are those high school sports trophies? Guess that makes this a sports bar. A sports bar without a TV, apparently.”
Brady chuckled and opened a cabinet on the wall, revealing a flatscreen TV that would’ve been considered large a decade or so ago.
“I stand corrected,” I said, giving him a nod. “And here I thought the microwave I saw upstairs was the most advanced tech you owned. But who needs tech when you can bring nature inside. Look at these decorations!”
On the wall above me were an assortment of wreaths made of leaves, dried flowers in old vases, and even a set of large antlers. “I may have to hire their decorator for my place. Think I should?” Maybe I was being a bit snarky, but as a wave of responses from my followers filled the screen, it reminded me of how much these guys had humiliated me a week ago in their fake Pleasure Institute.
Continuing around the room, I showed my viewers the door to the other half of the basement. “They won’t let me back there,” I said, for theatrical effect, “but I’m pretty sure that’s where they stash the bodies of people who criticize their inn.”
The silence behind me let me know that they weren’t going to dignify that with a response. I winked at my viewers. “But don’t worry, if they try anything, they might find out where I stash the bodies of people who promise me amazing massage tech and don’t deliver.”
Judging by the increase in comments, my viewers liked that. I ended my tour of the basement by pointing out more sets of antlers and wreaths made of bundles of old, dried-out sticks. “I’m pretty sure this decorating style is called Early American Twig.”
As I stopped the feed, I was pretty pleased with my last dig at the guys who were holding me hostage here all week. At least until I heard a rich, deep baritone behind me. “Just what this inn needs—a narrator.”
My stomach sank as I spotted the tall, dark, and exasperating figure standing at the base of the stairs.
Gideon was here.
9
COLE
Lila stood in the middle of her room, seemingly perfectly at ease while Brady pawed through the contents of her suitcase. She calmly tugged the spaghetti straps of a small crop top onto a hanger as Brady spotted an electric shaver.
“Ah ha,” he said, a bit unnecessarily. “This has got to go.”
Lila shrugged. “Fine, but when my legs look like a yeti’s, you might regret that decision.”
“We’ll get you a disposable razor,” I told her.
She draped the top over the back of a chair. “And how is that better? Seriously, I get that you guys are all about the low-tech lifestyle, but my shaver is better for the environment. Better than throwing all that plastic in a landfill, at any rate.”
“You’ll get it back at the end of the week,” Brady said. “We’re just trying to prove to you that you don’t have to rely on all of these devices.” He fought back a smile. “And if you look like a yeti at the end of the week, then I guess the joke’s on us.”