Page 3 of Triple Tidings
August Vogel chuckles, gazing at me in unguarded amusement. “No. Me.I’mDoctor Vogel.”
Oh my god. Kill me now.
“Oh!” I have to actively resist the urge to drop to the ground and army crawl into the nearest air duct. “I’m so sorry!”
“No apology necessary,” he assures me smoothly, stepping back from the desk. Then, pausing, he stares at me, obviously trying to decide if he should say something else. A long moment passes, during which the only sound in the lobby is the rustling of the fire in the hearth and the wind rattling a window.
The intensity ofDoctorVogel’s gaze makes it difficult for me to swallow, but I manage it, offering him a tentative smile. “It’s a quiet weekend, it will only be you and another guest staying, so I gave my staff the time off. If you need anything at all, I’m your girl.”
Not one item on the list ofguestserviceswhich come to mind is even remotely professional.
Like he’s thinking along the same lines, one corner of August’s mouth lifts in a crooked little smirk. “Have a good night, Lacey. It’s… Very good to see you again.”
I hold my breath as he turns away, dragging his suitcase over to the stairs and carrying it out of sight.
It’s only when the distant sound of a door closing echoes through the empty building that I exhale heavily, clutching the edge of the desk for dear life.
My relief is short-lived.
I’ve barely begun my first mental replay of the interaction withDoctor—because why wouldn’t he be successful on top of gorgeous—Vogel, when the bell on The Chestnut’s front door tinkles for the second time.
While I was talking to August, I was so swept up and nervous that I momentarily forgot the second guest I was expecting tonight.
I sure as heck remember now, though.
“Oh my god.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think to hold them back, as I stare, caught between horror and excitement, at the newcomer.
While they might be about the same age, Wells Davis looks nothing like August Vogel. Where August is clean cut and polished, Wells is rough around the edges, his mostly silver hair a touch too long, and a close-cut beard covering the lower half of his face. He’s dressed in a well-worn knit sweater, blue jeans, and boots, with only a canvas duffel bag hanging from one hand.
We stare at each other.
“I mean.” I shake myself, offering Wells an apologetic sort of smile as he closes the door behind himself, still looking at me. “Hi! Hello! Welcome to The Chestnut.”
Wells steps forward, his dark brown eyes searching my face. “Lacey.”
His voice is a deep, low rumble, and it’s impossible not to draw parallels to the roughened way it sounded when he was inside me. Which he was. Three times in one balmy summer night, about six months ago.
“Hi,” I say again, much weaker now, as Wells moves calmly toward the desk.
Unlike August, whose driver’s license reports him to be a resident of California, I know for a fact that Wells is a local. He owns The Stack, a bookstore downtown that is a favorite of a lotof locals, and I’ve seen him around plenty, but until a wedding he attended at The Chestnut this past July, we’d never spoken.
Which, naturally, leads to me wondering why he’s here at all.
“My furnace went down,” he tells me as he stops before the desk, answering my unspoken question. “Can’t get the part till after the holiday.”
Ah, that makes sense.
Why my heart sinks at this information makes less sense.
“Oh,” I supply dumbly, offering a sympathetic smile as I turn my attention to the computer.
Wells grunts. “Everywhere else was booked.”
Okay, that one definitely stings a little. Fling or not, my mind definitely went places when I saw his name on the reservations list—in between panicked spiraling about dishonoring the family legacy—but now, not only do I know it wasn’t about me at all, but also that my business must look like a failure to him?
Ouch.
“Well, I’m glad we had a room available to keep you warm, Mr. Davis.” My smile is forced as I look up at him. “I’ll just need an ID and a card on file for any incidentals.”
