Come Fly With Me (53 page)

Alex
turned
to
Allison,
"Sounds
like
she
wants
to
put
me
in
some
janitor's
closet."

"It
didn't
sound
like
that
to
me."

Their
stopped
talking
as
the
aroma
of
garlicky
beef
stew
and
homemade
crusty
bread
filled
the
air.
Becca
backed
through
the
kitchen-swinging
door,
her
arms
laden
with
a
large
tureen
of
stew.
They
dashed
over
to
help
her,
and
then
they
sat
down
to
eat.

"What
made
you
decide
to
turn
your
home
into
a
B&B—if
that's
not
too
forward
of
me
to
ask,"
Allison
wanted
to
know.
"And
by
the
way,
you're
an
amazing
cook."

"Thank
you,"
she
beamed.
"Well,
my
husband
died
a
couple
of
years
ago,
and
I
found
myself
wandering
through
this
big,
old
house
by
myself.
My
son,
Thomas,
is
a

plumber
and
he
thought
it
would
be
a
great
idea—in
truth,
he
really
pushed
me
into
it.
There
aren't
any
inns
here,
and
he
thought
it
would
speak
to
my
nurturing
needs
if
I
opened
one.
I
raised
six
children
in
this
house,
and
my
parents
spent
their
final
years
with
us,
too.
He
got
a
crew
together—some
work
buddies
owed
him
a
favor,
and
they
pretty
much
pulled
it
together
for
me.
But
I'm
still
getting
used
to
the
idea
of
opening
up
my
home
to
strangers."

She
took
a
piece
of
the
bread
and
pointed
it
as
she
spoke,
"But,
I
have
to
say,
if
you
two
are
any
indication
of
who
I
can
expect
to
appear
on
my
doorstep,
I'd
be
delighted.
Enough
about
me,
let's
go
upstairs
and
get
you
settled
in—hopefully
the
roads
will
be
cleared
tomorrow
and
you
can
continue
on
toward
your
Mom's
house."

They
clomped
up
the
wide,
gleaming
wood
staircase.
Allison
was
thrilled
she'd
had
the
foresight
to
keep
an
extra
pair
of
boots
at
her
office,
too
bad
she
hadn't
thought
to
bring
her
change
of
clothing.
Being
stranded
in
a
snowstorm
with
Alex
had
been
the
furthest
thing
from
her
mind
when
they
left
the
city
a
few
hours
ago.

"This
is
your
room,
Allison,"
Becca
opened
the
door
to
a
chintz-filled
room
with
a
king-sized
bed
flanked
with
scrolled,
wrought-iron
head
and
footboards.
There
were
at
least
twenty
decorative
pillows
in
a
mound
in
the
middle
of
the
bed.
There
was
a
reading
area
in
front
of
the
fireplace
set
with
a
pair
old-fashioned
looking
wingback
chairs
and
a
small,
round
table
laden
with
magazines.

"There's
a
bathroom
over
there,"
she
gestured
at
the
gleaming,
white
subway-tiled
room
with
its
claw-foot
tub.
"The
shower
is
the
only
modern
amenity–my
son
told
me
that
quaint
only
goes
so
far."

"It's
all
so
beautiful.
You
did
an
amazing
job
with
the
decorating;
it
looks
like
it
was
fun
for
you."

"Thanks,
I
did
have
fun.
My
girlfriends
all
joined
in
to
help.
Every
room
has
a
different
color
scheme."
Becca
smiled
at
Alex,
"Now
it's
your
turn.
See
you
in
the
morning,
Allison."

Alex
followed
her
dutifully
and
turned
his
head
back
toward
Allison
with
a
pleading
expression
on
his
face.

"Good
night,
Alex,"
she
smirked
as
she
closed
the
door.
She
went
over
to
the
large
windows
and
looked
out
into
the
night.
The
snow
was
swirling
wildly.
There
was
no
sound
at
all—the
heavy
flakes
muffled
all
other
hint
of
activity.
It
was
as
if
nature
and
man
bowed
to
the
supremacy
of
the
snow,
embracing
its
beauty
and
respecting
its
power.
Allison
remembered
when
she'd
loved
the
threat
of
a
snowstorm
that
brought
with
it
the
anticipation
of
cancelled
school.
At
this
moment,
although
it
was
serenely
beautiful,
the
snow
brought
with
it
a
certain
frustration.
She
walked
into
the
bathroom
and
admired
the
love
and
care
Becca
had
put
into
the
room.
All
the
makings
were
here
for
a
successful
business,
and
she
seemed
like
a
fine,
strong
woman.
She
reminded
her
of
her
mother.
Allison
heard
a
knock
at
the
door
and
went
to
open
it.

Alex
breezed
in,
"There's
no
heat
in
my
closet.
I'll
just
have
to
bunk
here."