Page 17 of Beautifully Messy
“You’ve been sittingherethe whole time?”
“This place is too fucking big. I wouldn’t have heard if you needed anything from downstairs. Why do they call it a cabin?”
I smile without meaning to. It’s such a sweet, silly thought. “I think it helps the family feel more salt of the earth, like this isn’t a 6,000-square-foot estate. Rather a little ski cabin.”
“I got in touch with Ivy. She said she’d let Mason know, but that was a while ago.”
“It’s fine. I can take care of myself.” I gesture vaguely toward my room. “Sorry you had to see that.”
He meets my eyes. “I know you can take care of yourself. But I’m here. Can I help?”
“I’m feeling better and going to throw on a movie.”
“Want tea or anything?”
I ignore the question and take the stairs two at a time. I queue up a quiet film I’ve seen before. Two strangers share a perfect day before returning to their real lives.
It feels too close, but I hit play anyway.
Steam curls from the spicy ginger tea James places beside me. And somewhere between the soft dialogue and the warmth of his quiet care, my eyes grow heavy. I drift off, exhaustion pulling me under.
***
Adoorslams,clatteringthrough the quiet to jolt me awake. The Christmas tree glows in the darkened room, and I’m snuggled into a warm blanket I don’t remember grabbing. Time has slipped away—an hour, maybe two. The sky is awash in shades of violet and charcoal.
Mason flips on the overhead lights and rushes over. “You okay? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine.” I wave him off, rubbing my eyes to adjust to the harsh light. I don’t need his faux-sympathy now. “An upset stomach, not a big deal.”
Margaret appears behind him. She brushes her hand over my shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.” Pivoting toward the rest of the room, she asks, “Anyone have thoughts on dinner?”
“I made chicken noodle soup. Enough for everyone,” James says, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. A checkered apron tied around his waist, wooden spoon in hand.
“Aren’t you an angel?” Margaret beams and turns to Ivy. “He’s a keeper.”
Mason glances at James. “Thanks for helping, Syd. Glad you were there.”
“Of course,” he replies, looking away when Mason kisses my cheek.
As the others slip away to unload equipment and change, James walks over with a fresh cup of tea, placing it on the table beside me. The apron is no longeron, but it doesn’t cause my body to react any less. Who knew a man in an apron could be so maddeningly irresistible?
“Did the nap help?”
“Reading, cooking, taking care of puking women—are you always this fucking nice?” I tease, though my tone is laced with a sharp edge. Defensive. A need to bury whatever it is he’s drawing out of me.
“Are your expectations for men so low that holding your hair while you’re puking makes me Prince Charming, Sydney?” His voice is low, cut with his own edge that makes my toes curl.
A hiccup of time passes. How long, who knows? My pulse trips, and heat stutters through my veins. This time, it has nothing to do with an upset stomach. His gaze doesn’t flicker. Mine should look away, but I don’t.
Not yet.
Until a throat clears and Tom walks into the room with a curious tilt to his head. “You guys have an interesting day?”
I head into the kitchen, leaving my tea and whatever that was behind. And because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, of course, his soup is perfect. It’s exactly what my stomach needs. Simple and comforting.
“The soup is yummy, James,” Ivy says, nudging his side with her elbow.
He looks up, dazed, returning from somewhere far away. “Thanks.”
