Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall #3)- S.R. Grey Page 0,21

a Florida guy, meaning I’ve not had much experience.”

“I can drive,” I offer. “But I must warn you, I’m not the best snow-driver either, seeing as I try to stay out of the white stuff as much as possible.”

Setting his cup down with a clink, he says, “This sucks, Becca. I hate having to leave already. It feels like we just got here. Still, I think the wisest course of action is to hit the road as soon as we can and head back to Ohio.”

“Yeah, I agree. With this kind of weather moving in, it’ll get dark real fast. And that always makes everything worse.”

With the decision made, we finish our coffees quickly and leave the cafe.

It’s noticeably colder when we step outside. It’s still raining, though much more lightly than before. There is a different feel to it, though, which concerns me.

“We really need to get out of here,” I warn. “I think that snow is arriving sooner rather than later.”

Lars nods. “It would seem so.”

We retrieve the SUV from where we parked and prepare to start on our way back home. I offer to drive again, but Lars insists he’s got it for now since we’re only dealing with rain.

I’m cool with that.

But a short while later, once we’re in New York state, traveling south on I-90, the rain turns to something far worse than snow—it turns to freaking freezing rain.

“This is awful,” I squeak out, my heart pounding. “It feels like it’s already super slippery.”

“It is,” Lars confirms. “I have traction control on, but it’s not helping much.”

I blow out a stuttered breath. “You know, I really think we should get off the highway and stop for a while. Freezing rain is a whole other animal than snow.”

Lars is up for stopping, no surprise there. It’d be crazy to continue.

“I see an exit up ahead,” he says. “We can get off there.”

Relieved, I breathe out a fast, “That sounds perfect.”

My phone dings, indicating there’s a new weather alert.

When I check it, I find confirmation that this is only the beginning of the freezing rain. It’s going to last for a while before turning to just snow.

This is bad.

“I don’t even see any salt trucks out here,” I say, panicked, as we proceed down the exit ramp cautiously. “There’s really no one out at all.”

Oh, boy.

If people in upstate New York are staying in, the weather really must be bad.

Sighing, I lament, “Maybe we better think about finding a place to stay for the night.”

Raking his fingers through his hair, Lars concedes, “That’s not a bad idea.”

The only problem is the exit we’ve just taken is leading us into bumfuck nowhere. The road we end up turning onto is a country lane, surrounded by nothing but fields and farms.

We look at each other with concern.

“This doesn’t look promising,” I state direly.

Lars mutters, “No, it doesn’t.”

Luckily, as we drive slowly down the slippery road, a billboard for an old motor lodge motel comes into view.

Pointing, I say, “Phew! We might be in luck after all.”

Lars breathes a visible sigh of relief.

Crap, I feel the same.

“I can’t really make out the name of the motel,” I say, squinting to see through the freezing rain that is pelting the windshield even with the wipers working overtime.

Visibility is bad enough, but the sign is sun-faded and weather-worn.

Still, I tell Lars, “It does say ‘motel,’ and it’s up the road just another mile. Let’s go for it.”

“Definitely,” he agrees. “We’ll check it out.”

We make our way along the road slowly, the wiry branches of the trees sheathed in ice.

When it starts to get really slick, we slow to a crawl. Not simply to be safe but to make sure we don’t miss the entrance to the motel.

“Wait, that’s our turn,” I say, gesturing to a break in the trees. “There’s a smaller sign there, but it’s too far back for me to see what it says.”

“That’s okay. That has to be it,” Lars says. “We’ll turn in here.”

I’m pumped we’ll be out of this horrible weather soon. It’s far too dangerous to keep driving.

Once we turn into the motel entrance, we park next to the old dilapidated sign that I couldn’t make out from the road.

But I see it now. It’s flashing out a slow beat of neon pink letters. Pink letters that spell out the name of the motel we’re about to rent a room in—The Love Nest.

I try not to laugh.

Great, just what we need.

We’ve been trying to fight our