He nodded. “Yeah, sure. Hope your coat’s warm. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there!”
I had no response to that cheerful announcement. He walked through the door, letting it shut in my face.
My coat billowed behind me, my eyes blinking instantly in rapid succession at the freezing temperature. I followed Seth’s quick pace to the garage, almost groaning with relief when we walked into the cement structure. He looked at me askance.
“You should have done up your coat, man.”
I glared at him, my patience thin. “You should have offered to take my bags, so I could button up my fucking coat. In fact, you should have had the car warm and waiting for me.”
His cheerful expression fell. “Shit,” he whispered. “Alex is gonna kill me.” He lunged forward, almost ripping my case from my hand and dropping my garment bag. “Don’t tell her, please? She trusted me to do this! I’ll make it up to you!” He dropped my case as well, both of them sitting on the dirty, cold cement. He moved closer, trying to grab at my coat to fasten the buttons as he begged me.
Impatiently, I slapped his hands away. He looked so upset and young I didn’t have the heart to keep yelling the way I usually would.
“Pick up my things, Seth.”
Leaning down, he grabbed them.
“Can we go to the car? I’m damn well freezing,” I grumbled.
“Right this way, Mr. Maxwell!”
I followed him, somehow not shocked when we stopped at a large minivan.
Why would I expect a limo or even a Town Car?
Seth threw my luggage in the back and grabbed my briefcase from my hands. He opened the passenger door, indicating I should get inside.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It appeared I was riding up front.
He rounded the van quickly, started the engine, and grinned nervously when cold air blew out of the vents. “It’ll take a minute to warm up, but the heater works pretty good,” he assured me.
A long shiver racked my spine. “How long to the inn?”
“About forty-five minutes to Pinegrove.” He regarded me anxiously. “Can I get you
something?”
“I don’t suppose you have any brandy?” I asked jokingly.
He shook his head. “I’m not old enough to drink.”
“Are you old enough to drive?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. That I can do. How about some coffee? It’ll warm you up.”
“Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were speeding through the darkness, and I had a cup of coffee and a donut, courtesy of an insistent Seth. Tim Horton’s was the one name I recognized as we drove into the town, and I was hungry enough to eat the donut, even though I rarely ate sweets. I was as rigid with my diet as I was with my business.
Snapping on the overhead light, I checked my phone, shaking my head at the number of emails and texts waiting. One was from Mrs. C inquiring if I had arrived safely. She always checked up on me—it was another thing I would miss about her. I answered her, adding in a humorous rendition of my arrival, including the “witch’s tit” comment. I knew she’d like that one. A couple of minutes later, she texted me back.
ROTFLMAO
I glared at the screen. I had no idea what that meant. I never used abbreviations in texts or email, and I hated it when others did. People butchered the English language enough without adding in silly expressions. I glanced over at Seth, remembering he had been texting when I arrived.
I cleared my throat. “Ah, do you by chance know what R-O-T-F-L-M-A-O means?”
His eyes flicked to me, then he returned his attention to the road. “Yes.”