Page 12 of Unexpected Company
“Fuck no,” I scoff. “Obviouslynot. I’m not going anywhere. I’m already settled in.”
Roman huffs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, then rotates on his heel and marches through the cottage to the bedroom where he proceeds to lie on the bed, shoes and all. I can practically feel the germs from them rubbing against my clean sheets.
“Now I’m settled in too,” he mumbles, his face pressed to my pillow.
Oh, he’s a stubborn brat, this one.
A loud crack of thunder chooses that moment to rattle the windows, highlighting the sky moments later with a burst of lightning. Rain batters the glass and I sigh, leaning against the door frame and keeping a distance between me and the chaos kitten.
“You could at least take your shoes off,” I grumble.
He shuffles on the bed, knocking his feet together before two Converse trainers clunk to the floor. Then he rolls over and sits up, his eyes on the storm brewing outside.
“Guess neither of us are leaving tonight.”
“I guess not,” I say. “Could you at least leave the room so I can get dressed?”
His eyes dart from the window to me, making a quick perusal of my still naked chest before he shrugs, pulls the duvet off the bed and, like a toddler, drags it out of the room with him.
Chapter five
Roman
The grumpy lumberjack scowling at me from across the kitchen counter is hot. Very, very hot. He’s probably a good ten years older than me, with light brown hair, a neatly cropped beard, and a body I’d love to hug. He’s put on clothes (shame) and is now leaning against the counter wearing a green flannel shirt and baggy blue jeans. He looks ridiculously sexy, hovering over the entire glass dish of cottage pie as though he’s a dragon protecting his eggs.
I really could do with a bit more of it, but I don’t dare ask, lest I set off his grumbling again about me being in his space and eating his food and essentially reenacting the tale of Goldilocks right here in the kitchen.
He’s made it abundantly clear that he wants me to be the one to leave, even though I have as much of a right to be here as he does. I didn’t cause the computer glitch that has us both here at the same time, so I don’t get why he’s all scowly with me. And it’s not like he locked the door either – the place was warm and welcoming when I walked in.
If he thinks I’m leaving, the sexy, angry man is sorely mistaken. Ineedthis cottage. So even if Mother Earth wasn’t going all apocalyptic, I would still not be leaving.
Despite the sounds of the storm outside – trees whistling in the wind, rain tapping a rhythm on the roof – the silence between us sits thick and heavy.
“Um…” I start, my sock covered feet brushing the wooden floor as I swing my legs from my perch on the kitchen stool. “What brings you to Christmas Falls?”
Garrett gestures over his shoulder with one hand.
“Work.”
“Oh.” My eyes widen. “What do you do?”
Please say lumberjack. Please say lumberjack. Please say lumberjack.
“I’m a writer,” he answers, chewing his bottom lip, his attention anywhere but on me.
“Oh.” So not what I’d wished for. Still, that’s pretty cool. “That’s fun. Do you write vampire fucking?”
Garrett makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff before he’s shaking his head again.
“No. I don’t write…that. I write police procedurals. Crime dramas. That sort of genre.”
“With a touch of magic?”
He rests both hands on the counter.
“No magic.”
“Wolves?”
