After a full day with Taryn, all Evie wanted to do was head up to her apartment and soak in the big claw-foot tub, the one she had always suspected was original to the building when it had been a brothel. Downtown Hope’s Crossing was hopping, for a Thursday night. As she drove down Main Street, she could see crowds in the few stores that stayed open later and a line of tourists waiting outside Sugar Rush, probably for some of the sweetshop’s ice cream flavors or famous blackberry fudge. Why did people on vacation always glom onto fudge and pulled taffy? she wondered idly. They didn’t touch the stuff three-hundred-sixty-four days out of the year, but suddenly on vacation people couldn’t seem to get enough. Go figure. Though Hope’s Crossing catered mostly to winter recreationists with its immaculate slopes and après skiing, the town had been making a push the last few years to draw visitors for the summer months to enjoy mountain biking, fishing, hiking and ATV riding.
