The Mitchell Brothers Collection: A Feel-Good Romance Box Set

by Jasmin Miller

  It doesn’t escape me this is the first time he’s going since I’ve stayed with him, but I don’t say anything.

  “Do you get most of your writing done there?”

  He nods and a small smile appears on his face. “I know it sounds weird, but there’s something special about that place. When I write at home, I usually get stuck in the story at some point. It’s almost like something is blocking me, but up at the lake, that writer’s block starts to disappear within the first day or two. Once the words flow, it allows me to get my first draft written within a few weeks. Back home, it’s mostly editing then.”

  “That’s awesome. Definitely sounds like magic to me.”

  He chuckles, and I’m happy the momentary bad mood from before has disappeared. Just like always. “I told you it’s a special place. You'll see. Maybe it has some magic left for you too.”

  Taking the next exit for a rest stop, Gabe parks the truck before turning to me. The smile he gives me is genuine, and I know he really believes in what he just said.

  I wish more than anything he’s right.

  I could use a little otherworldly help.

  “Let’s hope so. My own magical unicorn seems to have abandoned me these past few months.”

  Four

  Gabe

  We finally make it to the house after several long hours stuck in traffic. I’m sure both Monica and I were ready to ditch the car and walk the rest of the way at some point, especially when we hit a standstill a few miles outside of town.

  After parking in front of the garage, I turn off the car with a deep sigh, letting my head fall on the headrest. I turn to look at Monica when I don’t hear a peep from her. She’s been so antsy, even more so for the last few hours, that I expected her to jump out of the car the second it stopped. Instead, her chin is pressed to the top of the dashboard, her nose almost pressing into the windshield as she stares up at the house.

  “Wow. It’s gorgeous.” She pulls back and opens the door, hopping out of the car, her eyes never leaving the house.

  I follow suit and chuckle. It’s not often to catch her off guard like this. Quite the opposite, actually. You try and impress Monica and most likely achieve the opposite, and vice versa. Like that one time I tried to lift her spirits by spoiling us with an expensive dinner. Let’s just say, the evening ended with a big pizza we couldn’t eat fast enough. I would have kept my mouth shut about the disappointing fine dining experience to make her happy, but Monica doesn’t work that way, at least not with me.

  I can see straight through her façade, the one she puts up for others so often, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “I take it you like it?”

  She nods, still not looking at me. “I love it. The huge wraparound porch is so beautiful.”

  For some reason, knowing she likes it fills my chest with pride, and I stand a little taller. “Isn’t it? That was one of the things that really stood out to me when I first saw it. Mrs. Johnson will be pleased to hear you approve. She talked me into buying it.”

  Her head whips in my direction, her wide eyes locking with mine as she gapes at me with her mouth open. It takes her a moment to find her composure, even though the shock mixed with excitement never really leaves her gaze. “Wait. This is your house? I thought you rented a house for our stay.”

  “Nope. It’s mine.” I can’t hold back a grin and brush my hand through my hair. Trying to act casual has never really been my thing.

  “Wow, I didn’t realize. You’ve talked about it before, but I assumed you always rent the same place or something like that.”

  “When I first started coming here, I used to rent cabins on the outskirts of town. I wanted to be alone, so I could focus on my writing as much as possible. The fewer people I had to see, the better. At least that’s what I thought would be best. It only took a few visits before I realized the town was slowly wrapping me around their little finger.”

  “What happened?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing big. But one time, the writer’s block wouldn’t go away as quickly as it usually did. When the cabin walls seemed to fall in on themselves, I decided to come out to socialize. Believe it or not, it actually helped. Everyone here is really friendly, so I started renting houses closer to town whenever I came back. Mrs. Johnson kept telling me I should invest in a place, that she’d help me maintain it while I’m gone. At some point, I finally gave in. We looked at a lot of houses and nothing felt right. But once I saw this one, I knew I was a goner.”

  Monica’s whole face beams as she listens to my story, and I can’t remember the last time she looked this relaxed and happy. Maybe it’s too good to be true, but getting her out of Brooksville already seemed to have made a difference. At least, I’d like to believe so. I’ve wondered before if she felt a lot of pressure there, where everyone was just waiting for her to get back on her feet to dance again.

  With the hot sun shining down on us, I can’t help but notice her hair looks shinier, the red tint in it almost sparkling, complementing her glowing eyes.

  Wait. What am I doing? It feels like this trip has already taken a toll on me too.

  No more ogling Monica. That’s not what we’re here for.

  “That’s great. Seems like she has great taste.” She turns back to the house, and I push my hands into the pockets of my jeans, watching her as her eyes roam all over the house and the surroundings.

  A white fence, very similar to the one Hudson and I just built at Grandma’s, encloses the property, keeping the rest of it hidden from view. The front yard has been taken care of very well in my absence, as usual, and a small stone trail leads up to the porch, with the flowers in the garden beds blooming in all colors of the rainbow.

  Monica clears her throat before giving me a grin that looks a little strained. “Soooooo… Mrs. Johnson, huh?”

  Why is she asking about Mrs. Johnson?

  Wait a second. She can’t be… Is she jealous?

  I can’t help myself and follow this train of thought. “Yeah, what about her?” I cross my arms across my chest, biting the inside of my mouth to keep from smiling as I watch her squirm—something very unlike her.

  “Yeah.” She waves her arm around, like Mrs. Johnson might pop up out of thin air at any moment.

  “You might run into her at your yoga class tomorrow, so you can meet her.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead again, the corners of her mouth tugging downward a fraction. “You know she likes yoga? Seems like you know this Mrs. Johnson very well.”

  At that, I can’t hold it in any longer and throw my head back to laugh loudly. “I do, but not the way you imply. Her daughter, Kiara, is the one running the yoga studio. But her mom uses that chance to visit often, so she can catch up on the latest news in town.”

  “Ahhh.” Her eyes momentarily avert to the ground as she tucks some hair behind her ear, looking adorable as hell.

  I have to say, I like this more timid side of her, even though I’m still determined to bring back her fiery side again too.

  “I think of Mrs. Johnson as the heart of this town, but to warn you, she’s also very nosy, maybe even a bit sneaky.” I walk over to pull her into a side hug. “I promise, they’re all very nice. You’ll like them.”

  I feel her nod rather than see it and let her go before it turns awkward. Instead, I walk over to the truck bed to grab our suitcases. “Let’s head inside and I’ll show you around.”

  Monica hurries to grab her things from the front seat and follows me as I make my way toward the front door.

  I sigh a breath of relief upon entering the house. It’s absolutely true what I told Monica earlier; this is a home away from home. We step inside, and she gets her first look at the open floor plan.

  “Did your sisters help decorate this house like they did in Brooksville?”

  I nod, tilting my head as I eye her. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

  She shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t
I?”

  I wanna say, “Because most people don’t give a crap about stuff like this,” but I don’t. Apparently, Monica knows as much as I do that my sisters are a force of nature, and no one can stop them from decorating one of our places even if they wanted to. Not that anyone would say no to them since they have impeccable taste.

  Total win-win for everyone.

  We stare at each other in silence before I clear my throat. “Let’s do that quick tour, and then you can unpack. And since we don’t have any food in the house, we can either go out or order something. What do you want to do?”

  “If they have decent takeout, I wouldn’t mind that. Strangely enough, I’m pooped, even though we spent the whole day in the car doing nothing.” As the words leave her mouth, she stretches her arms out and up above her head, almost like she just realized she’s been rolled up like a pretzel somewhere all day long.

  The movement stretches her shirt across her chest while also revealing a sliver of skin right above the waistband of her leggings, including a small silver belly button piercing, but I tear my gaze away before she catches me staring.

  “Works for me. Let’s stay in tonight then, and I can take you into town tomorrow.”

  She’s holding back a yawn behind her hand as she nods. “You wanted to show me where the yoga place is anyway.”

  “That was the plan.”

  I show her the first level, rushing through the family room, kitchen, dining area, bathroom, mudroom, and my office. Everything looks like it always has—shiny brown wooden floors, and lots of cool and dark colors everywhere. Very manly looking, something that was extremely important to my sisters. They also insisted on adding a few colorful elements, like throw pillows, artwork, and other decor pieces to balance out all that masculinity.

  When we come back to the entryway, I pick up both of our suitcases and head up the dark stairs. The second floor is decorated in the same style as the downstairs. I’ve always wondered if it’s the furniture and the decor rather than the actual house that makes it feel like home, which would explain why I’ve never woken up disoriented or confused when I’m here compared to waking up in a strange hotel room.

  We walk down the hallway until we get to the door at the end of the hall. Opening it, I walk in first, placing Monica’s suitcase next to the bed.

  The room is like my other guest bedrooms back home. Simple yet elegant, with a king-sized bed, large dresser, and a small loveseat under the window. “This is your room. I’ll be right next door, in case you need anything.”

  I point behind me at the half-open door between the bed and the dresser. “You have your own bathroom too, so it’s all pretty much like back home. It might seem odd, but I liked the idea of having the houses look similar.”

  “I like it, it’s practical.”

  She gets me, and this is not the first time I think that.

  Scratching the back of my neck, I make my way back to the door. “I’ll leave you alone so you can unpack. The bathroom should be stocked up with everything you need. Let me know if anything’s missing, and we’ll get it for you.”

  I can’t pinpoint what exactly it is, but something feels weird about this situation. The same but also different.

  New.

  We’ve been living under the same roof for a year now, but I’ve never felt this buzz between us the way I do right now. As much as she might deny it, this trip has already done something to her. Seeing her smile this much again and being so carefree does something to me. It reminds me more of how she was when she first got to Brooksville last year.

  “Thanks, Gabe.”

  Before I can think about it anymore, I turn on my heel and walk across the room. “Of course. I think it’ll be a good place for you, and I’m glad you’re here.” The last words come out in a whisper, and I don’t know why I said them at all. I don’t look back up when I grab the handle as fast as I can, mumbling more words under my breath. “I’ll be downstairs ordering us some food.”

  Thud. I close the door too fast, the sound of the bang echoing through the hallway as I release a pent-up breath. I’m just about to grab my suitcase to bring into my own bedroom when I realize we didn’t decide what kind of takeout we’re going to get.

  In a trance, I turn around, walk the two steps back to the door, and open it again.

  Big fat mistake.

  Well, I guess it depends on how you look at it.

  I stare straight at Monica, who’s still rooted in the same spot I just left her in mere seconds ago. The only difference is that Monica’s shirt is now gone, and she was about to push her leggings down, if the hands at her waistband are any indication.

  Her exposed skin is creamy and looks so inviting to touch, I’m unable to focus on anything else. My hands turn into fists at my sides, keeping me from doing something stupid, like go to her and do a very thorough hands-on examination. Instead, I cast my glance downward. Seeing her in only her leggings and bra is more action than I’ve seen in a while, and I’m not surprised my body is starting to get excited.

  It takes me a moment to find the strength to stop my body from physically reacting to her, at least in a way she’d be able to see.

  “I’m so sorry, Monica. I didn’t mean to just walk in on you like that. I forgot to ask what kind of takeout you want.”

  A chuckle escapes her mouth and turns into full-on laughter in two seconds flat.

  I glance at her for a second, wondering what’s so funny.

  “You can look at me, Gabe. It’s just a bra. You see the same amount of skin in a bikini, you know?”

  She has a point, but who’s to say my reaction wouldn’t be the same then too?

  Looking back at her, I try my hardest to keep my eyes on her face.

  No, scratch that. Too risky, and way too close to her gorgeous breasts that are tucked in a dark blue lace bra. Because they are definitely calling my name.

  Staring over the head it is. Yes, much better. “I should have knocked, regardless.”

  “No worries. And about dinner, just get whatever you want. You know what I like.”

  Somehow the last words make me groan inwardly, even though she most likely meant them in a completely harmless way.

  What if I didn’t imagine the change in her voice after all though? To me, that last line came across sexier than the rest, almost like the old, flirty Monica is back.

  And wouldn’t that be interesting?

  When we first met, I thought there was something between the two of us, and I’m pretty sure the attraction wasn’t one-sided either. But it’s not like I could’ve made a move when she had a broken leg and was miserable, and then, when her recovery didn’t go as planned, the flirting stopped too, as her spirits slowly left her. The last thing she needed was my flirting when she so obviously just wanted to be alone. So, I gave her the space she wanted, and over time, we settled down in our roles.

  First, we had somewhat of a nurse and patient situation going on, even when she pretended she didn’t need any help, which actually sounds straight out of one of the romance novels my sisters always liked to rub in my face—and started reading to me when I couldn’t get away fast enough.

  When Monica moved into the house with me, we turned into roommates, both of us living our separate lives alongside each other.

  But we also became friends over time, maybe even best friends.

  I mean, I do spend a lot of time with her, even when we just watch TV together, and she’s usually the first person I turn to when I have something going on in my life.

  In return, I know her pretty well. All her little quirks and habits, down to what underwear she wears, since she hates doing laundry and keeps forgetting to take her stuff out of the dryer.

  No more thinking about underwear now.

  That thought process never ends well, especially when it’s about Monica’s.

  Of course, I can’t stop thinking about Monica in her half-undressed state for the rest of the day.

  Figures.


  Five

  Monica

  The streets are still empty the next morning when Gabe walks me to my first yoga class. It’s quiet and peaceful as we walk through tree-lined streets. We left the house about ten minutes ago and are already in the heart of the town.

  “Talk about convenience.” We’re in the middle of Main Street, which is lined with one cute store after the other on both sides, all painted in different colors. It’s adorable and puts a little smile on my face. “You’re lucky to have snatched a house in such a great location, with a pool and a hot tub in your backyard, and access to the lake only down the road. You have enough privacy with the big lot, yet you’re still just around the corner from everything important. It can’t get much better than that.”

  “I know.” A big smile spreads on his face, making my own grow bigger in response. “Thank goodness for Mrs. Johnson and her mad realtor skills.”

  “Still a charmer, I see.” The female voice comes from a few feet ahead of us where a woman has poked her head out of the door of one of the businesses. This one is painted a soft pastel purple with a big sign above the door that says Lakeside Yoga.

  Looks like we’ve arrived at the torture studio.

  Gabe chuckles beside me. “Hi, Mrs. Johnson.”

  She gives him a big grin and motions with her hands for him to come closer. “Come here, handsome, and give this old lady a big hug already.”

  Gabe goes willingly, and she squeezes him for what feels like five minutes until another woman emerges from the yoga studio.

  “Mom, leave poor Gabe alone. You don’t want to drive him out of town already. We just got him back.”

  The similarities between Mrs. Johnson and the other woman are uncanny. Both have beautiful mocha-colored skin, brown hair, and brown eyes. The only difference, besides some more lines around the mother’s eyes, is their figures. Mrs. Johnson has the same kind of tall, curvy body type like her daughter, but it looks like she’s filled out her curves some more over the years.