Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 84(@200wpm)___ 67(@250wpm)___ 56(@300wpm)
There was too much work around here to think about the sexy man from Miami. And if Poke’s messy reservations book could be trusted, Jonah would be leaving again in a week anyway.
When greenhorns came for a visit, they brought trouble.
CHAPTER THREE
JONAH
The room they gave me was blessedly cozy, and despite Pain-in-the-Ass Pete, I was able to get on Wi-Fi and discover he’d been trolling me about the snow. The forecast was for a high of sixty degrees each day for the next few days with zero chance of rain.
I’d even been able to book a fly-fishing expedition for the following day with the woman who’d checked me into the hotel. Win-win.
After a long, hot shower, I crawled between the sheets and slept for hours. I woke up refreshed but confused because the sun was still high in the sky even though I knew it had to be evening.
The bar downstairs was also a restaurant, so I found a table by one of the windows and ordered a burger. Once again, the woman who’d checked me in was also the one who took my order.
“Name’s Maggie,” she said when I apologized for not asking before. “I’d say I’m the jack-of-all-trades around here, but that’s Boston and his brothers.” She nodded her head toward a guy who was busy unpacking bottles of beer into a cooler behind the bar. “If you need anything, let one of us know.”
After she disappeared into the kitchen, I opened my laptop to make notes about the flight and my first impressions of small-town Alaska. I sat next to one of several large picture windows with views of the lake and the mountain range beyond. It was gorgeous, like something out of a National Geographic picture spread. The sun shone on the water, and old, colorful buoys dotted the edges of the two docks between the building and the water. A slight breeze blew through an open window somewhere, and I could hear the faint buzzing sound of a boat motor or distant airplane.
I liked it here.
It was peaceful and clean. The air was clear, and despite the bright sun, there wasn’t a drop of Florida humidity to be found.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to slow down to the pace of my new environment. The chaotic pace of Miami was hard to let go of. One time I’d gone on a school trip to Williamsburg, Virginia, and had dinner at a historic inn. The whole thing was served by candlelight to give you the feeling of what it would have been like during colonial days.
The pace of the dinner was excruciatingly slow to a busload of teenagers, but it had taught me a valuable lesson. Be cognizant of the pace of those around me. Adjust if needed. Once I slowed down and stopped expecting my food to be served at drive-thru speed, I’d been able to relax and enjoy the experience.
I could tell this place was like that.
The burger was exactly what I needed, and the thin sweet potato fries were an unexpected surprise. After wolfing it down, I went back to work for a little while longer. I typed up a few more notes, finished my ice water, and paid Maggie for my meal before wandering outside to take a look around.
The small town wasn’t as sleepy as I’d imagined. For being located in the middle of nowhere, it was surprisingly active. There was a small road between where I stood and a row of shops. I wandered across to the one that looked like a food market and entered through the screen door.
Old-time country music played softly over hidden speakers, and someone at the back of the store called out, “Give me a minute.”
“No rush,” I called back.
I picked out a box of instant oatmeal, two bananas, a few granola bars, a small bottle of sunscreen to replace the one I’d accidentally left on my kitchen counter at home, and two glass bottles of lemonade out of the clear-front refrigerator by the cash register. Once I set my selections on the counter, I added a big bottle of water in case I went through more than I anticipated on tomorrow’s fishing excursion.
The man at the back made his way up to the counter before I realized it was Pilot Pete.
“Hi,” I said stupidly. “You work here?”
He shook his head and began to ring up my purchases. “Not really. Just helping out for a while. Find what you needed?”
“Mm-hm. Going fishing tomorrow at Wrong Way River.”
Pete’s nostrils flared a little bit like the news was unwanted. “’Course you are. You’re going to need DEET.” He reached behind him for a small orange bottle and added it to my stuff.
I looked more closely. “Bug spray?”
He nodded. “The strong stuff. But wash it off when you get back so it doesn’t irritate your skin.” He cleared his throat. “Or not. Whatever.”