Once Mr. Leith had made himself comfortable, Nell realized there was no hurry in finishing her breakfast. His partner Finn arrived and tucked into avocado toast, and they started a conversation about horse racing, of all things, with the newlyweds. They’d be content for a while. Nell enjoyed every last bite of her mushroom hollandaise omelet and every sip of her grapefruit juice and tea.
After she was done, and Eamonn had cleared every bit of food from his plate too, she suggested they go over and open the office, ready to do the Leith-Halliday checkout and tend to any further business for the day. He agreed.
As they passed the men’s table on their way out, Nell stopped and greeted them with a professional smile. “I’m sorry you’ve decided to head out a day early, but I quite understand why, with all this rain — it’s a bit over the top for June. My co-worker and I are just going over to open up the office. Please take your time with your coffee, and we’ll be ready to do your check-out whenever it’s convenient for you.”
“Thank you, dear. We won’t be long,” said the second man, Finn.
Nell could feel Eamonn’s astonished eyes on her. As soon as they got outside, he turned to her and asked, “Why didn’t you object to him calling you dear?”
Uh, because I didn’t even notice? She’d been thinking of several things at once, planning ahead, doing the courtesy thing with one part of her brain. In the moment, it just hadn’t mattered what a polite and well-mannered stranger called her, because he didn’t mean it with ill intent, and it just wasn’t important. “Because he didn’t say it like I was lesser. He probably calls everyone dear, male or female. Like people saying ma’am in martial arts — lots of women are put off by being called ma’am in regular life, like it makes them feel old or helpless or something, but when we’re in uniform, we just say sir and ma’am to everyone, regardless of age or belt level. Context, right?”
He snickered. “And you’ve never accidentally called someone sir or ma’am when you’re not in uniform? You’ve never said it automatically, respectfully, and had someone think you were patronizing them or calling them old?”
Nell pulled up the hood of her oversized hoodie, jerking it forward so it would hide her face a bit. She busied herself putting up her umbrella, kept her eyes moving between the slick pavement of the driveway and the office they headed toward — anything to avoid looking at Eamonn. Of course I have. She could think of dozens of incidents where the familiar, respectful ma’am had come automatically from her lips, especially when she was under pressure, and been met with sneers, an offended rise of eyebrows or chins, and even the occasional snappy “I’m not a ma’am!” or “Do I look that old to you?” Crap.
“I hate having wet shoes,” she muttered, as she splashed through a particularly deep puddle. Wet shoes, wet socks, and wet pants up to the ankles. Also a blatant change of subject, but whatever. She wasn’t sure if Eamonn had even heard her.
They reached the office building. A sleek silver Lexus RC350 was now parked behind Eamonn’s truck, not leaving room for any more vehicles under the portico. “I’d better move my truck,” he said. “We’re obviously stuck here for a few days and it’s taking up prime space.”
“Site map says there’s staff parking behind this building,” she told him, glad to move on to less a less uncomfortable subject. “I think you need to loop around the restaurant to get there, but at least you don’t have to put it in the guest lot and walk back. I’ll go through inside and see if there’s a back door I can open for you.”
“Thanks.”
Nell got the office keys out of her hoodie pocket and unlocked the front door. Behind her, she heard the truck door open and close. She didn’t look back or wave to him, though she wanted to. That’s silly. He’ll be back here in five minutes. She collapsed her umbrella and stepped inside, sticking it in the umbrella holder by the door. Her feet squelched on the tile floor, wet shoes oozing puddle water. Ugh. After turning on the office lights, she slipped through the “staff only” passageway to the back of the building, where she found a bathroom, a small break room with a microwave and television, and a back door that opened onto the staff parking lot — all four stalls of it. Two were occupied, presumably by cars belonging to Mary and François. Nell guessed that the turquoise Kia Soul with a tiny disco ball hanging from its rearview mirror belonged to Mary, so that made François the driver of the old grey Jeep.
As she stood there, she heard the smooth purr of Eamonn’s big truck’s engine, and he pulled into view through the rain, turning smoothly into one of the remaining spaces. Something about the way he handled the big vehicle made her feel like purring — but then, she’d always been turned on by competence, and he handled his vehicles, both the truck and the bike, with smooth and unfaltering skill.
She waved and held the door open as he ran for it, shoulders hunched and eyes squinted against the rain. “What’d you do with your umbrella?” she asked, and he shrugged.
“I think I left it by the front of the office. It’s not in my truck.”
He came in, dripping, and began to peel off his hoodie. She turned away
