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“Then I guess the question is, what are you doinghere?” She turns on the stove, hovering her hand over the pan.

“What do you mean?” she asks over her shoulder. “Don’tyou know you live in the land of the famous filming location?”

“I might have heard that a time or two, but you chose to stay at an inn that is three hours away from those sights.”

She roasts her vegetables and pours her egg mixture over top, gently pressing everything toward the center. She props a hip on the counter, turning the rest of the way to face me.

“And what are you? The town detective or something?”

“You don’t have to be Sherlock fucking Holmes to figure out that yourHarry Potterquest is bullshit.” Her eyes squint but her mouth is pulled tight like she’s trying her damndest not to smile. She turns back, pulling her pan from the fire and laying down another before setting a sliced piece of bread in it. I watch how she moves seamlessly around the kitchen, even though she’s never been in this one before. When I take a peek at her face, it’s clear she’s battling something. Her eyes are on the stove, but they’re not focused. Her lips dance side to side, sometimes being pulled in between her teeth. Her reason for being here seems more personal than I originally thought and I don’t know why I care, but I find myself trying to make her feel more comfortable. “Okay, so we’ve got aHarry Potterhead amongst us. What’s your room?”

“My?” A grin breaks out across her face and her hair brushes along the slope of her ass when she drops her head back. “You mean my house?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” I snatch an apple out of the bowl as she sets her plate down on the placemat next to me.

“Mhmm. I’m a Slytherin, obviously.”

“Oh yeah? Me too,” I say, biting into the fruit and she huffs another light laugh.

“Okay, soclearlyyou’re the biggest HP fan, but what else?” She loads a heaping pile of eggs onto her toast, and Ismile at the way she has no shame in how she shoves it into her mouth.

“What about me?”

“I me—” she mumbles around a mouthful of food. “I mean, I saw the way you carried all my luggage up the stairs with one hand, so I doubt you injured yourself while working the bell boy job. What happened?”

“To be fair, I’ve only ever beenyourbell boy.”

She playfully rolls her eyes before sitting up straight and snapping her finger. “I got it. You were injured solving one of your town mysteries.” I avoid her question by opening my mouth and biting my teeth down hard a mere half an inch away from her finger. “Hmm, looks like we both have a hard time admitting our truths.”

I smile, despite the way I want to hang my head in shame, but I also don’t want her to see how right she is. Her returning nod lets me know that she’s going to let it go. We sit in a comfortable silence as she finishes her breakfast for dinner. When she stands to wash her plate, I grow restless feeling my time with her coming to an end.

“I got injured playing rugby.” Her sudsy hands still where the sponge was rubbing circles over the plate.

“How long until you're healed?”

“I’ve had the surgery and I get the cast off and start physical therapy in a few days, but I’ll never…” I drop her gaze then. “I’ll never be able to play again. Not professionally, anyway.” And there it is, the truth that I’ve been avoiding all this time. The reason I haven’t wanted to be around anyone else. No matter what Coach Henderson might be able to offer me, it will never be my game back. And who am I without that game?

To her credit, Taylor doesn’t respond more than a tight smile and an understanding nod. She dries her dishes beforeputting everything back where she got it, as if she was never here at all, and slowly makes her way to the door. I’m still looking at my fruit when her raspy voice speaks up.

“I’m just looking for a little adventure.”

My head snaps to where she’s standing in the doorway. Her eyelids are hooded slightly, and her fingers grip the wall. I cock an eyebrow at her, silently questioning what kind of adventure she’s referring to. She smiles covering her face with her hands. “That wasn’t some creepy invite. I just meant that’s what I’m doing here. I have nothing going on at home and I’m just… yeah, looking for an adventure.” She swallows. “It sounds kind of stupid the more times I say it out loud though, huh?”

I have nothing without my sport anymore. I’m nobody without it, so I can relate to the feeling of needing something.

“Not stupid at all.”

She pushes the door open, sliding out, but holding the wood frame before it can shut fully. “Good night, Knox. And thank you for the food.”

“Goodnight, Nova. And thank you for the company.” She disappears behind the door and I find myself more grateful than ever for the night shift.

Taylor

Light seepsin through my wood slat blinds, and even though my eyes are begging to be shut again, I take it as a good sign that I’m up during the day. I roll over, searching for the black metal analog clock that sits on the vintage-styled nightstand. 3:15.Shit.

I flop back down and mentally berate myself for sleeping through yet another day. Not that I would have gotten up early—unfortunately, early mornings and I are not on the best of terms. We’re like spiteful ex-lovers who would be okay and capable of making it work for a day or two, claiming to love each other, but then get drunk and break up again. Early mornings and I tried to make it work, really. But in the end, sometimes you just have to know when to give up.

I snuggle into the soft waffle knit blankets and warm cotton quilt that cover me, as if I magically appeared in my bed and didn’t move all night. It turns out my bed is somehow even more comfortable than I thought it would be, which is a shame for someone like me, who already has difficulty getting up and starting my day. I’ve already gotten well acquainted with my room over the last two nights, and if myroom at Emerald Browning Cottage is any indication of what the rest of Stoney Meadow has to offer, then I need to get my ass up and moving. Now.