Which was exactly the same question Harry Slater was asking himself as he stared through the trees from his old bedroom window toward the shining lights of the Lamont’s Victorian B&B.
He should be over there. If not picking up a bit of fun for the night, then at least catching up on some drinking with his old pals.
The big Douglas firs and a small copse of alder that rose between the properties were outlined by a thousand pinpricks of light from Jessica’s party. It was a familiar sight. Gina Lamont, Jessica’s aunt, was known for turning everything into an occasion. Sure, the bed and breakfast served up a fine and generous breakfast—he and Greg had slipped through the trees to avail themselves of leftovers any number of times. But guests were often in during the evenings as well. Rum cake
