Page 87 of Better When Shared
Juniper's blanket shifted as she drew up one knee, exposing the full length of her thigh. "You could change here," she said, eyes innocent. "We're all friends, right?"
Marco snorted. "He's British, and uptight, Juni. He'd rather die of hypothermia."
Juni. I liked that nickname for her.
"Come on, you can pick a room, too," I said.
Without waiting to see if they'd follow me, I climbed the stairs to the guest rooms. The upstairs hallway was as I remembered: creaking with every step, smelling faintly of beeswax and long-dead roses. I headed to my favorite room out of habit. It was alight-filled room at the corner, with a stunning view when the weather wasn't clouding everything. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them peek into the two rooms next to mine and pick one.
I stripped down, toweling myself off with a questionable towel that had still been hanging in the bathroom. The sweatpants fit, barely, and the T-shirt was two sizes too small. It hugged my chest and biceps in a way I was not prepared for. I looked like a midlife crisis trying to pass for a college student.
I sighed and hung my damp clothes above the tub in the ensuite bathroom, hoping they'd dry.
Back downstairs, Juniper and Marco were already dressed in sweats of their own. Juniper looked cozy in her oversized hoodie, while Marco looked about as uncomfortable as me. They were uncorking a bottle of wine they must have found somewhere, pouring it into mismatched coffee mugs.
"Looking good, Tristan," Marco said, raising his mug in salute. I thought he was probably teasing, but his eyes lingered on my body, his expression almost appreciative.
I sat down in the wing chair opposite Juniper, stretching my legs toward the fire. The pants pulled tight over my thighs. Not the most comfortable, but at least I was warm and dry.
Juniper handed me a mug. Her nails brushed my knuckles, sending a small electric jolt up my arm. "To surviving the elements," she said.
"To surviving," I echoed, and drained half the mug in one go.
Somewhere around the third glass of wine, Marco set his mug down and fixed me with a serious look. "Did you spend much time here growing up?"
I nodded. "I spent summers here. My grandfather ran it. He was a terror, but he loved the place. He wasn't too fond of the luxury properties, and left the management of those to my grandmother, who was even more of a terror."
"They didn't live together?"
I chuckled, sipping the wine. "I don't think they liked each other very much, but they stayed married."
"Did you help with running the place?"
"There weren't many guests anymore, but he made me do all kinds of chores. Caleb and Gemma came out too, though not for the entire summer. He'd give us random chores, maybe just to keep us busy. He'd make us walk the fence line after storms to check for damage, even though there weren't any livestock."
Marco's laugh was unguarded, warm. "Sounds like heaven. Why did you stop coming." "He passed away. And there wasn't really a reason to after that." Beneath the grief, there was something sweet about the memory of running wild through these halls, making up ghost stories with Caleb, trying to eavesdrop on guests from behind the dumbwaiter. Something I'd forgotten. My chest ached with it.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." Juniper's face had gone soft, and she reached out and patted my hand. "Thank you for bringing us here."
"Wasn't much of a choice," I said, shrugging. "The Range Rover's not amphibious."
She watched me for a beat. "You could have taken us to a hotel. Or left us in the car."
Marco interjected, "That's not his style. He's a gentleman."
"I'm not," I said, a little too sharply. "You don't know me." They went quiet, sipping their wine. Outside, the storm pounded against the windows, turning the old glass into a mosaic of dark and darker.
"I guess we should prepare the rooms?" Juniper said, standing. "And maybe see what food your caretakers sent us."
They swept out of the sitting room as a unit, her bare feet silent on the old rugs, his stride unhurried and feline. I followed, trying not to look at the way the fabric of the ill-fitting track pants stretched over his ass, or the way hers hung low on her hips, revealing a crescent of tempting skin.
At the top of the stairs, Marco turned to me, his arms loaded with the clean sheets from the bag. "I'll play housekeeper and remake the beds. You two can prepare dinner. And Juni mentioned prepping something for breakfast."
"I'd love your help," Juniper said, her smile wide.
Not sure I wanted to dive into spending more time with them, I hovered for a moment at the doorway to the room I'd claimed, feeling both possessive and exposed, then turned to walk into my room. I heard a curse from the hallway and realized there was no hiding. He was going to appear with sheets any moment.
I set my phone to charge on the side table and padded back toward the stairs. The house was silent, except for the distant thud and bump of Marco wrestling with fitted sheets.
