Southern Spinster (Frostville Book 2)

by Cassie Mae

  Michael knew about Garreth but he didn’t let that deter him. Would Garreth forget all about her if he knew Michael was also giving her attention? She’d like to think that the reason she hadn’t brought it up was because when she was with Garreth, he was all she thought about. He encompassed every avenue of thought, of feeling, and it had only been in hindsight when Michael entered in.

  But the truth was, she realized as she stepped into her heels, she didn’t want to give Garreth any reason to turn her away. She’d been turned away so many times, any more might kill her.

  She took a calming breath, wiping away at a frantic tear rolling down her cheek, and then stepped out of the bedroom.

  “So sorry,” she said again, laughing breathlessly. “I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever gotten dressed in my life.”

  He laughed, but it was forced and awkward, his dimple staying hidden. He turned from the fireplace and cleared his throat. “I-if you… If you have somewhere else you want to be, I understand.”

  She jerked back, brow furrowed deep. “What?”

  His eyes flashed to the door, then focused on the carpet. That white hot shovel dug into her stomach again. “I didn’t realize that you were…” He stopped suddenly, pinching his nose and shaking his head. “I mean, of course you would. He’s… and I’m… and you’re…”

  “Garreth, what are you talking about?” She might have asked for clarification, but deep down, she didn’t need any. He’d obviously heard enough. Maybe even seen enough. The thought had heat spreading through her neck, sorrow eating up at her heart.

  He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, sincerity and defeat resting in the gorgeous, deep browns. “It was naïve of me to think someone as fun and kind as you wouldn’t draw the attention of every man in this place. And well, Michael is…” He let the thought drift away, only using a wild hand and wide eyes to finish the description.

  “So are you,” she said, meaning every word. He scoffed, blinking up at the ceiling. The air turned as thick as butter, and she searched for words that would make it okay, make anything okay. Defeat slowly etched itself into every worry line of his face, every vein in his neck, every muscle of his shoulders. Without a word, he strode to the door, fumbling with the handle before getting it open.

  “Wait, Garreth…”

  “I can’t right now, Bells,” he said, and the nickname struck her harder than it should have. He made his way down the hall, but hope ignited in her heart.

  “I like you, ya know,” she blurted at his back, and he stopped. “A lot, actually. More than someone should after two days.”

  His shoulders lifted with his heavy breathing. “Me too.” He looked over his shoulder, a deep frown on his lips. “But I didn’t come here to compete with anyone.”

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  “But it did. It has, right?” He let out a long sigh that hit her square in the chest. “It’s okay. Not all of us are the lead. I’m used to being the one who stands back and makes room for the one.”

  She jerked back, the words slamming into her with such truth. How many times had she been on that other side? Names went through her mind on a loop, like a rolodex, each one as painful as the next, each one as meaningful as they were meaningless. Garreth was anything but meaningless—his heart, his laugh, his adorable idiosyncrasies were what made her week thus far so thrilling. She would hate for him to think that he was just a plaything for her—a man who tugged her heart, but could never steal it.

  She swallowed the sick taste in her mouth. “It’s not okay.”

  A small smile touched his lips, unamused, sad… “No, it’s not.” He lifted a shoulder then turned toward the elevator. As she swished forward, following, he held out a hand, and she took the cue to stay behind.

  A loud buzz floated around the room, niggling at Maybelle’s ears. She glanced up through puffy eyes, glaring at her phone as it vibrated across the coffee table.

  Her arm flopped, a sting going up through her fingers when they slammed against the wood. She tiptoed her nails to her cell, the bright light making her squint in the darkness.

  Where are you?

  She ignored the text, letting the phone flop down on her chest. She sniffed, pushing away at the horrid tears that wouldn’t stop. The keycard just a few feet away in the other room felt like a blinking alarm, telling the entire world what a horrible person she was. She’d been told several times there was nothing wrong with “playing the field,” but she knew better. She knew when hearts got involved, you didn’t mess with them. Especially one as beautiful as Garreth’s.

  His face when he’d said he was used to being cast aside… gosh, she couldn’t erase it. She’d seen that face in the mirror… recently, even. When Parker left her high and dry for the woman he really wanted, she saw it—acceptance at always being second best.

  Second best? Garreth was a lot of things, but second best?

  Her phone vibrated through her dress, and she lifted it to Will’s name and face.

  “H-hey,” she answered, hoping her voice wasn’t as shaky and torn as she felt. “Sorry. Just eat without me.”

  A pause… She gathered herself, wiping at her cheeks. Her brother knew her better than anyone, but even she could fake happiness if she had to. She’d been doing it all her life.

  “Y’all okay?” he asked. Maybelle decided to only answer for herself, though it was a lie.

  “I… Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “You sure don’t sound like it.” He paused. “You in the room? I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Her acting needed some fine tuning. He couldn’t come up here, not now, not when he would ask her to talk about things she wasn’t sure of yet.

  She sat up, straightening her back so her voice would come out clearer and more confident. “I’m fine, ya hear?” she said, trying to be playful. “Just eat your dinner. I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’.”

  She quickly hung up when she sensed an argument on the other end. At least one of them should enjoy their evening. Winter seemed like she could keep Will good company.

  She tossed her phone at her feet, and it bounced off the couch cushion and onto the floor. Under normal circumstances, she’d check to see if she’d cracked the screen, but her heart wasn’t into doing much of anything, and her body wasn’t into moving.

  The only light in the room was from the mansion’s outdoor patio lighting, filtering through the open curtains in Will’s room. Shadows danced across the floor, over her dress, along her hand, and her skin tingled with reminders of Garreth’s fingers laced with hers.

  She wanted to chase after him—the urgency to be with him took her over multiple times but was repeatedly doused with thoughts of Michael. She couldn’t stand him up twice; she had to at least explain herself, why she wasn’t up to being around anyone tonight. How maybe, she had to make a choice.

  That was the hardest part, though. She never thought she’d have one. She assumed when her future husband made himself known, things would fall into place naturally. He’d fall in love with her, she’d fall in love with him, and there would never in a million years be a man on the side, his heart torn in two.

  A cynical voice in her head spoke up. Would either of them be heartbroken? They’d only known each other three days. That’s hardly enough time to fall in love with one person, but two?

  Both men had been interested in her. Neither seemed in love with her.

  But the look in Garreth’s eyes had her second-guessing… for just a moment.

  She cleared her throat, finding the energy to push from the couch and cross the room. She tucked the keycard into her palm and strode with defiance through her suite doors and to the elevator. There was no talking her into staying tonight. No flash of perfect teeth or gentle caress to her shoulder would make her change her mind. Michael needed to understand the magnitude of what they were doing, what he was doing. If he really wanted to be “in the running,” he had to know what that meant for her.

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nbsp; It took a few tries of waving that keycard over the screen before the third floor lit up and the elevator took the trip down. Maybelle bounced on the balls of her feet, anxious to speak with him. He’d been so clear on his acceptance of not having a family, but was it a front? Did he want it all, but figured he was past the point of getting it? Those fears had crossed her mind more than once.

  She strode out into the hallway, following the same path as Michael had led her earlier. When she got to the recreation room, the man who’d been “murdered” the first night—Joshua, she thought his name was—inhaled a portion of his dinner, eyes big and face red as he pounded a fist to his chest.

  “You’re… How’d…” He slammed another punch to his chest and then held a finger up. Maybelle scurried over and handed him his glass of water.

  “You a’right, there?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You only surprised me. Guests shouldn’t have access to this floor.”

  “Sorry.” The corners of her mouth turned down, and she flashed the keycard. “Michael gave me this. Told me to meet him—”

  “Ah, yes.” Recognition flitted across his expression, but his forehead wrinkled in concern as his eyes met hers. Was she still puffy? She swiped a finger across her cheek just in case a loose tear had fallen free.

  Joshua set his water down and nodded toward the hallway. “Room 34.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She pointed to his plate. “Be careful with that.”

  He chuckled and waved toward Michael’s room number. “Be careful with that.”

  Oh she would. She wasn’t immune to Michael’s charm, but she was prepared this time. Garreth’s broken face would be forever ingrained in her memories, and she’d use it now for strength to walk away from Michael tonight, get some space to think. At least a night of it.

  She padded to the room, the brass numbers gleaming with the hallway lights. Be firm, she told herself, brushing her knuckles against the grain of the door. Be forward. After all, she was a forward person, at least the townspeople back home thought so. Did they know just how much she held close to the chest, though? How lonely she truly felt? How much she longed for?

  She hesitated, hand poised to knock but unable to make it happen. Could she turn away someone who’d given her so much attention? Who’d expressed such an interest in her? What if he was the only person in the world who would look her way now that Garreth had thrown a chink into their love connection?

  She wasn’t ready to lose so much in one night.

  Before she could settle on a decision, a click cut through her thoughts, and she was standing face to face with a well-dressed and freshly showered Michael.

  “Well, that was a quick dinner,” he joked, delight in his eyes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t eaten yet—”

  “Will you ever want to get married?” she blurted, straightening her back to give her confidence. She barely came up to his chest, but she had guts.

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Will you ever want to get married?” she repeated. “Not to me, necessarily, but to anyone? I need to know.”

  He stood in silence, tapping the doorframe in an unfamiliar beat. Taptap, tap, tap, tap, taptap…

  “Come in for a second?” he asked, stepping out of the doorway. She steeled herself and marched right past him, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of honey and lemon he exuded and how her arm had brushed his torso. He gestured to the couch, but she stood her ground, folding her arms and taking a deep breath.

  “What’s this all about, Maybelle?” he asked, slight amusement in his tone.

  This wasn’t a joke, though. No matter how ridiculous she was being.

  “You say you want in the runnin’, right? You said that after you heard me praying to Cupid to shoot me with an arrow.”

  His teeth shown through his grin. “I do.”

  “I came here for love, Michael.” She threw her arms to the side. “I’m not bein’ shy about that, haven’t been shy about it, and well, you haven’t been shy on where you stand on the subject.”

  “Right…”

  She made a face. He shouldn’t be so clueless. “Then what? Am I a game? What do you want in the runnin’ for? Because you can’t be an option for me. Not if we don’t want the same things.”

  He was still smiling, and it set her teeth on edge. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he understand how it felt to put himself out there only to be rejected time and time again? Or was he so resigned to being single that he simply didn’t care.

  She shook her head, her hair coming loose from its updo, her anger flaring under her skin. She shoved toward the door; if he didn’t want to answer her questions, then she wasn’t going to stand here and fume.

  “Maybelle,” he said, taking one step to block her exit. He set two gentle hands on her shoulders, cooling down her anger, but only creating that much more confusion in her mind. “I told you… I want to fall in love. I’m not against love if and when it comes along for me. Don’t misinterpret what I said into a belief that I’m anti-marriage.”

  “And kids?” She sighed. “What about kids?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m forty years old. I’ve accepted that kids just… they’re not going to happen for me. And right now, in this point in my life, I don’t want them to.”

  It took a while for the words to process, but when they did, she simply nodded and bit her lip, keeping her eyes off his enchanting mouth and focused on the floor. He was barefoot. She liked that—it felt comfortable, despite the very tense atmosphere.

  “I s’pose I get that,” she said, though it hollowed her to think of fully accepting no children in her future. She’d always wanted them, always pictured them in her daydreams. But she was getting up there, too, and she’d been told more than once by doctors that she’d be “going out of business” in a few short years.

  There were women who still had healthy pregnancies in their forties. She wasn’t entirely ready to give up hope just yet.

  “What’s this really about?” Michael asked, interrupting her thoughts. Her gaze flicked up to meet the concern laced in his eyes. She pressed her fingers to her temples and massaged them with slow, clockwise circles.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I s’pose I had to… Well, I had to see if this was more for you than just a week in a haunted mansion.”

  “We haven’t even gotten a week,” he teased. She wanted to laugh, have fun and tease him back, but he wasn’t saying anything she wanted, and it picked at her nerves.

  “Goodness, Michael. I’m trying to be serious.”

  “Then just ask me what you want to ask me.”

  She threw her arms up, and he leaned back to dodge her flailing limbs. “Why in the world are you even interested in me? You want me to consider you? Tell me why me of all the single, beautiful gals around us.”

  His fingers caught her wrists, slowly reeling her in. He wore a look that said Maybelle was a lunatic, and in his defense, she was feeling a bit crazy at the moment.

  “You’re gorgeous and easy to talk to. You’re loud and proud like me. I respect your honesty, your openness. Heck, you’re telling me exactly like it is on day three, what you want, what I should expect.” He let go of one wrist and cupped her cheek, admiration painted in his features. “It’s a bit addicting to be around you.”

  His words were beautiful, and she knew any girl would’ve melted at the soft and smooth way they fell from his tongue. But they weren’t… enough. There was this wall flickering between them, letting in some emotions and casting aside others.

  “Is that a real answer?” she asked. “Or is it a line you give to any woman who crosses the mansion’s threshold?”

  His sweetness faded, replaced by a hard shell. “It’s real.”

  “How could I know? You said you like the single life.”

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you since the moment we met, including what you just passed off as a ‘line
.’ I mean, what do you want me to say, Maybelle?”

  That was the thing—she didn’t know. But it wasn’t this.

  “I need some sleep,” she said after a long pause between them. She ducked around him, making swift movements toward the door. “Give me a night, please, to think about things.”

  “What do you need to think about?” His jaw was tight, set, but his eyes painted a different picture. “All I want is to get to know you. And I want you to get to know me. So stay.”

  She shook her head. She’d promised herself, and Garreth’s broken face flashed through her mind.

  “So that’s two times you’ve ditched me now,” Michael spat, turning away from her. “Maybe I should just take the hint.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing—”

  “It’s not?” He took two determined strides over to her. “Then tell me this mood you’re in has nothing to do with him.”

  His voice shook on the word, and Maybelle felt her heart chink into a half a dozen little pieces. He liked her honesty, but would he still if she admitted how right he was? Her selfish heart didn’t want to lose him, didn’t’ want to hurt him, didn’t want him to take away the option of choosing him, even if half of her was tied to another man.

  She looked up, a wall of tears building in her eyes. “I can’t.”

  Maybelle was a zombie, trudging back to her suite with dead limbs. She couldn’t even feel her heart anymore—she’d left it somewhere, with someone, but she didn’t know who.

  The click of the doorknob muffled through her brain, and she let herself inside, slowly locking away the parts of her she’d left behind.

  “Hey,” her brother’s deep southern voice greeted, shocking her back to life. Her hand flew to her chest as she caught her breath.

  “Gosh, don’t do that.”

  Will strode across the room, flicking on the light. As she blinked away from the brightness, concern etched his features. Oh, she must be a real looker tonight.

  “What happened tonight, Bells?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.