Downtown was clearly a relic of nineteenth-century railroad buildup, with the flat, two-story wood and brick facades she recognized from various Westerns she’d seen. Here the lights and hearts simply exploded, covering every surface she could see. Today was the first day of February. Was all this year-round or temporary? Still, the town officials, or whoever ran all this, could easily make a year-round thing of it for the tourists. It was a little overdone, but that was almost always the case with places that banked on tourist money around a holiday. She’d been to Salem, Massachusetts a week or so before Halloween once, and it was similar there most of October. The whole thing was a smart marketing move by whoever had drummed it up. It was unique and specific, and something she hadn’t seen before. Valentine’s Day was almost two weeks out, but they probably made money on it even now.

The Love Inn was a tacky monstrosity, even from the outside. From the name, she’d expected a kind of late-’60s throwback, with psychedelic tie dye and flower power, but she realized she should have adjusted her expectations once she saw the rest of the town. It was a small, two-story mid-century painted a hideous Pepto-Bismol pink with white, lacy trim, doors, and shutters. It was a nightmare directly from the Barbie Dream House style of architecture.

“Here we are,” the driver said, pulling into the loading area.

“I can’t stay here,” Ryann said, shaking her head.

“What? Why not?”

Ryann shook her head. “I’m not going in there.”

The driver’s eyes turned from her out the front window and back several times, clearly trying to understand her aversion. Finally, he met her eyes.

“I don’t know what to tell ya, except that you’ll have a hell of a time getting another room anywhere this time of year. I mean, there’s probably something in the bigger chains out by the highway, but nothing downtown—not if you don’t have a reservation. Stay out there, and you’ll need a car, and a lot of the car places are all booked up, and—”

She held up a hand, shutting her eyes. The migraine she’d managed to suppress with gallons of coffee the last few days was trying to take over, and she rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Stuart had mentioned something like this, she now remembered. There were only a few places to stay downtown, and with all the wedding activities located here, it wouldn’t make any sense to stay farther away. He’d told her the place she was staying was a charming piece of Americana.

“You’re right,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long trip. How much do I owe you?”