Page 22 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

Case’s expression lost some of its amusement. “Yeah. She is.”

We watched Georgia talk to the owner near the host stand.

Case lowered his voice. “Losing her old job hit harder than she lets people see. She didn’t love the new ownership situation, but she loved the work.”

I kept my attention on Georgia. “She’s not asking anybody to feel sorry for her.”

“No, which is why I’m not doing that. Neither should you.”

“I’m not.”

Case nodded once, and that was it.

He didn’t interrogate me about the job, the loft, or why I had driven into town with Georgia. He picked up a tray and returned to the bar.

I understood why she trusted him.

A few minutes later Georgia came toward me, pulling her coat over one arm.

“We can go. They’re stable enough that Case only has normal restaurant problems now.”

After watching her spend hours fixing problems I hadn’t known existed, I had to ask. “What qualifies as normal?”

“Someone will call out tomorrow, a delivery will be wrong, and at least one drunk person will decide a costume creates diplomatic immunity.”

“That sounds manageable by your standards.”

She smiled, and we were almost at the door when Case hurried after us with Georgia’s phone in his hand.

“You left this on the corner table.”

She accepted it. “Thanks.”

The screen lit as it changed hands, and a message notification appeared. Georgia stopped moving. I saw Meredith’s name before she opened it, and all the color and humor in her face drew inward as she read. She read the message a second time.

“What does it say?” I asked.

Georgia looked up at me, then held out the phone. The reply was short.

MEREDITH: Georgia, I remember you. I remember Gavin too. I can talk tonight after six. Please call me when you’re somewhere private.

Chapter 3

Georgia

Meredith’s message stayed on my screen while the Lantern House shifted around me toward dinner service.

Someone behind the bar dropped a scoop into an ice bin. The kitchen door swung open and released a burst of heat carrying roasted onions and cider spices, followed by a server balancing three glasses between her fingers. An hour ago, I would have noticed that the host stand was still missing tomorrow’s reservation sheet and that somebody had stacked clean menus where the bussers needed to pass.

Now all I could see was Meredith Stokes’s name.

I remember Gavin too.

Rex stood beside me, close enough that the sleeve of his jacket brushed my arm when someone squeezed past us toward the front door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” I read the message once more even though I already knew every word. “I spent seven years wondering whether anybody knew something they hadn’t told us. Apparently the answer might be yes.”