Gift of Fire

scones, fresh juices, and plenty of good coffee.’”
    “Well,” said Jonas, his golden eyes gleaming in the cold sunlight, “I like the sound of the four-poster bed. As long as I have you, a four-poster, and my trusty belt, I can make do.”
    Verity felt herself turning pink. “Just remember that one of these days I’ll be getting even for that little bondage number you pulled last night.”
    Jonas showed his teeth in a wicked smile. “All I ever get are promises,” he taunted softly.
    Verity shook back her mane of copper curls and stuffed the guidebook into her purse. “You’ll see. Let’s get going. The Harbor Watch Inn is only a couple of blocks from here, according to the guidebook.”
    The walk to the quaint Victorian inn turned out to be a little farther than Verity estimated, but Jonas kept his grumbling to a minimum. Verity refused to give him the satisfaction of complaining, but she was vastly relieved when they reached their destination. She was feeling a little guilty about having stuffed the duffel bag with her things.
    It was cold, and there was a damp wind blowing. Verity decided that the island town probably looked bright and colorful during the warm summer months, but in the dead of winter everything appeared uniformly gray.
    “You know, Jonas, you may have been right when you said this trip to the Northwest wasn’t going to be quite the same as a jaunt to Hawaii.”
    “One of these days you’ll start listening to me, little tyrant.”
    “I always listen to you.” She batted her lashes outrageously.
    Jonas chuckled. “Like hell.”
    “I just don’t always pay attention. But that makes us even.”
    The Harbor Watch Inn was warm and cozy. It was run by a middle-aged couple who welcomed their new guests with a smile and a drop of sherry. Verity turned down the sherry, and Jonas drank her share as well as his own.
    “Sure you don’t want it?” he asked as he set down the tiny glass.
    “No, thanks.” She’d read somewhere that pregnant women weren’t supposed to drink, and decided she’d verify that snippet of information when she finally went to a doctor.
    They were shown to a room that overlooked the harbor. As soon as the door closed behind the manager’s wife, Verity began eagerly to explore the small bedroom.
    There was, as promised, a four-poster bed. A charming nineteenth-century ceramic pitcher and bowl sat on the old dresser, and sailing memorabilia adorned the walls.
    “It’s all so charming,” Verity said in delight. “So quaint. So terribly cute.”
    “And it’s all made in Taiwan.” Jonas casually touched the pitcher on the dresser. “So much for that bit about the rooms being furnished with antiques. I wonder what other surprises are in store for us. Maybe they’ll accidentally run out of scones at breakfast.”
    “Details. Don’t be so negative.” Verity unzipped the duffel bag and shook out her green silk dress. She carried it to the closet and was about to hang the garment inside when she glanced around and realized something was missing. “Jonas, there’s no bathroom!” she exclaimed.
    “Sure there is. Just down the hall.”
    “Down the hall!” Verity was horrified. “For the price we’re paying?”
    “The price of unbearable cuteness and quaintness, I’m afraid.”
    “Oh, damn. I should have realized. But that stupid guidebook didn’t warn me.”
    “So what’s the big deal? A little minor inconvenience, that’s all.”
    “That’s not all. I hate places where the bathroom is down the hall,” Verity insisted stubbornly.
    “Why?” Jonas was genuinely surprised by her vehemence. Verity bit her lip, aware that she was overreacting. She didn’t want to spoil the evening. Turning back to the closet to finish hanging her clothes, she tried to explain. “It goes back to my childhood, I suppose. When I was growing up, Dad and lived in places like this a lot. Tahiti, Mexico, the Caribbean, you name it. They’ve all got places like this where the bathroom is down the hall.”
    “This is hardly in the same category as a flophouse on some backwater island,” Jonas said reasonably.
    “I know, I know. Those places were all cheap, dirty, and in a bad part of town. But I guess for me the bathroom‑down-the-hall bit became symbolic of all those crummy joints. Dad never seemed to mind, but then, he wasn’t the one who volunteered to clean the damn bathroom in exchange for a few bucks off the rent.”
    Jonas studied her face, fascinated.