The Hotter You Burn (The Original Heartbreakers 2)

No. No, she wasn’t even close to over it.

Harlow sighed, wondering what kind of life Dottie had led. If she was married with kids, involved or single. The gossip train so rarely mentioned her. But now wasn’t the time to ask. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harlow spent the rest of the evening moving her camping gear to a piece of land owned by Strawberry Valley Community Church, as close to the center of town as possible so she could make her early-morning shifts while still maintaining the cover of trees offered by the surrounding forest. She did her best not to think about Beck—what he was doing... Who he was doing it with.

In the middle of the night, however, while the locusts sang and the crickets chirped, serenading her as she shivered from cold, she couldn’t help but crave his arms around her.

Fought a war, lost—and in turn lost the most important part of my life.

This was her new reality. Working, camping. Wishing Beck were with her, missing him with every fiber of her being, wanting to hate him, wanting to rant and rail at him for not realizing relationships could be a blessing, a gift, then wanting to scream at him for letting her go.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Harlow made it to the inn with fifteen minutes to spare. Her eyes burned; they were dry, probably swollen from her tears and definitely gritty with fatigue. Her hair was a mess, her clothes dirty.

Dottie was already in the storeroom. She took one look at Harlow and tossed her a pair of scrubs. “Your uniform.”

Good morning to you, too. “Is there a place I can shower first?”

Dottie pointed to the right. “The employee bathroom has a stall. And we’ll be sure to deduct the hot water from your check.”

Of course.

By the time Harlow showered, changed and appointed herself a locker, Dottie had the first room halfway cleaned. They worked alongside each other for one hour—two—not a single word spoken.

Finally, as Harlow stuffed a pillow inside a new case, she said, “Are you married?”

“Why? Are you hoping to steal my husband?”

Okay. No small talk. Noted.

Another hour passed. Dottie broke for lunch. Harlow hadn’t brought any food and had no extra cash to buy anything so she just kept working. Her stomach growled, remembering the sandwiches, pies and peppers Brook Lynn had once made her.

I miss that girl so bad. Even now, Harlow could hear Brook Lynn’s musical laugh. Wait. Hear? She peeked her head out of the room to see the petite blonde striding down the hallway, carrying what looked to be a casserole dish, Carol keeping pace beside her.

Pride urged her to hide—Can’t let her see me like this. But pride was nothing more than a fear of being found lacking, and if her time with Beck had taught her anything, it was the pitfalls of succumbing to fear.

She was done hiding. She had a life to live, and she was going to live it. Brook Lynn spotted her and smiled—a genuine smile—and Harlow released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“Thank you for walking me to my room, Carol,” Brook Lynn said.

“It’s just one of the many services I offer here at the Strawberry Inn.” Smug, Carol added, “Speaking of services, we now offer a new one. Our most elite customers will be allowed to watch Miss Glass clean their room.”

Well, well. Even better.

“What an amazing reward package,” Brook Lynn said. “I’m absolutely going to take you up on it, so, if you’ll excuse us.” She entered the room and shut the door in Carol’s face.

“How did you find me?” Harlow asked.

“I’ve had my ear to the ground. Yesterday Virgil Porter spotted you heading into the inn, so he made sure to have a nice long chat-up with Carol. He found out you’d accepted a job and called me.”

“Does Beck know?”

“No. Word hasn’t reached him. Yet.”

Carol hadn’t done much gossiping, then. She was probably as embarrassed by Harlow’s presence as she was gleeful. “I’d like to keep it secret as long as possible.”

“In a town this size, as long as possible usually only equals an hour, but maybe this will help the showdown sure to come.” Brook Lynn held out the plastic container. “My famous apple-and-carrot casserole.”

“For me?” Harlow thumped her chest, just to be sure.

“And anyone you’d like to share it with.”

She grabbed the casserole and hurried to the couch. She removed the lid and the fork taped to the top. “You might want to look away,” she said, digging in. The sweetness of apples and carrots hit her taste buds, and she closed her eyes to savor.

Brook Lynn sat on the coffee table. “Jessie Kay wants you to know Daniel broke things off with her, but you aren’t at fault and she’s not upset.”

Her enjoyment plummeted.

“It’s really not your fault,” Brook Lynn insisted. “He refused to be exclusive but didn’t like that she was hanging out with Beck and Jase after...you-knowing them.”

Harlow set what little remained of the casserole aside. “Did she cry?”

“No, she rallied. She’s got a date with Dorian tonight. But enough about my sister. Beck is miserable, you know.”

Hope quickly dovetailed into despair. “I don’t want to talk about him.” But...maybe she should. She was still raw, yes, but she needed help.

“I’m not leaving until I know what happened. I came here willing to bribe you. You can’t deny you’ve accepted that bribe, it’s smeared all over your face, so start talking or I momma-bear-claw that casserole right out of your stomach.”