Lena

 

 

"That poor young man," Mrs. Lynn says to me when I join her in the kitchen.

She's standing at the stove, assembling the ingredients to prepare his order.

"What are we going to do with him?" she asks, casting me a quick look over her shoulder, as the butter starts sizzling in the pan.

I place the carafe back on the hot plate under the coffee machine before turning to face her.

"We?" I ask in surprise. "Why should we do anything with him?"

"He's stranded, dear!" she says matter-of-factly. "He has nowhere to go. You know we can't let him go back out on the road."

I sigh inwardly. She's right. It's a miracle he even made it this far without ending up in a ditch and freezing to death. He can't possibly continue driving through this snow storm, and especially not all the way to New York. He'd never get there.

But he also can't stay here.

"He's a handsome-looking man, isn't he?" Mrs. Lynn adds, winking at me.

Of course, I blush right away. And of course, she notices. Sure he looks tired and his hair is tousled and the collar of his shirt loosened, but considering that he drove all night, he still looks amazing. Still dashing, still mind-robbing.

"I met him at the convention," I say. "Actually, I ran into him. He's the reason why our sandwiches were ruined."

She practically bumps the frying pan to the floor with how quickly she turns around to look at me, her thin eyebrows arched in a frown. "Oh?"

"Well, I don't know if he's responsible, per se," I add hesitantly. "But he's the guy I ran into that caused me to drop them on the floor. And then he yelled at me for ruining his shirt."

"Oh," she says again, reproachfully this time.

"He tried to apologize for it later," I admit. "But I didn't exactly let him."

"Well, dear, maybe he was stressed or in a hurry," she says. "These conventions are often make or break opportunities for these guys."

"Yeah, maybe."

I absentmindedly stare toward the swinging doors that lead out to the guest room.

"He seems like a nice fellow," Mrs. Lynn says, her back to me once again as she continues cooking his breakfast. "And trustworthy, don't you think?"

"Trustworthy?"

I crease my eyebrows into a puzzling expression. She stirs the fries in the pan for a few more moments before reciprocating my look.

"He has nowhere to go," she says. "And... you know we have no space at our place."

"Are you suggesting I let him stay with me?" My heart is pounding so hard that she must be able to hear it. Is she serious? What would drive her to suggest such a thing?

But Mrs. Lynn shakes her head.

"No, no, dear, I'd never suggest that," she denies. "I'm just wondering who we could ask..."

She turns back again to the stove, leaving me speechless, watching her, contemplating her words. I suddenly feel silly for thinking she would suggest that I take him in. Of course, she'd never say something like that. Where would I even put him? In Oma's bedroom? I doubt it!

But what if....?

"Here, would you take this to him," she says, interrupting my dazed stream of thought, handing me a platter with home fries, eggs, bacon, and twice as much toast as we usually serve. I cast her a quizzical look.

"Poor guy had a rough night," she says, shrugging. "I thought he could use a little extra."

The smile on her face confuses me. It's as if she's trying to use her facial expression to convey a message to me, but I'm not sure what that message could be. My eyes hold hers a little too long before I take the plate out of her hands and walk out through the swinging doors to serve it to him.

"Mrs. Lynn has taken a shine to you," I say, as I place the steaming food on the counter in front of him. "You had better finish all of this, or she'll be offended."

His eyes widen, and I see a smile light up his face for the first time. He was on his phone, and he quickly put it away when I walked in. He eyes the generous platter of food before him.

"I think the feeling may be mutual," he says. "This is just what I need."

He looks up at me, still smiling. He’s so freaking handsome. My cheeks flush hotly again, and I curse myself for not maintaining at least some degree of decorum.

"I'm really sorry about your shirt," I say randomly. Apparently, this is my idea of flirting.

He laughs. "I'm sorry for yelling at you like an ass. That was uncalled for, and we both know it."

I nod. "Hard to argue with that."

"You caught me at a very bad time," he says as he picks up his fork. "I was under a lot of pressure. This convention was very important for me."

"I see."

I'm about to turn around and head back into the kitchen when he starts eating, but he stops me.

"Say," he says, drawing my attention back to him. "Is there really no hotel or lodge or whatever in this town? A place I could stay the night?"

I shake my head. "Afraid not."

He sighs then. "Fuck."

He looks visibly distraught when he lowers his eyes back to his food.

"Do you need more coffee?" I ask, nodding toward his mug.

The expression he gives me is empty, but he shrugs. "Yeah, sure."

I go back into the kitchen to fetch the carafe, and I'm met with Mrs. Lynn's curious eyes.

"Any more customers?" she asks expectantly.

I shake my head no. "Just getting some more coffee for our traveler."

"Well, like I said, I don't think we can expect a lot of customers today," she sighs. "Blizzards never bring good business, only stranded, handsome strangers."

I chuckle at her words as I grab the carafe.

"You really have a thing for him, Mrs. Lynn, don't you?"

She shrugs. "He reminds me of my Billy. Same dark eyes, same haunted look."

"Haunted look?"

Mrs. Lynn's gaze wanders to the swinging doors. She slowly dries her hands off on a towel, and I’m intrigued by the faraway look in her eyes.

"He looks sad and lonely, as if he's carrying a big burden on his shoulders," she says. "My Billy looked like that when he got promoted to that management position back then, you know, before he met his wife. 'It's a great opportunity', he kept saying, but boy, was he suffering. So much stress, such a burden. It was horrible."

I nod as she speaks. Mrs. Lynn never talks a lot about her sons, and I've only met them a couple of times. They'd already moved away long before I got here, and they're much older than me. They don't seem to be very close, judging by how rarely they come to visit.

"Maybe I'm just imagining things," she adds. "But yes, I feel for this young man."

She looks at me, smiling. "Bring him his coffee. I'm sure he can use the caffeine boost."

His head raises as soon as I walk through the swinging doors. He's smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Or am I imagining things now? Did Mrs. Lynn cloud my judgment with her words?

"Thanks," he says, as I refill his coffee mug. "Looks like I'll be needing this. I have a long road ahead of me."

My eyes widen in surprise. "You want to keep driving?"

He shrugs. "Doesn't look like I have a choice. It may take a while, but I'm sure I can make it if I drive carefully."

I don't know what makes me say it, but the words escape my lips before I can stop myself.

"You can stay with me."

He looks just as surprised as I do at my words and corresponding gasp.

What the hell am I thinking? Why am I inviting a stranger to stay at my house? I don’t even know him, and he yelled at me for something he could have avoided. He could be a rapist, a murderer. Men in power aren't exactly known for being nice guys, and so far, he hasn’t proven to be a gentleman.