Page 9 of Bad Boy Bachelor Christmas
“Silence is meant to be filled.”
North abruptly stopped walking, and I collided with his back—AKA a brick wall. I practically bounced off of him, and he closed a massive hand around my upper arm, encircling it all the way around, and steadied me. I thanked him with a nervous smile and peered past him at the reason why we’d stopped.
A cozy little cabin stood before us, nestled amongst the surrounding Christmas trees. Smoke poured out of a stone chimney jutting out of the roof, and a small porch sat raised above the ground with a couple of chairs and a fire pit. It was quaint and adorable, and again I found myself making Hallmark movie and card references in my head. If this were a greeting card, there would be a little red cardinal perched on the porch railing and everything would be aglow in Christmas lights.
North climbed the two steps onto the porch, his large boots thumping on the wood, and pushed open the front door. “This is your home for the month. Do as you see fit with the space. There is a list of numbers on the fridge. If you need anything, refer to those numbers first. The house is fully staffed with cooks, cleaners, maintenance, and groundskeeping staff. They know you’re here and will be happy to accommodate you.”
House staff?
Pinch me.
He invited me inside with a wave of his arm, and I slid past him, stepping into a cozy, warmly lit space. Throw rugs covered the hardwood floors. Plush sofas crowded the fire, and a wall-mounted TV hung in one corner of the room. A coffee table right smack in the middle of the living room boasted a selection of candles as well as a bath caddy full of Christmas-scented goodies—body wash, bath bubbles, bath bombs, shampoo, lotion, you name it.
The kitchen was small but nicely appointed, and North went to the fridge and cabinets to show me that they were fully stocked. He nodded to the three open doorways off the kitchen and living room, a bathroom, laundry room, and bedroom.
“Will this do?” he asked.
I let my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the sofa. “It’s perfect.”
“Good.” He moved back to the front door and stepped out onto the porch. His breath steamed on the air when he spoke. “We’ll go over your duties and my expectations in the morning. After the morning of travel you’ve had, I presume you need some rest. Perhaps it will ease this… hyperness of yours.”
I beamed at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m like this all the time.”
“That’s…” He trailed off, made an indecipherable sound in the back of his throat, closed my door, and left, boots thudding across the porch.
I spun and soaked in my cozy little abode. What a glorious place to stay for my favorite month of the year. I lit some candles and plopped down on the sofa to smell all the goodies in my bath caddy. Tucked in amongst the pampering basket were also some other things I’d missed, like chocolates, crackers, and specialty cheeses. A fully stocked wine rack under the TV drew my eye, and I popped back to my feet and began snapping pictures, which I sent in chaotic bursts of messages to the family chat I shared with my parents.
This month was going to be an awfully big adventure. I could feel it in my bones as I checked out the claw-foot tub in the bathroom and the selection of fancy coffees at the coffee bar.
I wondered what kinds of houses I’d be designing. How glamorous was my portfolio going to look after this?
“Look out, world,” I whispered as I braced myself on the kitchen sink and gazed out the frosty window at the Christmas trees beyond. “I’m coming for you.”
CHAPTER5
NORTH
The house chef, Maurice, had spent the early days of his culinary career in Montreal before coming to work here at the estate for my father. He’d been the dictator of the large kitchen for as long as I could remember, and had slapped my hand away from serving trays when I was a boy many a time at family events. He had a good flourish to said slap. Often, I’d be out nursing my wound when a family member would ask if I’d been trying to help myself to Maurice’s dishes. They had no sympathy for me, a young lad too curious for his own good with a greedy belly.
Now, Maurice and I were friends. He didn’t dare slap my hand away if I ventured a snack, but that barely happened. I possessed more patience than my eight-year-old self.
He smothered a plate in Hollandaise sauce and clicked his tongue. “It will be cold by the time you get this to her.” His French-Canadian accent was not as thick as it once had been, but it wasn’t subtle, either. “A shame. The hollandaise will thicken. The egg will not be hot when poached.” He clicked his tongue again, this time with more defiance. “You should have invited her up to the house for breakfast.”
“And you could have stuck with something simpler.”
Maurice laughed like this was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. “Do you know who you’re talking to? Simple? Me? Blasphemy!”
I folded my arms across my chest. “She has bagels and all kinds of food in her kitchen. This is totally unnecessary.”
“A young woman deserves a hot breakfast on her first day in a foreign place. She is our guest, after all, and it is in our hands to treat her as such. Your father knew such etiquette and appreciated it. I suggest you come to grips with having someone residing on your property, North. Hosting requires an elevation in hospitality.”
I groaned inwardly. Everyone had been up my ass lately. Now Maurice too? This girl hadn’t even started her first day and she was already more trouble than she was worth.
Maurice covered the plate with a silver lid and placed it in a warming box. “Rumor around the house has it that she’s quite pretty.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re not fooling me, Master Waylon. Here.” He thrust the box into my hands. “Bring this to her immediately, before it cools off too much. Perhaps the integrity of the dish can be spared if you put those long legs of yours to good use. Go on.” He shooed me with his hands—like he owned this estate and I did not.
