Page 19 of Triple Tidings
There is an “emergencies only” number which will be left on the front desk, but barring a fire or plumbing disaster, I’m free to retreat to my little house on The Chestnut’s grounds, to enjoy some much-needed space from my guests.
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I’m sure both of them will be too occupied with family stuff to give me a second thought. Then, with the holiday and an eleven o’clock checkout time the day after, I’ll officially be free from whatever weird, horny spell these men have me under.
August will leave, heading back to his fancy doctor life.
Wells will get his furnace fixed and return to The Stack.
In all likelihood, the three of us will never be in the same place at the same time ever again. I refuse to acknowledge the deep pang of sorrow this realization sparks in me, choosing instead to dedicate my energy to gathering up the sparse collection of personal belongings I want to bring home for the night.
I’m just hunting for my purse, noisily opening drawers and cabinets in search of the darn thing, when the phone on my desk rings. My heart, which has been fluttery and easily excitable all day, kicks into overdrive as I hurry over, snatching the handset off the receiver.
“Chestnut Bed and Breakfast, this is Lacey. How can I help you?”
“Hi, pumpkin!”
I might be a little bit of an asshole for being disappointed at the sound of my father’s voice. “Hey, Dad,” I say, sinking into my office chair with a weak smile that nobody can see. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, grand. I won’t tell you about the weather, it would only be cruel.” He chuckles. In the background, I hear the telltale commotion of my nieces and nephews, probably hopped up on sugar cookies and attention from their grandparents. “Your mom and sister send their love; they just stepped out to get the rest of the shopping done. Lucas and Nate are golfing.”
By contrast, I turn to watch a flurry of snowflakes hit the dark window beside my desk. “Sounds like the Florida life is pretty nice.”
“Can’t complain, that’s for sure.” My father chuckles. “I don’t suppose we can convince you to hop on a last-minute flight? None of us likes the idea of you spending Christmas all alone in Connecticut.”
My throat is a little tight as I draw my knees up to my chest, still watching the snow. “We have guests, Dad. I can’t just leave.”
“Yeah, I get it.” He heaves a sigh. “Worth a try. Maybe next year we can all—” His sentence falters. “Hannah, don’t push that?—”
I wince as the unmistakable sound of something breaking comes through the phone, and Dad groans. “Gotta run, we’ve got a lamp fatality over here.”
“Rest in pieces,” I quip, hooking my foot on the corner of my desk to push my chair in a gentle circle. “Talk to you tomorrow, Dad.”
He bids me a hasty goodbye, and I allow my chair to slow until I’m staring at the old metal supply cabinet behind my desk, and the only sound in The Chestnut is the quiet clinking of the radiator and the wind buffeting the side of the building.
My cozy little cottage is all of a three-minute walk from the main building, but that promises to be a very unpleasant journey in this weather, and willing myself to stand takes a bit more effort than it would ordinarily.
I also have to dismiss the impulse to linger a little while longer in the off chance one of my two guests wanders downstairs. Just as I’m resuming my search for the elusive bag, however, a soft knock on the doorframe of my office makes me gasp, whirling around.
August is standing in the doorway, watching as I clutch my chest, heart hammering. “Oh my god,” I gasp, sagging as the shock drains away, “August! You scared me.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” He winces in apology, holding up both hands. “I thought you’d have heard me coming.”
In an attempt to steady myself, I swallow, letting my hands fall back to my sides. “Um, can I help you with something? I was just about to take off for the night.”
August checks on the threshold, looking a little unsure now. “We were wondering if we could borrow you for a few minutes. Just to talk. It won’t take long.”
My stomach lurches. “We?”
“Me and Wells,” he clarifies, gesturing toward the stairs. “He’s upstairs. I can call him down if you’d be more comfortable?—”
“Oh no, that’s fine,” I assure him with a rather shaky smile, wracking my mind for what on earth they could possibly want to discuss with me, and coming up blank.
August steps to the side, allowing me out of my office, and neither of us says a word as he leads the way upstairs to the cozy hall lined with guest room doors, which stretches from one end of The Chestnut to the other.
August’s room, number eight, is ajar, and I’m distinctly hot and unsettled as I follow him inside.
The first thing I notice is Wells, who is sitting in the armchair in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, and staring into the fire. As he notices us, though, he looks around, and his expression grows less pensive. August closes the door quietlybehind me, and I hover beside the entryway as he moves past me to lean against the dresser.
For a moment, none of us speaks, and the only thing in the room that can be heard is the crackling fire.
