Page 159 of Into the Dark
With an inward curse, I plaster on my fake smile before turning around to face her head-on. “Oh, Jess. Hi,” I say with a brightness she does not inspire. “I never saw you there. How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know, fine. Getting on.”
I want to tell her I wish she would get on—out of my line of vision.
“You weren’t at the meeting the other night,” she tells me with a tight smile. When I give her a blank stare she almost rolls her eyes. “You know, about the old mill? You did hear that they’re proposing a hotel now?”
“Oh, right. Yes. It went completely out of my head.” I touch my hand to my temple and shake my head. “I’ve just had so much on. It’s been insane, really.”
Jess stares, unimpressed by my excuses, and for a moment I wonder what face she would give me if I told her Jake, my nightclub-owning criminal future husband, is working with the police to bring down his equally criminal and infamous gangland boss and that I’m carrying his child out of wedlock while he does it.
“Um, so what kind of hotel?” I say instead. The last I heard about the old mill, it was going to be some kind of outdoor center or museum. A hotel in the village of Shere doesn’t scream money-maker to me, but what do I know about the hospitality industry?
She snorts in distaste. “One with a bar and fancy restaurant,” she says in the way one might say “a brothel and live sex show.” “Some chef from the TV, the one with the prosthetic leg—he wants to build an extension and everything. Well, no chance. We don’t need that sort of disruption around here.”
“Don’t we?” I muse before clarifying, “The hotel, I mean, not the disruption.” A nice restaurant run by a TV chef sounds great, actually. I’m selling. Leaving. A hotel with a restaurant run by a famous TV chef could potentially do wonders for my sale price.
She glowers at me. “No, no we don’t. Think of the traffic, Alex. The litter. People, cars, everywhere.”
Litter? Have I missed something? Are hotel guests notorious litter bugs? “Oh, I don’t imagine it would be a very big hotel, Jess. It wouldn’t bring that much traffic,” I reason. I have no idea why I’m trying. Jess Knight has spent her life dispensing with reason.
“Sixteen bedrooms and an extension for the kitchen and restaurant,” she counters. “They’re saying it will hold weddings too.”
Oh god, the unimaginable horror. I bite back a smile and force a thoughtful nod instead, gazing past her as the near-empty basket of romaine lettuces reduces by one more packet. “Well, I doubt it will go ahead. Not if everyone feels the same way as you do.”
“Oh, I don’t know if they do, Alex, that’s the thing. People are crazy about those TV chef’s just now.”
“Are they? I don’t really watch much TV.”
“Yes! And, well, I’d appreciate your attendance at the next meeting. It’s at the end of the month down at the Scouts Hall—the twenty-eighth, a Thursday.” She makes it sound like she’ll come to my door and frogmarch me down there if I don’t agree. “Everyone listens to you, Alex. You’re esteemed and sensible—and you have influence,” she informs me.
I blink in surprise and undisguised shock. Is she trying to flatter me into this? “Um, okay, well, I’ll mark it in the calendar and try to make it along. I’m certainly interested to hear more.” I smile tightly, stepping past her to snatch a pack of lettuces before anyone else does.
“I’ll call you to remind you on the Wednesday,” she offers, pale, colorless eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
“That would be helpful, Jess, thank you.”
And that moment I decide I’m supporting the famous chef’s hotel. I don’t care if it does come with a bloody brothel and live sex show.
Back home, Jake calls me just before 8:00 p.m. sounding frustrated and annoyed.
“Hey, baby. Listen, Vicky called. She says Cale’s coming down with something—been crying for me all night, apparently. I’ve just got here, so I’m about to go in.”
“Oh god, I hope he’s okay. Did she say if he has a temperature? Was he ill when you saw him this morning?”
“Nah, he was fine. She called about an hour ago and said he was hysterical.” He sounds unconvinced. “Can I call you back when I’m inside? See what the damage is?”
“Of course. If you want me to come over and have a look at him I can do.”
“I’m sure he’s okay. She hasn’t done this for a while…” he grumbles. I’m not sure what “this” is, but I decide not to ask.
When he calls back a half hour later, Caleb does have a temperature and is “playing up,” but other than that he seems to be okay. Jake tells me he’ll stay with him until he falls asleep and then come home. It takes more strength than I care to admit to tell him just to stay with him. If Caleb wakes up through the night ill, it will only be worse if Jake isn’t there, and I don’t want to be the cause of any more distress to him. We say good night, and I promise to text him before bed. Then I go soak in the lukewarm bath for a half hour with my book.
I manage a good night text to him, my eyes staying open just long enough for him to reply that he misses me and will see me in the morning. Then I slip under the weight of sleep, the ease welcome since I’ve long grown to hate sleeping without him.
I awake to the feel of Jake’s hands moving over the backs of my thighs and up under the thin material of my vest top. Rough caresses that make me moan out loud. At first I think I’m lucid dreaming—my sex dreams about Jake have always been lucid—but there’s weight and heat to his touch, which solidifies it. It also causes the desire to wash over me in waves. It’s no dream. He came home. He came home to me like I needed him to.
“Mmm, I think I was just dreaming about you…” I murmur into the pillow.