All Night Long

paused a beat.
    “What paper?”
    “The Glaston Cove Beacon.” She waited for the inevitable response.
    “Never heard of it,” he said.
    Right on cue, she thought.
    “I get that a lot, too,” she said patiently. “Glaston Cove is a little town over on the coast. The
Beacon
is a small daily, but the owner, who also happens to be the editor and publisher, has recently added an online site where you can download the current edition.”
    “Hard to think of anything going on here in Dunsley that would draw the attention of a reporter from Glaston Cove.”
    This was more than polite inquisitiveness, she decided. It was fast becoming an interrogation.
    “I told you, I’m here on personal business,” she said quietly. “I’m not covering a story.”
    “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, I forgot the personal business part.”
    Like heck he had forgotten it. She smiled a little grimly to herself. He was starting to apply some pressure but it wasn’t going to work. She was not about to explain herself to a stranger, especially not one fro his particular zip code. After she met with Pamela she would be putting Dunsley in her rearview mirror.
    When they reached Cabin Number Five, she was surprised to find herself torn between a sense of relief and a tingle of regret. She took the key out of her pocket and went up the front steps.

    “Thanks for the escort,” she said.
    “No problem.” He followed her up the steps, took the key from her fingers and fitted it into the lock. “When I checked you in this afternoon, I think I forgot to mention that there’s free coffee and doughnuts in the lobby between seven and ten.”
    “Really? I’m dumbfounded. You made it clear that the management of the lodge did not believe in offering amenities.”
    “You were asking about room service, for Pete’s sake.” He opened the door and surveyed the brightly lit main room of the little cabin. “We don’t go in for that kind of thing. But we do have the morning coffee and doughnuts. Assuming we’ve got guests, that is. Which, thanks to you, we happen to have at the moment.”
    “Sorry to be such an imposition.”
    “Yeah, well, guests happen in this business,” he observed somewhat dourly.
    “That’s a very philosophical attitude.”
    “I know,” he said. “I’ve had to cultivate one since I became an innkeeper. Luckily I’ve had some training. Anyhow, as I was saying, the doughnuts were Maxine’s idea.”
    “I see.”
    “I agreed to let her give it a trial run for a month. I don’t recommend them, to tell you the truth. They taste like sugar and sawdust. Got a hunch they’re a little past their pull dates by the time Maxine picks them up. Can’t be one hundred percent positive about that, though, because the Dunsley Market doesn’t believe in stamping ‘use by’
    dates on their perishables.”
    “I should have picked up the makings for breakfast on my way here today.”
    “You can always drive into town. The Ventana View Cafe opens at six.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    She had to squeeze past him to get into the cabin. The action forced her to brush against his solid, unyielding frame. She could feel the heat coming off him. The tantalizing trace of his clean, male scent sparked another little frisson of awareness through her.
    When she turned in the doorway to say good night, she was startled to see that he was studying her with an unnervingly intent expression.
    “What?” she asked warily.
    “You’re serious about breakfast?”
    “Yes.”
    “Most women I know aren’t big on breakfast.”
    She had no intention of explaining that breakfast was one of the small but crucial rituals she employed to maintain a sense of order in her private universe. Breakfast signified the end of night. It was a very important meal. But there was no way she could explain that to him. He would not understand.
    The only person who had ever comprehended the vital importance of breakfast was the last of the half dozen therapists she had consulted over the years. Dr. LaBarre had done her gentle best to wean her patient from some of the other slightly obsessive routines that had at one time or another threatened to rule Irene’s life. But the good doctor had allowed the breakfast thing to stand on the grounds that it had other virtues.
    “Any nutritionist will tell you that breakfast is the most important meal of the day”
    Irene said. She fel ike a complete idiot, the way she always did when she was compelled to