Page 10 of Triple Tidings
It was a daydream, though, not something I ever expected to really happen. Even if it did, my overactive imagination wouldn’t have conjured up a scenario where I got that fluttery, excited feeling fortwomen.
Two men who have unexpectedly reappeared in my life at the same time, and seem to have a history of their own, and a whole lot of tension that doesnotstrike me as platonic.
You don’t look at someone that way unless you’ve seen them naked. You just don’t.
No sooner has the door closed behind Wells than August draws closer to the desk, offering me an apologetic grimace. There’s a brown paper bag clutched at his side. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh! It’s fine.” I wave him off, giving him my best casual customer service smile, the one that says: stuff like this happens all the time and you don't have to worry about it, but don’t forget to tip generously.
August is still frowning, though, and my heart flutters as he approaches the desk. “It’s not. I shouldn’t have…” He seems to shake himself, his bright hazel eyes on mine. “We were seeing each other for a while. Years ago, when I was in medical school.”
“Oh,” I say, a little lamely. It’s the best I can manage when blood is rushing to my face and I’m resisting the urge to crouch behind the desk to hide out there until both of them have gone home.
After seeing each of these men naked and having pretty darn incredible sex with both of them, this piece of information is doing things to me.
Confused, horny things that I’m kind of shocking myself with. I mean, who would have guessed the respectable, almost always professional manager of the local B&B would get all hot and bothered at the fantasy of herself in the middle of a hot daddy sandwich?
Some of this must be showing in my expression, too, because August frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Yes! Of course!” I blurt out immediately, and desperate for a change of subject, I gesture to the scones. “Would you like one? They’re my grandmother’s recipe. Fresh out of the oven.”
He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “I’m good, thanks. My brother is in holiday cooking mode. I was fed pancakes, bacon, and hashbrowns, then shamelessly guilted into sampling four different kinds of cookies before he accepted that I couldn’t physically accommodate any more.”
To my surprise, he lifts the paper bag onto the desk and pushes it toward me.
“For you,” he offers gently in response to my unspoken question.
I’m a little dizzy as I pull my gaze from the handsome doctor before me to peek into the bag. Inside are about a dozen homemade cookies, all different varieties and clearly made with skill.
Suddenly, I can barely breathe. No guest has ever given me a gift. Not a single time in the ten years I’ve worked here have I been given anything more than a tip, and I’m so taken off guard that I find myself lost for words as I look back at August. “You brought me some of your brother’s cookies?” I manage to ask, my voice a note higher than usual.
He looks a little embarrassed at the question. “Yes. Feel free to toss them if you don’t want them. Or leave them out for another guest. Whatever you want. There were about a thousand, and he offered me some, so I thought…” He trails off, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, looking over at the fireplace.
“Thank you so much,” I murmur, looking back at them again and reaching in to select one of the gingerbread ones. It’s not warm, but I can tell from the consistency that it was baked recently, and the first bite proves that August’s older brother knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. I’m betting most of the spices are freshly ground.
August merely shrugs, burying his hands in the pockets of his coat as he takes a step back from the desk. “It’s the least I can do. As I’m part of the reason you’re stuck here for the holiday instead of off with your family.”
“Please don’t feel bad about that,” I assure him hurriedly. “This is my home. Sometimes I go see my parents, but I’m usually here.”
Again, way more than I would typically share with a guest, but August has a way of putting me at ease. Is he interested inme? He obviously was once, and, surely, if he was looking to avoid awkwardness with a former one-night stand, he wouldn’t have returned to The Chestnut. Anxiously, I probe my feelings on the matter.
Do I want him to be interested? Yes. Definitely.
Do I want Wells to be interested? Another strong yes.
Oh boy.What a mess.
“Well. Enjoy the cookies,” August tells me after the silence has stretched to awkward lengths, and I’m dangerously close to combusting with the speed my brain is overthinking.
As he turns toward the stairs, though, I find myself calling after him. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
August pauses, looking back at me. “Talk to him?”
“Wells. Mr. Davis, I mean.” I smile sheepishly. “Obviously there’s some history there, and maybe I misread, but it kind of seems like it’s your fault things didn’t end on such a good note.”
“Oh, it’s most definitely my fault.” His smile is wry as he looks at me, thoughtful and appraising. “I didn’t exactly expect to see him here, of all places.”
I lift one shoulder in a kind of half shrug, trying to ignore the way a hook behind my belly button tugs when I meet those hazel eyes, as though my body is trying to drag me right over there. “Maybe it’s fate. You’re back in your hometown and run into an old flame… Crazier things have happened.”
