Chapter 8

“Nick!”

I turn to find Angela standing there in her pretty green gown, a white apron tied around her corseted waist so she doesn’t get dirty as she sets up the inn. I’m probably running late and need to be at the stables by quarter to eight, but maybe she’s seen David. Slowing down, I pivot on one foot. “Hey, Angie. You know that guy who works with the glass smith?”

Angela puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “How the hell did you get in here? You about scared the shit out of me! All that clomping around upstairs—I was starting to think there’s something to those ghost stories you guys make up. We’re not even openyet.”

I’m not about to mention I slept up there, given her outburst, so I shrug off her question. “You don’t know the guy? Long hair in a ponytail? Sexy eyes?”

“I’ve seen him,” Angela says, wary. “He still upstairs?”