Page 11 of Unexpected Company
He squints at me, his lips pursed in confusion.
“You’re the owner? Oh shit, sorry! How embarrassing! My friend Liam made a comment about me finding a rugged mountain man out here, so I presumed he sent you as a joke! I wasn’t expecting the owner of said cottage to be here when I arrived.” He doesn’t stop talking long enough for me to refute his assumption. “I’m Roman.” There’s a silentduhat the end of his sentence, like I should know exactly who he is. He gives me a wave. “Roman Otley? My name’s on the reservation.”
He looks over his shoulder towards the window and then back at me. Something flicks in his gaze, like a realisation has hit him square in the face now that he’s paused his rambling.
“Hold up.” His statement is redundant given I’ve barely moved since walking into the kitchen, but I bite my inner cheek, standing stock still nonetheless. “If you’re the owner, where is your car and why are you only in a towel?”
His mouth falls open, and he takes a step back, reaching behind him to brandish the fork like a weapon again.
“Are you here to kill me? Oh God, I rented a murder cabin. I’ve read about these. Well, only in fiction, but still, they could exist. I have money. Will you not kill me if I give you money? Fuck, I knew the woods were dangerous. Bloody Liam.”
Jesus this guy has no off button.
“I’m not going to kill you!” I yell above his incessant talking, and he slams his mouth shut, looking adorably chastised.
“You didn’t need to yell at me.” And then he pouts because, of course, this is all my fault.
“I’m sorry. I think there’s been some confusion.” I wave a hand around the kitchen.
“I’m not the owner. My name’s Garrett and I rented this cottage for Christmas.”
Roman opens and then closes his mouth while shaking his head.
“No, I rented this cottage for the next few weeks.”
“Maybe you got your dates wrong?”
He shakes his head harder while digging in his pocket and pulling out a sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he holds it out for me.
I take it, my eyes scanning over the words. It’s an email confirmation for his booking. Of this cabin, starting today until the new year.
“Well fuck,” I exclaim, heading out of the kitchen and into the lounge, where I open my laptop and find the confirmation I’d downloaded.
The details are identical.
“You gotyourdates wrong?”
I just about jump out of my skin, spinning around to find him right behind me, having snuck up as quiet as a mouse. Or a serial killer.
He has to tip his head up to look at me, but he’s so close; I can smell his cinnamon scent and see flecks of amber in his rich brown eyes.
Given our sudden close proximity, I can only deduce that he either has no concept of self-preservation or he’s decided I am not a threat after all.
“No,” I reply, stepping to the side so Roman can see my screen. “It looks like somehow the website has double booked us.”
“Well then, big guy,” he turns to face me, tapping his smaller hand against my naked chest. My eyes dart to his hand and he drops it.
“Best start your trek into the village to find alternative accommodation.”
“And why would I be the one to leave? I got here first,” I ask, taking a step away, suddenly very aware of the fact that I am only in a towel.
Roman props his hands on his hips. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Oh sure, well, in that case, let me get my bags.”
His eyes widen and his lips tip into a grin.
“Really?”
