A rumble from the utility room unnerved her until she found he’d stripped the bed, started the sheets in the washer, and put on fresh ones. A pot of coffee waited in the kitchen. Thanks, he’d scrawled on the notepad by the phone. She tore the page off and crumpled it into the trash; no time now for any worrying about Dylan Hudson or who might’ve been waiting for him at the motel or anywhere else. That was his business, she instructed herself. Hers was figuring out how Spud’s nose stud got into a drunk driver’s crashed car … If it really was his, a question she considered answered an hour later when she arrived at her little storefront office on Main Street to find him already there. No nose stud. Without the bit of jewelry, the hole in the crevice of his right nostril was a tiny dimple, unnoticeable if you didn’t already know about it. “Spud,” she began.
What do You think about Winter At The Door (2015)?
