Page 94 of Better When Shared
Tristan whirled around, his carefully maintained composure finally shattering. "Enough!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. "Just bloody enough!"
I froze, caught off guard by the sudden explosion. His green eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and desire, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"You think I don't know what you're doing?" he demanded, chest heaving. "All these little touches, these comments about beds and privacy and—" He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, destroying hours of careful grooming in one frustrated gesture. "Stop treating me like some sort of project."
Juniper took a step toward him. "Tristan, we're not—"
"Don't," he cut her off, holding up one hand like a shield. "You've been playing this game since the moment we met. Both of you. The thermal pool, last night in the kitchen—do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I can't see what's happening here?"
"It's not a game." I kept my voice low and calm, keeping my distance despite every instinct screaming to move closer. To hug him and make him understand how much we were coming to care. "We want you. We've been honest about that. And we've been trying to step back, at your request."
"Why bother with the inn, then? Why drag me back in? Is it some sort of ploy?"
I stepped forward, keeping my voice even. "What ploy? There's nothing but honesty in what we feel for you."
"Feel for me?" His voice cracked on the words. "You don't even know me. You've created some fantasy version of the repressed businessman you want to corrupt. Well, I'm not your project, and I'm not your plaything."
Before either of us could respond, he stalked past us, shoulder brushing mine with enough force to make me step back. The contact seemed to burn through his thin veneer of control.
"I'm going to check the roads," he said, not looking back as he reached the doorway. "When I return, I expect we'll discuss the business proposal like actual professionals, or not at all."
His footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs, each one punctuating his retreat like gunfire. Moments later, the front door slammed with enough force to rattle the old windows in their frames.
Juniper and I stood in stunned silence, the beautiful morning shattered by his outburst. She reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Well, that went well," I muttered. To my surprise, she burst out laughing. "He loved our proposal so much he wanted to fuck us all over again, and it drove him absolutely crazy. That's my explanation and I'm sticking to it."
Chapter 12
Tristan
I slammed the front door and stalked across the courtyard, trying to shake off the intensity I’d felt inside as I dug around in my Range Rover for what I needed.
Mrs. Donnelly appeared from the direction of the groundskeeper's cottage like she'd been waiting for me. Her weathered face creased with concern, and I quickly shouldered the bag and closed the rear door, turning to face her. She wore the kind of practical clothing that spoke of decades spent managing rural properties—Wellington boots, canvas jacket, graying hair pulled back in a sensible bun.
"Mr. Bancroft," she called, raising one hand in greeting. "Terrible about the storm, sir. Hope you and your guests managed well enough in the old place?"
I forced my face into something approaching professional courtesy, though every muscle in my body felt coiled tightenough to snap. "We were quite comfortable, thank you. I was just checking the bridge situation."
Her expression turned regretful. "Aye, that's what I came to tell you. The county council thinks it'll be another day before the water recedes enough for safe passage. The upstream flooding's worse than they initially thought."
Another night. Another full night trapped in this place with two people who made me question every carefully constructed boundary I'd ever built. The knowledge should have filled me with dread, but relief washing over me like warm water. I was happy to be stuck here with them.
"I see. Well, we'll make do."
Mrs. Donnelly nodded, already turning back toward her cottage and picking up another of her baskets and handing it to me. "We had plenty of leftovers in the fridge. We made plenty of stew, so you might as well take some. And there are more eggs, milk, and butter in the basket if you need them, plus salad, carrots, and some fresh strawberries from Mr. Logan’s garden. Ring if there's anything else you need."
She bustled off, and I watched her retreating figure until she disappeared behind a cluster of ancient oak trees, then stood alone in the courtyard listening to the sound of my breathing. The inn loomed before me, windows reflecting sky and clouds like they were trying to show me possibilities I was too afraid to consider.
The front door felt heavy, the hinges groaning in a way that sounded almost judgmental. The entryway was empty, but I could hear voices drifting from somewhere upstairs. Juniper and Marco's quiet conversation carried on without me. They were probably discussing what a complete disaster I'd just made of everything.
I needed space. Distance. Somewhere I could think without their energy filling every corner of my consciousness like smoke.
The small study off the main corridor had always been my refuge during childhood visits to this place. Dark oak paneling, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with volumes no one had touched in decades, a massive desk that had probably been here since the inn's construction. More importantly, it contained the old secretary desk where I'd hidden my supplies during previous visits.
My hands were shaking slightly as I opened the bag I’d grabbed from my Range Rover, revealing skeins of yarn in colors that had haunted my dreams for months. Cream silk that felt like skin under my fingers. Deep burgundy wool that reminded me of wine and firelight. And underneath, almost hidden beneath the other materials, a skein of yarn the exact shade of Juniper's brown skin—rich and warm and impossibly soft.
I lifted the yarn with reverent fingers, feeling the weight and texture of an expensive cashmere blend that had cost more than most people spent on clothing. For this project, I wanted to use the best yarn I had.
