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It was a risky move, to ask about the very thing that seemed to stand in their way of going from awkward strangers to comfortable colleagues.
Luke, however, was a risk-taker, by nature. Well, not really. But ever since Greta Houston took a step into his life, he felt like there was danger lurking around every corner. She was like a siren, and he had no interest in getting caught up in some unrequited crush with a big-city transplant. Even if she was originally a small-town girl, she still put on the act. Like she was there to work, and that was it. No more fish fries. Just teach and make subtle hints about a life she left behind. Luke looked to the future. He had a football program to run. P.E. students to blow a whistle at. No time for games.
Not only that, but now he was fielding phone calls about the Inn. Wasn’t Liesel supposed to be on-call?
“Not yet, but I’m hopeful. Plus, it’s not like I’m homeless.” She laughed nervously, and Luke wanted to kick himself all over again.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply...”
“No, no. It was just a joke.” Her laughter fell away, and she glanced down at her phone.
Luke swallowed, his jaw tensing. Maybe she was texting with her boyfriend. Or husband, even. He wasn’t totally certain there wasn’t someone in the picture. After all, he couldn’t count on any information that his aunt pieced together from her grapevine.
Once she set her phone back down, he got a text of his own to busy himself with. Usually, he’d have the darn thing stuffed away in his pocket. Luke wasn’t the type to mindlessly scroll through silly videos or whatever, but it was pretty convenient that he was getting calls and texts about the Inn at the time that he needed to look a little less... available.
“Sorry. I need to answer this.” He gestured down, and Greta smiled and nodded her permission, as though they were on a date or something. In his dreams.
As he read the message, pressure dissipated in Luke’s head. Everything the inquiring woman wrote aligned with his search for a good tenant. He just needed to let her know of the terms of the lease. It had been a dealbreaker so far in wooing a prospective tenant-slash-manager—or innkeeper, as Liesel preferred to say.
He carefully considered his response. In the woman’s message, she indicated the price was right but wanted to know more about the terms. Also, the address. This alarmed him. How did she see their sign if she didn’t know where the house was?
Closing his eyes, he blew out a sigh. Probably a scam. He hated to call out an innocent person, but Luke wasn’t going to pretend that her questions didn’t add up. Sorry, but don’t you know where it is? You saw the sign, right? He winced and wondered if he was being awkward or harsh, but one thing he knew was that if something smelled funny, then it probably was.
He hit send and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Everything okay?” Greta asked.
He peeked out at her from the corner of his eye then offered a tight, thin-lipped smile. “Yeah, just dealing with the bed-and-breakfast. It’s my second full-time job.” It felt like a relief, confessing to her. Plus, she already knew about it, so maybe she’d understand. “We’re having a hard time finding a night manager, as you can probably guess by now.” As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he was reminded why Greta posed a danger to him. Or, actually, why Luke posed a danger to himself when he was talking to Greta.
It was the wrong thing to say, and he could see it in her eyes. Maybe she felt slighted. Maybe she thought he was passively aggressively reminding her about Fry-day and how she blew him off when he and his aunt spelled out an opportunity for her to move from Maggie’s barn into her own place.
“Sure, sure,” she replied, then took a sip from her water bottle as her eyes slid past him and around the room. “I was almost a landlord back in Indianapolis,” she began, her voice low. Their eyes locked, and he knew the almost family story was there, somewhere. He could see she wanted to share it, but feedback screeched across the cafeteria. Greta and others threw their hands to their ears.
Mrs. Cook stood at the podium and held the microphone out away from herself, dragging everyone off their extended break with an apology. “Sorry! Technical difficulties,” she joked as the projector in the back finally buzzed to life, and a PowerPoint illuminated the drop-down screen. “Next, I’d like to go over some of the data and survey results I mentioned earlier. Barb will bring around paper and markers.” She then went on to explain that they weren’t only going to look at data. They were going to dig into it!
A quiet moan rippled across the cafeteria, but Mrs. Cook, in her position behind the podium, was immune, pushing ahead with enthusiasm for getting to practice what we preach and turn the content into a student-led learning activity!
“I sort of hate this stuff,” he whispered to his table, glancing at Greta to see if he could bring her back around. The others agreed in hushed giggles, and Mark let out a long sigh, launching into a tirade against buzzwords and busy work.
Greta, however, was frowning down at the phone in her lap, her focus elsewhere again.
A chill climbed up his spine. Was she dealing with the family stuff? Did it have to do with her almost rental property? Or her current living situation thing, again? He didn’t dare ask. It was not his business.
Discreetly checking his own phone for a reply from the interested tenant, he started to feel hot. Suffocated, even. He pinched the fabric of his polo and tugged it quickly a few times then put his phone to sleep, determined to set the issue aside and focus on school for the day. Liesel said she’d handle it. So, if the person did need to talk urgently, well, they’d have to wait for him to get out of work or call Liesel again. Maybe he ought to text that exact message, in fact. Especially if there was some confusion over where the house was. The house that this person obviously saw already.
Pushing air through his teeth, he dragged his phone back out to send the follow-up text. The recipient, whose name he didn’t know, had not yet replied. He began to write that she would have to call the other number on the sign. You know, he typed, the sign at the house you looked at?
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Greta, furiously tapping away on her own device. He couldn’t make out her message or the contact she was writing to, but something felt, well, funny.
That’s when it clicked.
His chest tightened. He swallowed and looked again at Greta. A thrill zipped through him.
He hesitated only momentarily before picking his phone back up and deleting his draft. He started again, as she sat next to him, clearly struggling with what he had written.
Can we talk in person?
Glancing up to ensure the others were sufficiently absorbed in Mark’s tale about the glory days of teaching when you got a roster and a blackboard and lecture for an hour straight, Luke bit down on his lip and hit send. Adjacent to him, Susan dragged a marker across the paper, dutifully following Mrs. Cook’s directions on how to shape their graphic organizer and begin analyzing the data. Next to him, Greta paused in her frantic texting and tucked her phone between her legs then looked up, her features softer, now.
“What do you think, Miss Houston?” Luke asked, amusement glinting in his eyes. Her face reddened, and he felt a little guilty. Still, he couldn’t resist. “The data Mrs. Cook is projecting. About phones in the classroom. Should we limit our technology in our lessons or expand on it?”
Mark’s voice faded away. The others waited, Susan with her marker ready to document whatever brilliant thing the new teacher had to share.
Greta pushed her hair out of her face and smiled at him. “Technology is important,” she started, the others rapt. “Especially in a rural community. We should provide opportunities for it. Not shy away.”
“But don’t you think...” Luke went on, propping his elbows on the table, his own secret acting as ammunition. Suddenly, the beautiful new hire was no longer bringing him to his knees. Suddenly, he had the upper hand. And though Luke knew that teasing her like this could totally backfire, he figured he had nothing to lose.
After all, the person texting him wasn’t really interested in renting his mamaw’s house.
The person texting him didn’t know it was Mamaw’s house at all. She didn’t know that she stumbled across The Hickory Grove Inn, and that it wasn’t just a house for rent. It was the Innkeeper’s House.
“Don’t I think what?” Greta replied, a little edge to her voice that time.
The person texting him didn’t know she was texting him at all.
Luke met her gaze, pausing only briefly. “Don’t you think we should put the phones away and talk in person?”