Page 27 of A Very Merry Mistake

We’d gone to an art show in Scotland so she could post photos on social media. That night, I’d gotten too tipsy, and when we returned to the castle we’d rented, I fell asleep on the sofa. Spilled all of my secrets. Had a whole conversation about it, apparently.

Something I should’ve thought of last night before crawling into that gorgeous man’s bed.

CHAPTER 8

JAKE

I reach out, feeling the warmth where Claire was. She did indeed talk in her sleep, but it was adorable. Tinsel’s collar jingles as she stretches and lets out a lazy meow. A few moments later, she stands and jumps off the bed, prancing out of the room.

Claire is in the only bathroom in the house, so I decide to take care of Tinsel while I wait my turn. Thankfully, I remembered to put my glasses back on the nightstand last night. I’m blind as a bat. Without them, everything is blurry. When I’m staying inside for the day, I usually wear glasses, but when I’m out in the field, it’s contacts. I’ve broken too many frames over the years and have learned my lesson.

Tinsel leads the way to the kitchen, and I stop and look out the windows into the backyard. Giant icicles hang from the edge of the house, and the grass is coated with ice. Everything outside has a layer of frost that reflects like glitter.

A meow brings me back to my task at hand.

I place a can of the senior cat food in Tinsel’s bowl. She sniffs it, then blinks up at me with another meow. Shaking my head, I grab a few of her favorite treats and set them at her feet like she’s a queen. She examines them, and she strolls away without touching any of it.

“Sometimes I think you do that to remind me who’s in control,” I tell her as I hear the bathroom door swing open. Claire rounds the corner and our arms brush against one another. I look over my shoulder at her, but she keeps walking.

I wonder if she just felt that jolt of electricity, too?

As I’m in the bathroom going through the morning motions, I can hear the zipper of her luggage and a thump in the living room. I’d bet my best ax she’s digging through that giant suitcase that’s probably packed with impractical shoes and clothes.

This woman isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before, and I find myself longing to learn random things about her. The things that make her tick: her dreams and aspirations, her fears, and even her favorite color. She hasn’t offered much about herself, and based on the conversation she had with Hank yesterday, she wants to leave Texas. But I don’t know if I’m ready for her to go yet.

After I brush my teeth and throw on jeans and a long-sleeved flannel, I meet her in the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?”

She smiles. “What about coffee first?”

“Espresso good for you?”

“As long as it’s not crappy espresso.”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” I say and refill the reservoir of the maker with filtered water.

“I’m a bit of a snob, so you’ve been warned,” she tells me.

“I love a good challenge,” I murmur as I allow the machine to heat before it starts auto-grinding the beans. It was expensive, but after my last breakup, where I set clear boundaries and decided I wouldn’t be a human door mat, I treated myself. Lacy convinced me that coffee was bad for me, so I gave it up for years. Once we ended things permanently, this shiny new machine was delivered and has been on my counter ever since.

“You must really enjoy your coffee if you’ve invested in something like that.”

“I appreciate all the options and how easy it is to brew a few shots or a mug. On my days off, one of my rituals is to watch the sunrise in the mornin’ with a hot cup. In winter and spring, a herd of deer graze in the open. I usually watch them until they decide they’ve had enough and leave.”

She laughs. “It’s almost as if you’re living in a Disney movie.”

This makes me chuckle. “Never thought of it like that. But I guess you’re kinda right. I’ve seen rabbits, deer, birds, a fox, and even a few field mice.”

“Really? All at once?”

The beans finish grinding, and the espresso drips. “Nah, different times, different seasons.”

“Do you have armadillos here?”

“Sometimes. Haven’t seen them often, though. Not in this part of the state.”

“They seem cute,” she says as I slide the double espresso across the bar top toward her. She picks it up and smells it, studying the crema that formed on top. As if she’s a connoisseur, she takes a tiny sip. The smile that meets her lips is contagious.

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