by Jenn Sable
The driver's side door of the beamer kicked open and Max stumbled out. His movements were jerky and sloppy, and he was grumbling to himself. He turned back to the vehicle and wrestled out a bouquet and a letter from the passenger side seat. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach.
I didn't worry about Max regularly, but it was unsettling to realize tonight that he'd been drinking and I'd had too much wine to drive him home. He stumbled a little bit on the gravel when he didn't pick up his foot high enough as he walked up the stone drive and onto the walkway to reach me. I wished he would have fallen and stayed down, passing out in the yard and sleeping himself into sobriety. As he ambled toward me, I tried to think of how best to handle the situation, but my mind went blank.
Max stopped a few feet in front of me and burped, his breath reeked of liquor. I tried not to roll my eyes when he gave me a big, goofy grin. He bent at the waist and looked around at the inn. “Eloise, you lit candles for me. How romantic. Are we alone?”
I ignored his question. “They are lanterns, and I did not light them for you. What are you doing here, Max? I have a guest coming over, so you're going to have to make this a quick visit,” I lied.
“Liar.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and hoped that Max couldn't tell that I was getting as nervous as I was annoyed.
“Let me give you a little tip, El. When you tell someone a lie, you have to look them in the eyes and relax your body posture. You don't look nervously to the side and scratch your arm like a schoolgirl. You might be the worst liar I have ever seen, Eloise, and I have to admit that shocks me. I'm here to comfort you, so relax,” said Max.
That thought did not relax me. “Comfort me? What are you talking about?” I asked, exasperated with him already.
“I heard about your business partner, and I wanted to come and offer my condolences,” he said, proud of himself for following through on what he considered an act of kindness.
“Your condolences? What for? Winifred Langley didn't die, Max. She's resting and will be fine.”
He looked crestfallen. “Oh, she didn't? Boyd Vasny told me that she did,” he said, sounding disappointed.
“Rose's boyfriend?” I asked, trying to keep my growing frustration from leaking into my voice.
“Yeah, I saw Boyd at Silvers Pub in Clear Creek. He said your old-lady partner croaked and now your business is probably going to go under, and it messed up his vacation to Elys island.
“Boyd is a real piece of work,” I stammered, crossing my arms.
Max shrugged his thin shoulders. “I considered him a good source for information, and everybody's talking about it. In fact, that's why I'm here, to comfort you by providing a strong shoulder to cry on,” said Max as he puffed out his chest.
I tried not to laugh and covered it with a poor imitation of a cough. “Oh, well, that was very thoughtful of you but there's no need because Winifred Langley is alive and well, and so is our business. Thank you.”
He bent his head to the side and eyed me coolly. “Hmm, okay. Well, I'd also like to offer you a much sought-after invitation to next month's small business ball at the old governor's mansion. You're a very lucky girl. There are only a few invitations left, and a lot of people are clamoring for them. Here I am, offering you one on a silver platter. I hope that you appreciate this grand gesture,” he said, emphasizing the word appreciate.
I counted to three silently and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Max, that was very thoughtful of you, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline.”
His mouth tightened, and his brows knitted together. “Why?”
“I have no idea when I will be back from Paris, and I would hate to take an invitation that is, as you said, so deeply sought after, when I cannot commit to the date. It wouldn't be fair.”
Max threw his head back and laughed. “I don't give a fuck about what's fair, El. And you sure as hell better be back by next month. Face it, El, if your old broad business partner didn't croak, she's still not going to be able to do what she originally intended to do for your business. If you're going to open a teahouse in Frost Forest, by yourself, then you need to start making some local connections. Fast.”
He took a step closer. “You know everybody loves your sisters, but they don't exactly love you. You seem to be naturally difficult, always thumbing your nose at our traditions and that makes you hard to love, but you’re also hot, so you’ve got that going for you. So, you’re either going to have to put in a little bit of time and effort into drumming up business for yourself or make nice with those who can help you. And I can help you. Maybe if you were a little bit more pleasant to be around, this wouldn't be a problem.
Maxwell Palmer was such a fucking asshole, but what he said was true. I wasn't a town favorite, nor was I well known in Clear Creek, like Sammie. Even with my Brocker connections, I would have to think quickly on my feet to create a steady flow of customers, in case the tea blend didn't make it to market right away. I was banking on sales of the tea blends to help cushion the growing pains of opening the teahouse. A thread of worry wound its way across my stomach, and I pressed a hand to the flat of my stomach, Max's eyes followed the movement, and he smiled.
My panic rejuvenated Max, and he and flailed his arms, causing some of the flower petals from the bouquet to break off and fall to the ground and his feet. “My cousin, April, overheard people talking in Bloombury about how no one would be caught dead attending your teahouse. They don’t want to be looked at as supporting you because you’re uppity and bringing in foreign, heathen ideas.”
“Jesus, since when was it scandalous to have a cup of tea in a Victorian house? It seems like a straightforward business plan to me. And, Winifred’s American, you dolt. She’s from New York and summered close to Clear Creek with her father, who was a pastor. She lives in Paris as an ex-pat.
Max’s lip curled slightly, and he took another step closer. “Aw, is the little wildflower going to cry over the mess of her own making?”
I laughed. “Max, what the hell are you talking about? I’m telling the truth.”
Max shook his head. “People don’t give a shit about the truth, El. They glom onto the story that makes sense to them and supports how they think. And the people of Bloombury, and probably most of your town, Frost Forest, think your teahouse is going to fail. I’ll prove it to you; I’ll take you to Rishell’s gas market right outside Frost Forest. You can place a bet there with Roy over how fast your teahouse is going to be close. Now that everyone thinks your business partner is dead, I heard that Roy added a new wager that your teahouse won’t even open. My cousin even confirmed it because she stopped to gas up before heading out to Axe Hollow for the evening, she called me laughing about it. Everybody thinks that you have to fly to go make the funeral arrangements because the old broad didn't have any family, then you’ll fly home and claim that you can’t open your teahouse because of it.”
Max looked so elated to have told me that everyone in Bloombury was shitting all over my plan. I noticed that not everyone in Frost Forest loved the idea of a teahouse because it meant increased traffic on Preacher Road, but that was just too bad. Come hell or high water, I was opening my teahouse the second I got back from Paris.
“So the old broad is still alive,” mused Max.
Anger exploded behind my eyes. “If you refer to Winnie as old broad one more time, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” I hissed, fists clenched at my sides. I’d had enough of Max’s mouth.
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do to me? What else am I supposed to call her? How about crone? She's like ninety-something, isn't she?
“Her name. You may call her by her name, which is Winifred Langley. If I hear old broad come out of your mouth one more time, I will not be held responsible for kicking you in your tiny nut sack.”
Max smiled deviously. “Oh Eloise, if you wanted to touch my nutsack, all you had to do was ask. I'd be happy to show you that it's not so tiny, in fact more than a few girls can’t even
get their mouths around it.”
“You disgust me. Leave,” I spat.
“Jesus, El. I was joking! Can't you take a joke, or have you totally lost your sense of humor? You were the one that started talking about touching my testicles, and now you're crying foul play, figures!” said Max.
I clenched and unclenched my fists in an effort to maintain a calm head. Anger was only going to make this encounter worse. “Okay, Max. Thanks for dropping by. I appreciate the invitation to the small business ball. I'll be in touch soon to RSVP if I know that I'll be back in town and am able to attend.”
“Oh, you will attend. The small business ball is too important of an event for you to miss. Plus, by being my plus one, my date, you’ll get the distinct privilege of showcasing your tea business in the study during business day fair. Local television is going to eat up the day fair and they always set up in the study. You’ll probably get interviewed if you wear something that shows enough cleavage. Then you can accompany me later in the evening to the ball.”
I sighed. There was no hope for guys like Max. At least not any while they were drunk and horny. “Great. Thanks, Max. I'm not really sure if you're able to drive home, so I'm going to go and call for a ride.”
“The only person I want a ride from is you.”
I ignored his sexual overtures. “I can't drive you anywhere, Max. I just had two glasses of wine. It wouldn't be safe.”
“Oh yeah? Two glasses of wine. You should be just about loosened up. How about we go ahead and pour you a third glass. We can move inside, maybe take off our shoes, get a little bit more comfortable in your living room. I think I remember seeing a nice big couch in your parlor.”
“No, thanks.”
Max slapped his leg with the flowers, and his voice raised slightly. “Come on Eloise, what's with this pretend act of playing a prude? I figured you'd want to go and talk about the small business ball some more. I could give you some tips and hints, and then maybe you could show me how much you appreciate my invitation. Come on, I've had enough of your dick-teasing,” Max reached out and grabbed hold of my wrist and started walking toward the door.
I yelped in surprise. “Max, what the hell are you doing? Let go of me,” I said.
He pressed his hot, moist mouth against the shell of my ear. “Relax, El. I'm taking you inside so I can pour you another drink.”
“I don't want another drink, so you can go ahead and let go of me now, Max.” I said, breathing hard, trying desperately to hold onto what little calm I had left.
Max’s fingertips bit into the flesh of my upper arm. “You sure as hell need another drink. I drove the whole way over here with flowers and a fucking invitation that anyone else in this little Podunk town would be grateful for, and you're standing here giving me a stink eye and acting like a total bitch. I realize that you didn't have a proper upbringing, but would it kill you to show me a little bit of gratitude? What the hell did I ever do to you?”
Headlights flashed across the lawn, and another vehicle rolled up and parked in front of the inn. It was a truck I didn't recognize, but I would’ve welcomed an entire tour bus of people who needed rooms for the night. I'd never been so relieved to see another unannounced visitor. Max was hammered and not thinking clearly. I didn't want to think about what would've happened had we not been interrupted.
Max whipped his head toward the oncoming vehicle. “Who in the fuck is that?” he snapped.
“I told you that I was expecting someone,” I said defiantly, praying that whoever it was would play along until I was able to get Max out of here.
“Shut up, Eloise. You were surprised as I was to see someone coming up the drive. Whoever it is can fuck right off,” said Max, and cold tendrils of worry wrapped around my chest.
When the truck door opened, the interior lights shone on the broad shoulders and dark-blonde hair of Troy Witmer, I almost whimpered with relief. I hadn’t even realized that I had been silently praying that it would somehow be him, and when it was, I exhaled with relief. Max immediately let go of my wrist.
“I see how it is. You'll fuck Trooper Troy, but not me. Well, the laugh is on you. You must not mind sharing dick because he’s currently fucking my cousin, April, too. That's okay, though. Once you're ready to apologize, we can work this out. I’ve always had a palette for leftovers,” Max snarled in my ear.
“Max, you're drunk,” I growled. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest, and I wasn't sure if I should slap Max in his disgusting mouth or cry from all the stress of the day.
Troy walked up to the scene his eyes flicked from mine to Max and back to me. I quickly started the conversation before Troy spoke.
“Hi, Troy. You're late. I was just telling Max that you were on the way.
Troy flashed me a penetrating look. “Sorry, El, I'm here now.”
Our eyes locked and for a second, I had the strangest urge to run into his arms. It had been a long day, and I was emotionally spent. A pair of strong, trustworthy arms wrapped around me was exactly what I needed.
Troy turned his attention to Max. “What are you doing here, Max?” Troy's voice was low and cold. I’d never heard him talk in such a serious tone before and it sent a chill down my spine but it wasn’t one of fear. I was surprised to find his protectiveness so hot.
“That's none of your business,” stammered Max.
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
“That's also none of your business,” said Max, crossing his arms.
“It's time for you to go home Max,” said Troy with unquestionable authority.
Max threw the bouquet onto the ground. “You know what, fuck it. I agree I'm getting the hell out of here. This is too much damn work.”
Max turned to me, smirked, then slid the small business ball invitation into my hand. “To be continued, Eloise. Safe travels tomorrow. Tell the old broad that I said get well soon, and I expect to see you next month at the small business ball.”
I flushed angry and embarrassed by the way Max was talking to me.
Troy's jaw clenched, and his eyes landed on me. He pulled out his cell phone and shot off a quick text.
Tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, Troy looked up and deftly redirected the conversation and defused the entire situation. “El, do you think I could get a cup of something warm? I hate to say it, but I'm not a tea person. Do you have any decaf?”
“No, but I make really good hot cocoa,” I said. “Would you like me to make you a cup?”
He smiled. “I'd love some. Thanks.”
Max scoffed. “What is this? Some kind of Puritan party? You know what? I don't even care. Make me a cup too.”
Troy's jaw clenched again. He looked at me and said, “Max and I would be really grateful if you could make us both a cup of hot chocolate. We'll wait outside on the porch; Max and I have some catching up to do.”
I nodded, turned on my heel, and marched inside without a backward glance at Max. He had crossed several lines tonight. Inside the house, I made a straight line toward the kitchen, flipping on the lights and immediately filling a large kettle with water. I imagined dumping hot water all over Max Palmer’s crotch. The thought made me smile and I finally started to breathe a little deeper and easier.
I stood at the kitchen door and strained to hear what Troy was saying to Max while they both sat on the front porch, but Troy was talking too low and I couldn't make out what he was saying. However, I could hear Max loud and clear.
He kept yelling, “Whatever,” and “Just wait until my dad hears about this.” That was followed by a few, “You're overreacting.” and their conversation finally ended with Max saying, “Okay, okay. Whatever, fuck, I’m sorry, all right? Is that what you want me to say, fine. I’m sorry.”
The water hadn't started boiling yet when another set of headlights appeared in the driveway. It was a state police cruiser. I watched from the shadowy hall as Officer Bob Herr got out and escorted Max to the back of his vehicle. I’m not s
ure what Troy said to Trooper Herr, but they nodded at one another, and then the cruiser pulled away with Max sitting in the back.
After the cruiser rolled down the drive, I quickly ran back to the kitchen, turned on a burner and placed the kettle on the stove, pretending to busy myself with mugs and napkins and spoons. I still didn’t even know if I had all the ingredients to make hot cocoa. All I knew was that I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest as I heard the front door open, then close. Troy's footsteps thudded down the main hall from the front of the house, past the parlor, past the dining room, to the kitchen, and stopped.
After a beat of silence, I glanced over my shoulder to see him propped against the door frame of the kitchen. My stomach flip-flopped over how good he looked. His eyes were dark and stormy, and he had his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps and chest muscles bulge a bit more than normal. Plus, the fact that he was in a black T-shirt and jeans melted my core and made me feel a little weak in the knees. I wasn't used to seeing Troy in his civilian clothes, and now that he was standing in my kitchen, he looked positively edible. I bit my lip and he smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I said back.
“I would say that I was sorry for dropping in on you like this, but I'm really glad I came tonight,” he said.
The old blue jeans he wore sat low on his hips and looked like they were handcrafted just for him. His waist was narrow, and his powerful thighs bulged underneath the faded material. His black T-shirt stretched nicely over his muscled chest and he looked like he'd just stepped out of a shower.
Don't say anything stupid. “I was hoping it was you.” Okay, that was a little too honest.
I’d been holding on to the counter and let my shoulders relax. So much for keeping things light; it was time just to come clean. “The whole time I watched the truck come up the drive, I kept hoping it was you.”