Page 11 of Triple Tidings
August chuckles quietly, and my heart leaps as he takes another step toward the desk. “I have to say, I’ve done quite a bit of traveling, and an on-site therapist isn’t an amenity I’ve seen before.”
“I like to think of myself as more of a bed and breakfast Cupid. Just this year, I’ve coordinated three engagements and two weddings.”
My smile slips as I see the doctor’s eyes drop to my left hand, which is resting atop the desk, and is definitely lacking a ring.
“Not your own, I hope?” August muses.
Heat seems to spread through my chest, and I blink, trying and failing to keep my wits about me. “Oh! No. I’m still single. Super single.”
Still standing at the edge of the reception area, August nods slowly, taking this in. “Good.” He hesitates, staring at me, his gaze calculating. “You know, I might point out that you also fit the criteria for a fate-based encounter. Considering this is also your hometown, and we have... history.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten wet for the word “history” before.
My cheeks are burning as I scramble for some semblance of composure. He took me off guard by bringing it up, and not a single flirty, cute response to this is coming to mind. I’m too busy remembering the way Doctor August Vogel bent me over his bed and the low noises of pleasure he made as he fucked me with every inch of hisgenerouslysized cock.
“Me?” I ask with a breathy laugh, fighting the impulse to fan myself.
August’s head tilts a little to the side as he studies me. “Is it so surprising? That night was…”
“A while ago,” I supply, because it kind of needs to be said. If he wanted to get in touch, he knew exactly where to find me, and toe-curlingly good or not, I don’t want to become this man’s designatedsure thingfor when he’s in town.
His smile slips. “I’m not here because I expect anything, Lacey. Truly. My being here is an attempt to prioritize my personal life instead of work. Things got out of hand for a while.”
He’s thought about this a lot.
Considering I was the one who gave him his checkout time, I definitely didn’t have any expectations from my first encounter with August. Now, it’s clear I’m dealing with a man it would be all too easy to catch feelings for.
“I’m glad,” I tell him, pressing my thighs together behind the desk. “Life is short. We should do what makes us happy.”
August hums softly in agreement, still looking at me, his gaze far too intense for a man who doesn’t want to sleep with me. “I’ve thought about our night together. Quite a bit, actually.”
At this, my dumb, slutty brain produces an image of him doing thisthinkingwith a hand around his cock.
I swallow, glancing around the lobby, half expecting to find my grandmother standing in the corner, scowling at me. She isn’t, of course. We’re all alone, a fact my vagina seems to be very aware of, because I can’t remember the last time I was wet enough to soak through my panties.
Oh, who am I kidding? I remember exactly whenthe last timewas; this past summer, when Wells held my legs open with each of his enormous hands, and put his mouth—Okay, I need to go outside and sit in the snow to get myself calmed down.
“I honestly shouldn’t have done that,” I tell August with difficulty, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “You’re a guest. It was inappropriate.”
The doctor’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Life is short,” he reminds me. “We should do what makes us happy, right?”
Before I can formulate a response to this, which isn’t blushing or spluttering, he chuckles, taking a step back toward the door. “You know, I think I will go have a word with Wells.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s… yes. Good.” I’m too flustered to speak in complete sentences, apparently.
With one last smile in my direction, I watch as Doctor August Vogel leaves The Chestnut, trying to talk down the swarm of butterflies that have recently taken flight in my belly.
The quiet noise of the door closing is followed, almost immediately, by the repeated thud of my head against the wall.
Five
August
The Stack looks the same as it did when I was a regular customer.
It’s just one of the many brick-fronted shops that line the downtown area of the picturesque New England community where I was raised. A worn, wood sign shaped like an open book is hanging over the door, along with a secondary plaque which reads simply:Books, Coffee, Tea. Someone—presumablynotthe owner—took the time to cover the big, plate glass windows in paper snowflakes for the holiday.
A few of the neighboring stores are open, with last-minute shoppers hustling through the cold to make it inside, shopping bags dangling from their arms. The Stack is dark, but a pickup truck is parked on the street right outside, and I feel a prickle of awareness as I pause beside it, looking through the windshield at a sparse assortment of objects left out on the passenger seat.
