Zoey rested her cheek on her knee. “The Blue Pirogue is great for my situation, honestly. I shouldn’t complain.”
Linc drew a breath, let it out. “I keep telling you I have an extra room.” Two, actually. He’d gotten the three-bedroom, log-cabin style house tucked into two acres of woods for a steal when he’d moved back to the Bay and started Boiling Bayou Crawfish six years ago.
“But I have a room at the inn.” She grinned a little. “Better situation than baby Jesus was in, right?”
“Suit yourself.” Probably for the best. He was starting to hope she would come stay, which was a red flag. He didn’t need company—didn’tlikecompany. He just felt sorry for her, that was all. She was a friend, and in a tough spot. Nothing mushy about it.
Even if she was distracting him lately.
He stood.
“Look, I promise if my next option is a stable, I’ll take you up on the offer.” She smiled up at him. “Want me to touch the post?”
“No.” He held out his hand, pulled her to her feet. “I believe you.” Besides, he didn’t want her getting any crazy ideas, like making him touch the post again while asking him if he really wanted her at his house. “Don’t forget your container of sawdust there.”
She smirked. “Funny.”
He started walking toward his truck, then cast a glance over his shoulder. Zoey stood where he left her, staring up at the moon, arms crossed over her middle. “Coming?” he called.
“I think I’ll hang out a little longer. I like the fresh air.” Zoey waved him on. “Go ahead. Go to bed.”
He waved good night, then climbed into his truck. Started the ignition, drove down the street…then made the block and killed the lights, parking just down the road from the gazebo. He cut the engine and waited. Watching. Protecting.
Because—for better or worse—something about Zoey Lakewood always kept him coming back.
three
Zoey shut the heavy front door of the Blue Pirogue quietly behind her, not wanting to wake Elisa in her room down the hall on the first floor. Noah slept upstairs in the master that would eventually be theirs after the wedding, while Zoey conveniently bummed the room closest to the kitchen.
She eyed the full container of ruined cookies in her hands and winced. Maybe not that conveniently. At least Linc had told her the truth before she gave them to anyone else. She’d need to tweak her recipe, maybe use less salt. More vanilla. Something.
She crossed the welcoming lobby, full of potted ferns and carpet runners and fresh paint from this past spring when Noah had finished renovating the place, and headed for the kitchen to dump the cookies in the trash.
Goldilocks. She snorted. She should make Linc real porridge after all that. Would serve him right. Still, his words brought a smile, a rush of warmth and familiarity as she moved stealthily through the lower level of the inn. Linc was consistent, at least, in this current season of her life where nothing else seemed to be. She knew where she stood, what to expect from her grumpy best friend.
Even if he was rude about her baking efforts.
A light shone from the kitchen, and she paused around the corner. Another guest enjoying a midnight snack?
Low voices rumbled. “…booked solid.”
“That’s great!”
“It would be. Except we’re losing money.”
Zoey frowned. Oops. Noah and Elisa. She probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Back-stepping, she shifted the Tupperware to her other hand. She could dump the cookies somewhere else and?—
“…Zoey.”
She stopped again. They were talking about her?
“What do you mean?” Elisa’s voice sounded confused.
Noah’s tone lowered, nearly imperceptible. “We really need her room.”
“Noah, she’s my best friend.”
“She’s my friend too. But this is hundreds of dollars a week we’re not bringing in—plus the groceries.”
