Page 74 of Better When Shared
I browsed a table of soaps that smelled like an herb garden—rosemary and thyme and something floral I couldn't identify. I couldn't resist pretty things and selected a few to buy.
"The lavender comes from my grandmother's garden," the seller said, as she wrapped our purchases.
We moved through the fair like kids let loose in the world's best toy store, collecting locally made bath salts, hand-knit scarves in colors that captured the English countryside, and a set of ceramic mugs that felt perfect in my hands. Every purchase came with a story, a connection, a glimpse into the lives of the people who made the Bancroft function day after day.
It was Marco who spotted the door in the back corner of the room, partially hidden behind a display of pressed flower art. "What's through there? Is there more?" he asked Gemma, who looked momentarily confused.
"Oh, that's just... storage, I think? We don't usually..." But Marco was already heading toward it.
The door opened onto a smaller room that looked like an extension of the fair, and the moment I stepped inside, my breath caught. Every shelf displayed crochet work that was nothing short of breathtaking—intricate lacework, garments that were both delicate and bold, and pieces that straddled the line between art and clothing.
"Holy shit," Marco whispered, moving toward a stunning piece that looked like armor made of silk. "Look at the construction on this. The tension is perfect, and that stitch pattern..." He lifted it carefully, examining the way the fabric caught the light. "This is incredible work."
I found myself drawn to a top that was all strategic holes and flowing lines that would cling to curves while revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin beneath. The craftsmanship was extraordinary—every stitch deliberate, every opening perfectly calculated for maximum impact.
"These range from naughty to downright slutty," Marco murmured in my ear, and I knew from the tone of his voice that he was getting ideas about dressing me up in our hotel room.
I held the top against my body, feeling the way the yarn wanted to curve and flow. In this piece, I wouldn't just be wearing clothing—I'd be wearing confidence, sensuality, the kind of garment that made you stand differently because you knew how good you looked.
"We'll take this, and this," I announced, gathering up an armload of pieces that made my skin sing just thinking about wearing them. "All of these, actually."
Gemma looked confused as she accepted the wad of cash I'd pulled from my wallet. "I'm not sure who made these. I didn't know there was anything in here! Perhaps they stashed them here before the fair started…"
"Could they be coming later?" Marco speculated.
"I suppose so," she said, producing a bag and wrapping up our purchases. "Oh well, I'm sure I'll find them sooner or later, right?"
Chapter 2
Tristan
I slipped through the lobby crowd, dodging a cluster of guests at reception and a flustered bellhop hauling designer luggage, as I zeroed in on Caleb. My younger brother stood by a marble column between a lovely woman with dark, glossy hair and a tall, handsome man with a big smile. The man’s face was familiar, but I couldn’t place where I knew him from. Maybe we’d met a long time ago.
They were whispering something, but as I approached, Caleb straightened, a guarded expression flickering across his face. He looked better, which was a relief after the way he’d left his job with Bancroft. Whatever he might think, I only wanted to see my brother happy.
I cleared my throat. “You’re late. The meeting was scheduled for three, and your clients were here on time.” Watching his face fall, I immediately wished I’d said something friendlier,and glanced at the couple standing beside him, floundering for something to say. “I see you brought your... companions.”
Caleb’s posture stiffened, and I knew immediately that I’d chosen the wrong word. “These are my partners, Tristan. Julian and Nisha Brooks-Sharma. This is my brother, Tristan Bancroft, CEO of the Bancroft Group and professional killjoy.”
My lips twitched into a half-smile because he wasn’t wrong. I wondered if Caleb’s more relaxed posture had anything to do with finding Julian and Nisha.
Before I could say more, a tall, lean man with wavy dark hair and tan skin, wearing a t-shirt and—were those my crochet shorts? They couldn’t be. How would he have gotten his hands on them? A stunning woman with curly hair and silky brown skin walked beside him, a serene smile on her lips. She was wearing a halter top that also looked familiar and a flowing boho skirt. My pulse spiked, my eyes focusing on the clothing.
It couldn’t be. I knew at once they were Caleb’s clients. I’d seen Gemma greet them in the lobby earlier. But they’d been wearing completely different clothing.
“Why in the bloody fuck,” I muttered under my breath, as my anxiety spiked to intolerable levels, “did you think to bring those hippies to my hotel?”
Caleb stifled a laugh. “Those hippies are my largest clients—Marco and Juniper Torres. They own the Bindery Hotel chain. The one that’s blown up over the past year.”
I knew who they were. I was obsessively thorough with my research. But Caleb didn’t need to know I’d already thoroughly stalked his clients. “The boutique brand that outperformed the Ritz in customer satisfaction last quarter? Those are the owners?”
“The very same.”
Marco’s eyes found us, and he barreled forward, engulfing Caleb in a bear hug. “Caleb! This place is fucking magnificent! All that Georgian symmetry, those Bath stone facades—my God, the preservation work is immaculate!”
Juniper flitted over, planting kisses on both Caleb’s cheeks, then on a startled Julian and delighted Nisha.
“We just got back from a little exploring. Can’t wait to see the property you’ve been raving about.” She shimmied, as if the excitement was too much for her body to contain, and the fringe of her halter whipped against her perfect skin, which was a lovely shade of brown.
