I look at Emma. “Can I ask you to stay for the rest of the day? At least until the roads are clear?”
“But the restaurant—”
“Is closed. Beau called while you were in the bathroom—no doubt your phone’s lighting up now too. We’ll be offering in-room service only at the main house, at least until tomorrow. Then we’ll see how the weather looks. I’ll make you breakfast. And I’ll make you come. And then lunch maybe?”
Her laughter is a low, husky sound. Not a belly laugh, but the kind of laughter you have over drinks with friends or over an inside joke with family told for the five millionth time.
I want to make her laugh this way every morning.
“Lunch may be tough because I have to go over some inventory today—yes, I’ll be using my laptop, so I won’t need to go into the office.” She hesitates.
I reach for her hand. “Stay. Please.”
She bites her lips, and meets my eyes for a beat, then another. “Okay.”
I set down my coffee and reach between her legs.
“I thought breakfast came first,” she breathes.
Aw, yeah, she’s wet. “You always come first, Em.”
And I make good on that promise right there in the kitchen. Only this time when she’s finished, Emma rewards me with a smile.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emma
My overnight bag draped over my shoulder, I draw up short when I see the navy-blue BMW SUV parked in front of my cottage.
I catch a familiar pair of brown eyes in the rearview mirror. The driver’s side door opens and my sister emerges, dressed in impeccable athleisure: black sneakers, black leggings, black cashmere poncho.
Really, everything about her is impeccable. Her neatly styled short blond hair. The large diamonds winking in her earlobes. The enormous Louis Vuitton tote she hauls out of the passenger seat.
I glance down at my rumpled jeans and snow boots. My unzipped bag overflows with dirty, wet clothes. This morning I brushed my teeth with my finger (I forgot to pack my toothbrush) and washed cum out of my hair.
Deep down, I don’t regret any of that. But seeing how beautifully put together my sister is—how expensively neat and organized—yeah, makes me feel less than great about the hot mess express I am at the moment.
“Lindsey!” I say, trying valiantly to keep the burn creeping up my face at bay while tucking my hair behind my ears. Her timing, like her clothes, has always been impeccable. “What are you doing here?”
She flashes me a smile before pulling me into a quick, tight hug. “I wanted to surprise you with a little weekend visit! You said you were off work because of the snow, so I figured I’d take a ride up to Blue Mountain. See how things were going at this dream job you keep talking about. How gorgeous is it up here? And this cottage? So cute. How long are they letting you use it?”
My antenna goes up. Lindsey’s always on, but there’s something almost…frantic about her energy today.
“Hey. Hi. Were the roads okay?”
Lindsey nods at her car. “That thing’s amazing in the snow. It’s the tires. They’re ridiculously expensive, but damn, do they work.”
I feel a flicker of envy. Followed in short order by shame, because it’s not the good, constructive envy I’ve felt about Lindsey before. “Is it new? The car?”
“Yeah. I got it as a little promotion gift to myself. Sweet, right?”
“It’s beautiful. You weren’t waiting long, were you? You should’ve called.”
“Got here twenty minutes ago. Took less time getting up here than I thought.”
A beat of uncomfortable silence blooms between us. My face is on fire now. I tilt my head toward the cabin. “Come on in. I, um, wasn’t expecting visitors, so it may be a little messy—”
“No worries.” Lindsey’s eyes flick to my bag. “I hope I’m not coming at a bad time?”
I’m tired as shit, and I was really looking forward to some time alone to think about what I should do about Samuel. Because thinking about him fills me with this warm, homey, achy feeling.
But I somehow manage a smile. Lindsey and I are always so crazy busy we rarely get to hang out, especially just the two of us, and I have a feeling something’s up with her. As great as my sister can be, she wouldn’t just “surprise me” with an unplanned visit. Is she pregnant? Did she and Palmer buy a beach house or something?
“Lindsey, please.” I move toward my front door, and she follows. “There’s never a bad time for you to visit. I’m glad you’re here. How about I order some food from the main house? We can eat and catch up.”
“Cool if I stay the night?”
I unlock the door and hold it open. “Sure. What’s Palmer up to this weekend, other than missing you?”
“He’s working.” She sets her bag on the kitchen island, then looks around with her hands on her hips. “Wow, Em. This is beautiful. No wonder you love it up here so much.”
“Thanks. It’s…yeah, insanely gorgeous. Going back to an apartment after living here is gonna suck.”
Unless I go live with Samuel instead.
Twenty-four hours ago, the idea would’ve been ridiculous. A month ago, it would’ve been laughable.
But now, I’m really considering Samuel’s proposition. Things have moved quickly with Samuel in a way they never have with anyone else. Is that a sign our connection really is special? Or is it just lust leading us headlong into disaster?
“What have you been drinking these days?” My sister is combing through the bottles on my counter. “Anything special I should try?”
I blink. “Now?”
Bottle of sauvignon blanc in her hands, Lindsey shrugs. “Why not? It’s Saturday. Plus, it’s a snow day. What else are we going to do?”
“Linds, it’s not even ten o’clock. In the morning.”
Smiling, she starts opening cabinets, clearly in search of wineglasses. “Exactly. When was the last time you just said fuck it and did what you wanted? C’mon, have a glass with me. I can’t believe I’m having to beg a sommelier to drink.”
I open the cabinet above the coffee maker and pull out two white wineglasses. Someone—I have a good guess who—stocked the kitchen with several kinds of wineglasses. Big balloons for meaty reds. Slim flutes for sparkling. Dainty glasses for white wine like this one.
“Here, you open it. Corkscrew’s right there beside the stove. I’m gonna go change real quick.”
My mind races while I slip into leggings and a sweatshirt. Mine, not Samuel’s, although he gave me his to take home because I “look really fucking good” in it.
My heart flutters. Full-on flutters, like I’m a middle schooler with a crush.
But beside that flutter lies a sharp edge. One my excitement keeps catching on.
What about my job? My reputation?
My future?
A part of me thinks Samuel and I could make it all work. We’re dedicated enough. Passionate enough too.
We’re also well seasoned. We know what it’s like to live alone, and we know what we’d be giving up to live together. To think about everything we’d gain, though…