Everyone who works within the New York Warriors organization knows that star player August Fletcher refuses to talk to most people...and especially team reporters. All except Quinn Castle, that is.
Quinn doesn't know why the broody football player...
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MAYBE THE TRAVEL exhaustion was getting to me, but I could have sworn that the gray-haired man behind the hotel counter said I didn't have a room reservation.
I had to have a reservation. This was the only hotel on Evergreen Isle, and the ferry back to mainland South Carolina already left for the evening. The only ferry.
This was the perfect example of why I never left New York City. The big apple may have a lingering unpleasant odor and constant traffic noise, but it was predictable. I knew every apartment I toured would be overpriced and undersized. I knew I'd need to watch for dog shit on street corners during my morning commute. But all of its flaws only made me smile. I knew what to expect, and it was home.
When I did travel, I liked going places I could heavily research. Places that had books on tourism and blogs with trusted opinions.
But one place no one had ever written a blog post about?
Evergreen Isle, of course.
I wouldn't have dared to get on that ferry earlier if my job didn't depend on it.
"Sorry, but we're full up," the man repeated. Mark, according to his name tag.
Mark didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, he reminded me a bit of a tropical Santa Claus who'd decided to go on a diet and was miserable about his cookie restriction, so he decided to bring everyone's mood down with him.
"You're not from around these parts, are you?" he asked when I struggled to find the right response to the whole no room at the inn thing.
I bit down on my tongue to keep a cutting remark in. If I were from around these parts, I probably wouldn't be asking for a room, would I?
"Just in town visiting," I replied before pulling out my trusty folder of travel documents and finding the printout of the confirmation email for my stay. "This is a copy of my reservation details. My room was booked over a month ago. Quinn Castle. With the New York Warriors."
Mark lazily took the paper, scanned it for all of a few seconds, and then tossed it back onto the counter. "This is for our sister hotel on Emerald Isle. It's the next island over."
I snatched the paper up, my eyes darting through the words in the email until...yep, there it was. Emerald Isle.
This would not have happened if August Fletcher lived in the sort of place that people wrote blog posts about.
"Are you visiting someone?" Mark pressed, oblivious to my internal panic.
I nodded absently while tucking my good-for-nothing confirmation email back into my folder.
"Yeah?" he questioned. "Who?"
"Pardon?"
I wasn't sure if he'd meant for it to sound like a challenge, as though I'd lie about my reasons for being on the island, but that was definitely what I heard.
