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“People fall in love here,” he mutters.
“Some towns have corn mazes or the world’s largest fork. We have love and romance.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Aphrodisiacs in the water supply.”
“Really?”
“No, that’s just a joke,” I say, and he smiles. “Some believe it’s magic. Some just call it superstition. Statistically, though… yeah. It tends to happen a lot.”
“What do you call it?” he asks.
“I call it a really good marketing campaign on behalf of the Kiss County Chamber of Commerce.”
“Gotta respect the hustle.” He scans the square through the windows. “I guess that explains the yogis.”
I follow his gaze outside, scoffing at the yoga studio across the street that just so happened to have their practice outside today. A dozen women in tights line the grass by the gazebo, bent over in downward facing dog with one eye on Bruno’s Diner.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
“Interesting.”
“All the single ladies in town are hoping you’ll make eye contact and fall desperately in love with them.”
“Why would they want that? They don’t even know me.”
“Do you own a mirror?” I joke. He chuckles. “Handsome guy with your jawline and no ring, just walking around? You’re lucky to still be alive.”
“Am I in danger?” he asks, amused.
“Stick to brightly lit areas and you should be okay.”
“Noted,” he says, looking me over. “You don’t seem all that excited to see me, though.”
“I got a lot of tables,” I say with a wave.
“Well, thank you, Mika,” he says. “This has been... enlightening.”
“You’re welcome. You sure I can’t get you anything else?”
“Actually...” He sighs, glancing outside. “If you could point me in the direction of a place to stay for the night, I’d really appreciate it.”
My stomach leaps.
“Oh, uh... sure! Let me draw you a map.” I spin back toward the counter and grab one of the many Small Town maps we leave out for tourists. Wiping off the thin layer of dust, I set it down on the table beside him. “Okay, so you are currently here,” I say as I draw a star on the square where the diner is. “From the square, you just go north a few blocks, take a right, and here is...” I mark it with a circle. “Two Hearts Inn.”
“Two Hearts Inn?”
“If you cross train tracks, you’ve gone too far.”
“The inn is next to train tracks?” he asks nervously.
“Totally defunct line,” I say, assuring him. “Hasn’t seen a train since the 90s.”
He nods. “Well, that’s fine, then.”
“It’s a really nice place. One of our most popular vacation spots. They usually book out months in advance.”
