I walk back to the B&B. That’s my only option, since I’ve had half a six-pack and I can feel how drunk I am. Getting behind the wheel is a risk I’m not willing to take. I’m not that much of a fucker.

Or maybe I am, if the way Reggie is acting is any indication. It’s been a while since a woman has shouted that I’m an asshole as I’m trying to get out of the line of fire. In fact...no, that’s never happened before.

Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to kiss her. That was probably a bad idea. You don’t lose contact with someone–neglect contact with them, really–for years, and then try to kiss them on some fucking boulder outside the clubhouse at the country club, even if you’re drunk. Even if the lightning looks romantic as hell. Even if she’s looking at you like she might just forgive you someday.

My chest aches. I try to shake it off while I’m walking down the sidewalk. Downtown Reckless Falls, meet Adam Zeller, the prodigal son returned, only to be kicked out on his ass again by the one woman he never thought would actually hate him.

She actually hates me.

I rack my brain for the reason. Is it really just because I didn’t call? She didn’t call, either. It’s a small, ugly thought, and my mouth twists just thinking it. Although Reggie could stand to loosen up for once in her life. Not everything can be my fault. Two to tango, and all that jazz.

I stumble in through the front door of the B&B, which is dark and silent. It feels like this place is watching me come in. Probably the owners are watching, one way or another, so I straighten up and try not to look drunk off my ass. It almost works until I collide with one of those vase stands like they have in museums. There’s a nice vase on top of it that lends this place the classy look it has in the daylight. This vase is probably why it’s the most expensive B&B in Reckless Falls–that, plus the prime location halfway up Whaleback Mountain. I almost take out the vase. I do take out the stand, but I catch the vase on its way to the ground, just in time.

The thud of the stand hitting the floor shakes the entire damn B&B and I freeze, stifling the urge to turn around and run out the door again. All I want to do is drop the vase and run, but I’m a full-grown man. I’m allowed to be drunk. Plus, I’m trying not to wake everyone up. Still. Running sounds great right about now.

Well, fuck. Maybe Reggie did have a point. Shouting at me that I always run away. At least when it came to Reckless Falls, it seemed like a fucking pattern of mine.

I don’t know how long I’m frozen in place. Nobody moves on the upper floors, so maybe nobody cares about the vase, or the stand. Eventually I cradle the vase in one arm and reach down for the stand, right it, and then put the vase on it.

In the dark, I back away slowly, hands up, like Indiana Jones. It’s a long trip up the stairs. The only saving grace is that this B&B has gone out of its way to install phone-activated locks on all the doors to work with their personal app.

Beep. I’m in.

The room seems awfully fucking lonely. I’d take a few hours with Reggie hating me over this.

I laugh out loud. No. I’m not that pathetic.

Am I?

Doesn’t matter. What I am is drunk. What I am is tired. What I am is falling into the bed still wearing all my clothes and passing out.

* * *

There’s sunlight streaming in through the window next to my bed, which is what cruelly rips me from my sleep at an ungodly hour of the morning. My mouth tastes like stale beer and disappointment, though for a long few minutes I can’t remember what, exactly, I’m disappointed about.

Then it comes back to me. The reunion. Reggie. Reggie being so damn harsh with me over the fact that I didn’t call to check in for a measly nine years.

I throw myself out of bed and discover that I’m still wearing all my clothes. No way. The air conditioning is good at this place, but not that good. I strip off the clothes like there’s actually a woman here to be had and stumble into the bathroom. One glance in the mirror tells me no woman would be caught dead in here with me right now. Certainly not Reggie.

When I’m done brushing my teeth, the fog from last night comes rushing back. One tug of the curtains and the room is pleasantly dark again.

* * *

“Mr. Zeller?”

There’s a rapping on the door to my room, and it startles me from within my cocoon of blankets. Unlike the last time I woke up, I feel refreshed. One hundred percent.

“Yeah?” I sit upright in the bed and throw my legs over the side, moving toward the door like it’s going to stop her from bursting in if that’s what’s about to happen here. “Yeah. I’m here. I’m good.”

“O–okay,” says the voice from the other side.

It’s Xavier Tully, the owner of the B&B and yet another blast from the past. I have vague memories of his name, and better memories of the girl he was always hanging out with in high school, the one who went on to be in some big rock band or something. I would rather not spend any more time skipping down memory lane, so instead of being polite, I just keep the door shut and shout at him through it like an asshole.

“I’m good,” I repeat. I wonder if the cleaning crew already came in here and was surprised to find me. No idea. I slept the sleep of the dead.

Or the slightly hungover. Yes. I’m slightly hungover.

“I’m just here to check on you,” he says through the door. “It’s getting late in the afternoon.”

“I’m good,” I say again, running a hand through my hair. In fact, I’m more than fine. My chest doesn’t ache nearly as much from Reggie’s heartless rejection. In fact, it’s a good thing that she doesn’t want anything to do with me. That might be just enough to keep me anchored to Reckless Falls, and nobody on earth needs to be anchored to Reckless Falls. My father sure as hell didn’t, even if he pretended to be. “I’m doing very well,” I say. It’s probably overkill, but it convinces Xavier.

“I’m glad to hear it. Call the front desk if you need anything, all right?”

“Thank you,” I say, digging my phone from my pocket. His footsteps fade down the hallway. I’ve got some calls to make, and none of them are going to be to the front desk. “Let’s not rule anything out,” I say out loud, my veins humming with energy.

Item number one on my agenda: sell that damn house.

In order to that, I need a buyer. And in order to get a buyer, I need Cole Granger.