Yowch.
“That’s hardly fair,” I say, unable to keep from defending myself. “What was I supposed to do? Sleep in the supply closet with Dominic? Dax was nice enough to offer me his spare room.”
Tad spears me with a glare that says he doesn’t believe I slept in the spare room.
“I didn’t sleep next to him the first night I was there,” I argue, then mumble, “Only the next.”
“You can go back to the house. I don’t expect you to stay and work after you’ve been stuck here for three days.” His voice is tired, like he hasn’t had much sleep.
“I’ve had access to a shower, a full kitchen”—and the best sex of my life—“so it’s not like I’m in need of rest. I came to work. Let me work. Anyway, I already told Dax that I would bring by the key to cabin seven the moment it was ready.”
With a heavy sigh that I’ve grown used to hearing from my brother, Tad returns his fingers to the keyboard and his eyes to the screen. “Fine. I have to go back out to the restaurant in case someone comes in. You can have the desk as soon as I finish this email.”
That feels like such a win that I have to resist punching the air. Amazing how his agreeing to let me do my job is like taking first prize. I’m more trustworthy than he gives me credit for, and I intend to prove it to him eventually.
Later that day, I tend to a visitor at the front desk. It seems the flooding put a damper on the stay of at least one set of guests at Grand Lark. The family of four who booked through Wednesday have decided to cancel the remainder of their stay.
Mr. Wachowski returns the key. I take the cancellation, trying in vain to talk him into another cabin. When that doesn’t work, I promise to dispatch Ray to their current cabin posthaste to clear the downed limbs from the driveway so that their stay would be more pleasant. Sadly, that leads to Mr. Wachowski confessing to his shoes that his wife has already booked a new cabin in Pigeon Forge. Being rained in was too much for their kids, so his wife promised them amusement parks. Our little town’s idea of amusement is quaint shopping, so I feel for him trying to entertain a six- and eight-year-old. After minimal arguing, I bend the rules and give him his money back for the remainder of his booked stay, and wish him well.
Tad probably won’t like that either.
When the bell rings over the door for the second time an hour later, I worry I might be greeted by the other couple on the mountain coming in to do the same thing.
My fears are justified.
“Hey, guys,” I greet the freshly married couple. “Did you come in for lunch? The bar and restaurant just opened.”
But no, they didn’t come for lunch. They request to leave early too. Something about how they have to be home for work, but I can tell by the way the missus stands with her arms crossed over her middle and an angry expression on her face that maybe those two didn’t have the most pleasant weekend rained in together. Thankfully they don’t ask for a refund, simply accept the cancellation policy as it’s written and return their cabin key before stomping out the door.
“I guess being trapped in a confined space brings out the worst in people,” I say to Tad after they leave. He’s wiping down the seats ringing the bar and not looking at me. Hmm. Perhaps I’ll tell him about the refund later.
Like, next month.
“I hope Dax doesn’t check out on us next,” I sort of joke. “He’s our last guest standing.”
“Guess that depends on how your time together went,” Tad snidely returns. He lifts his eyebrows and dares me to say more.
I accept that challenge.
“Things went really well. Dax and I have a lot in common. In fact,” I add, without putting too much thought into it, “I wrote him a recipe for his restaurant.”
Tad frowns.
I stand taller. “That’s right. He hired a bunch of expensive chefs to revamp his bar’s menu, but evidently their recipes weren’t to his liking. My chicken quesadilla, on the other hand...”
“Did he pay you for it?” my brother snaps.
“He tried to. I wouldn’t accept.”
“Why the hell not? Are you under the delusion you don’t need any money?”
This right here is exactly the reason I never tell Tad what’s going on.
“It was a gift. I’m not charging him.”
“He’s going to profit off your idea. Use your brains, Bec. If he turns a profit, you should too. What an asshole.”
“You know what?” I practically shout. “Forget it.”
Leave it to my stupid brother to twist something fun and generous into something heavy and scandalous.
“I’ll be in the office if you need me.” I raise my voice as I cross the bar. “Doing my job!”
Chapter 12
MONDAY NIGHT
Becca
Thanks to plenty of sunshine, the puddles in cabin 13’s driveway have dried enough so that I can park in front of the cabin instead of at the top of the hill. It’s a little after eight, nearly dark. There’s a pleasant nip in the air.
I knock on the door, then peer through the window beside it. Dax advances with a confident swagger.
The door swings aside, and instead of the frown he greeted me with when I was dripping on his welcome mat a few nights ago, he’s wearing a grin.
He leans one round shoulder against the doorframe and crosses one foot over the other ankle. The casual lean looks one hundred percent natural on him.
“Hey, Princess.”
Not gonna lie, that melted my undies a li’l bit.
I dangle the keychain we originally swapped out. “The key to your castle.”
He continues leaning but holds out a palm. I drop the key into it.
“It’s ready for you when you are,” I announce over the symphony of frogs and crickets.
“Thanks.”
“Are you going up there tonight?” I shove my hands into my back pockets, almost nervous.
“Plan on it.” He tips his head to the right and I notice his duffel packed and ready to go, along with a cooler I imagine is stocked with the contents of the fridge. “What about you?”
“What about me what?” My heart thuds with anticipation of what he might ask next.
“Where are you going tonight?” His lips quirk into an almost-but-not-quite smile.
Is he going to ask me to join him? Do I want to join him? I can either tell him I’m super busy and have to go back to the office, or make up a chore to do at my brother’s house. Or I can tell him the truth.
Since we don’t make a habit of lying to each other, I decide to tell the truth.
“I was planning on grabbing dinner and then heading back to my own borrowed bed.” At the lift of his eyebrow, I mention something I haven’t mentioned yet. “I live with my brother, so my niece is sharing her bedroom with me.”
He nods. Slowly. What he doesn’t do is ask me out—or in.
Well. It’s stupid not to ask for what I want. I always ask for what I want.
“Unless...” I clear my throat. “Do you want to join me for dinner?”
His eyes go over my head to the road beyond. “Better not. I want to get settled in my new digs. Hit the sack early. I’m going fishing tomorrow.”