“Thank you,” I sighed, unwrapping the scarf from around my neck. “I know it’s getting late, but is there anywhere I can grab dinner?”
He frowned. “I wish I knew you were coming. I would have saved our pot roast for you. It was delicious.”
At that point, I felt my stomach growl. “Any chance there’s something still open in this weather?”
He chuckled, a low, wheezy bark that reminded me of a cartoon cat. “We’re used to this weather, dear. Around here, we’re always open.”
My stomach erupted in another loud growl.
“Two buildings down,” he said, pointing in the general direction. “There’s a bar called The Foggy Goggle. Get a burger. You won’t regret it.”
“Thanks, uh, Mr . . .?”
“Wagner. Peter Wagner.” He handed me a room key. “But you can call me Pops. Everyone in Maplewood Creek does.”
“Alright. Thanks, Pops. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Breakfast is between eight and ten.”
Inside my room, the radiator groaned to life as I shrugged off my snow-covered coat. The mattress sagged when I flopped onto it. I pulled out my phone and tried several times to call or text Megan, but nothing was getting through. When I tried her on the room’s landline, it went to voicemail.
“Megan, hey, it’s Elle. I’m stuck in town. The road is blocked, and I can’t get up the mountain. I’m staying the night at The Snowdrift Inn. This is the number to reach me. Cell reception in the valley is shit. Hopefully I still have a job, but I’ll wait to hear from you if I should just turn around tomorrow and come on home. Call me back when you get this. I’m running out to get some dinner, but I’ll be back soon.”
At least the room was comfortable. Not overly polished, modern or elaborate, but I immediately felt right at home. There was a small electric fireplace in the corner, with various ornaments and a stack of books positioned on the mantle.
I decided to wash up, then pop out for an hour to eat, yawning as I got up to head to the adjoining bathroom.
There was a double vanity in there, with two sinks. On the right side, I saw a mess of men’s grooming products, with the caps scattered and white foam overflowing from the can of shaving cream. There were tiny hairs in the sink and the electric-blue remnants of toothpaste around the drain. The idea to tame the mess might have briefly flitted through my head if I hadn’t been so hungry. I got a little chaotic when I hadn’t eaten.
After a quick freshen up, I headed back out into the snow.
The Foggy Goggle wasn’t unlike many Denver bars. A large stone fireplace occupied most of one wall. A live band played on a small stage at the far end of the room. It wasn’t crowded, but there was enough of a buzz to make it lively.
Sidling up to the bar, I eased onto a stool near the roaring fire, letting the chatter, rock music, and clinking glasses wash over me. I wasn’t sure how much free time I would have to spend in town, if by some miracle I still had a job tomorrow, but this place would be on the list to revisit.
“Hey there, what can I get started for you?” the bartender asked, handing over a food menu. “We’ve got a great mulled cider. It’s got a real kick to it, but ideal for this weather.”
“Oh, that sounds perfect. And Pops at The Snowdrift suggested a burger. Which one would you recommend?”
He smiled. “Any allergies?”
I shook my head.
“In that case, one Greek burger coming up. Lamb, tzatziki, and feta. It’s outstanding.”
My mouth watered at the thought. After putting in my order, he stepped away, tending to the other patrons. I passed the time nervously awaiting a ping from Megan as I watched the signal bars jump from zero to two and back again. When my food arrived, I pocketed my phone and dug in like I hadn’t eaten in days.
“How is everything?” the bartender asked, smiling at the animal way I attacked the burger.
“So good,” I mumbled with a full mouth, hand covering my face.
He laughed and refilled my water glass. “Another cider?”
What the hell. For better or worse, I was stuck here, and I suppose I was already preparing myself for bad news. If this was the last time I was ever in Maplewood Creek, I had better make the most of it.
“Hit me,” I said.
After demolishing the burger, and most of my second drink, I turned on my stool to watch the band play a little. That was when I noticed him. He was playing pool and chatting animatedly with some other people in the billiards area. Every few minutes, he would send a furtive glance my way, just a subtle tilt of his head in my direction. I thought at first it was my imagination, or he was just waiting on a long-overdue drink from the bartender. I’d never been quick on the uptake when it came to deciphering signals from guys.
