He was in the kitchen and he’d nabbed a cordless phone. I walked in his direction, put the grocery bags on the bar and then dug in my purse to find my travel wallet. I pulled it out, snapped it open and located the confirmation papers.
“Right here,” I said, flicking them out and handing them to him.
He took them even though he was also dialing the phone with his thumb.
“Is there a prob –?” I asked, his eyes sliced to me and I shut up.
His eyes were gray, a clear, light gray. I’d never seen anything like them. Especially not framed with thick, long, black lashes.
“Slim?” he said into the phone. “Yeah, got a woman here a…” he looked down at the papers, “Miss Sheridan.”
“Ms.,” I corrected automatically and his clear gray eyes came back to me.
It had also dawned on me, at this juncture, that he had a strangely attractive voice. It was deep, very deep, but it wasn’t smooth. It was rough, almost gravelly.
“A Ms. Sheridan.” He cut into my thoughts and emphasized the “Ms.” in a way that I thought, maybe, wasn’t very nice. “She’s lookin’ for keys.”
I waited for this Slim person, who I suspected was Mr. Andrews the absent caretaker, to explain to this amazing looking man that I had a confirmed, two week reservation, pre-paid, with a rather substantial deposit in the rather unlikely event of damage. And also I waited for this Slim person to tell this amazing looking man that there obviously was some mistake and perhaps he should vacate the premises so I could unload my car, put away the perishables, have a shower, talk to Niles and, most importantly, go to sleep.
“Yeah, you f**ked up,” the amazing looking man said into the phone then he concluded the conversation with, “I’ll sort it out.” Then he beeped a button and tossed the phone with a clatter on the counter and said to me, “Slim f**ked up.”
“Um, yes, I’m beginning to see that.”
“There’s a hotel down the mountain ‘bout fifteen miles away.”
I think my mouth dropped open but my mind had blanked so I wasn’t sure.
Then I said, “What?”
“Hotel in town, clean, decent views, good restaurant, down the mountain where you came. You get to the main road, turn left, it’s about ten miles.”
Then he handed me my papers, walked to the front door, opened it and stood holding it, his eyes on me.
I stood where I was then I looked out the floor to A-point windows at the swirling snow then I looked at the amazing but, I was tardily realizing, unfriendly man.
“I have a booking.” I told him.
“What?”
“A booking,” I repeated then explained in American, “a reservation.”
“Yeah, Slim f**ked up.”
I shook my head, the shakes were short and confused. “But I pre-paid two weeks.”
“Like I said, Slim f**ked up.”
“With deposit,” I went on.
“You’ll get a refund.”
I blinked at him then asked, “A refund?”
“Yeah,” he said to me, “a refund, as in, you’ll get your money back.”
“But –” I began but stopped speaking when he sighed loudly.
“Listen, Miss –”