Not Part of the Plan_A Small Town Love Story

by Lucy Score

  Layla cleared her throat. “About that—and I hate to do this, Eden—but what were you doing about an hour ago?”

  Eden’s outraged gasp nearly took her knees out. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, with your history with Gates here—The Incident and all that—I have to ask.”

  Davis opened his eyes again and stared up at Eden like a baby deer in headlights.

  “I was here making breakfast, cleaning up from breakfast, and baking,” Eden said in a chilly voice. “I have about a dozen witnesses that can place me here all morning.” Vader plopped down at her feet and leaned heavily against her leg for moral support.

  “That’s good enough for me, for now,” Layla said, all business. She flipped her notebook closed. “But you might want to compile a list of your guests and a way to contact them… just in case.”

  Eden’s fingernails worked their way into her palm. “I’ll be right with you,” she said pleasantly to her curious guests, pretending that she wasn’t ready to give Layla a real reason to arrest her.

  “I’m gonna go talk to the fire inspector,” Layla began, jerking her thumb toward the door. “See what she’s got for us.”

  “Where’s Donovan?” Eden asked. The sheriff of Blue Moon wasn’t investigating the only potential arson in the history of the town. That in itself was weird.

  Layla cracked a grin. “Would you believe me if I told you Cardona got married about two hours ago?”

  “What? Eva and Donovan?” Eden blinked. Astrological forces were definitely still in play. Eva and Donovan had been dating for barely a month, and Blue Moon’s sheriff wasn’t exactly known for being rash. A movement on the front porch caught her eyes. Ellery was waving her arms wildly as Bruce grabbed at the tufts of hair behind his ears. The apocalypse was definitely still in play.

  “Yeah,” Layla continued. “He and Eva tied the knot in a spontaneous little ceremony this morning. They’re either still locked in their bathroom having newlywed sex, or they’re out to brunch with the family.”

  Eden rubbed a hand over her forehead. Davis gave a little snore from the chair. His face was stained with blood and soot. But damn if he still wasn’t painfully, stupidly attractive.

  She hated that about him.

  “Is he allowed to sleep while he has a concussion?” Eden asked.

  Layla shrugged. The radio on her belt chirped. “Deputy, you got things under control out there at the winery?” Minnie Murkle’s voice crackled. She was Blue Moon’s dispatcher, police station office manager, and in the running for town’s busiest busybody.

  “I gotta take this,” Layla said, pointing toward the door. “Good luck with him. He’s gonna need a place to stay for the next few weeks.” She jutted her chin toward Davis and gave Eden a little salute before vanishing through the front door.

  “What do you mean ‘good luck with him’?” Eden called after her.

  Bruce and Ellery returned, both of them beaming at her. “So, we’re going to go,” Ellery said, clasping her hands in front of her black cat skeleton turtleneck.

  “What about him?” Eden asked, pointing at Davis.

  “Well, he’s going to need a place to stay,” Ellery said, sliding closer to the front door.

  “And what does that have to do with me?” Eden demanded. More guests were clustering around the desk, whispering. She took a deep breath to control her panic.

  “You know, Eden. Voting on Blue Moon Business of the Year is happening next month,” Bruce said, rubbing a hand over his rotund belly. “I imagine a lot of Mooners would be very impressed that you opened your inn to your neighbor in need.”

  Those sneaky, manipulative tricksters. Dangling the carrot she most wanted right in front of her. She’d been gunning for Blue Moon Business of the Year—a prize that the winery snatched up year after year—for the last six years. She was the Susan Lucci of Blue Moon’s chamber of commerce, and this year was going to be her year.

  “So, we’re gonna take off,” Ellery said again, pointing both index fingers in the direction of the front door. She slid one Frankenstein boot toward the door and then the other. Eden was powerless to stop them. She watched them scurry out the door like the sneaks they were. Davis made a sad little whimper noise next to her as he tried to curl his six-foot-plus frame into the chair.

  “Everything all right?” one of the guests asked. Melissa from Missouri on the upstate New York leg of her Girlfriends Tour, Eden recalled.

  “Everything’s great, Melissa,” Eden assured her with a confident smile she didn’t feel.

  Everything was horrible.

  9

  Eden prodded Davis into the cramped bathroom. She’d reluctantly given him the small suite next to her living quarters so his smell wouldn’t upset the rest of the guests. Sunny, her part-time front desk help who also waited tables at John Pierce Brews, had arrived in the nick of time distracting the guests that lingered with Eden’s charmingly cartoonish maps of Blue Moon and chocolates while she hauled the smelly mess away. She would manage the situation. It was what she did best.

  Eden reached around him and twisted the knobs in the skinny shower. “Get in there and don’t come out until you don’t smell.”

  “’K,” he said and shucked his jeans right there in front of her.

  “Holy hell,” Eden stammered and clapped a hand over her eyes. Davis Gates apparently didn’t bother with things like underwear. “Jesus, Gates! Wait until I leave the room.”

  “My head doesn’t feel good,” he announced with a little pout as he swayed backwards, pressing his bare ass cheeks against the glass door.

  “I’m sure it doesn’t,” Eden sighed, peeking between her fingers despite her best efforts. She didn’t want to be sympathetic. Not to him. Not after the years of judgment she’d endured because of him. It was his fault that Layla even had to ask about The Incident.

  Yet here he was, naked from the waist down—an obvious shower, not a grower—and looking needy. She cursed that stupid Blue Moon Business of the Year award.

  Steam billowed out of the shower. “Go on,” Eden said, more gently this time. “Get in and I’ll be back with fresh clothes.”

  She watched as Davis stepped into the shower with his shirt still on.

  “Shirt, Davis!”

  “Oh. Right.” The sopping wet, stinking mess hit her squarely in the face. She would have gagged from the smell, but Davis’s naked silhouette was eating up all her senses at the moment.

  She stripped the trash bag from the can next to the sink and stuffed his clothing in it. She’d give her industrial-sized washer and dryer a crack at the smell, but if they failed she’d be burning his clothes along with the chair in the lobby.

  “Try not to drown,” Eden called, backing out of the room.

  She slipped downstairs into the utility room that housed her gleaming laundry components and said a little prayer as she set the washer on “disaster” mode. Back upstairs she surveyed her options for clothing the naked Davis.

  He had butt dimples. Cute ones. Oh, God. Where had that thought come from?

  She mentally ran through her current guests. There were a handful of men, but none in quite the right size or quite the right character that she would feel comfortable asking them to borrow some spare clothes.

  With a huff, she marched into her living quarters and dug through her dresser. Davis was going to spend the rest of his day in a pair of her yoga pants and a V-neck t-shirt. She grabbed a pair of fuzzy knee socks and added them to the pile.

  It was the best she could do for now. Besides, it was only for a few hours until someone found him a more permanent place to stay.

  Eden debated leaving the clothes on the bed in his room but heard a squeaky thump from the bathroom.

  “Now what?” she muttered under her breath. Eden opened the door to find Davis sprawled on the floor of the shower, eyes closed, water pouring over his head in a steady river. He was going to drown in her guest room, and then the cops would really be asking questions.


  “Davis,” she snapped. Eden reached inside the shower and turned off the water. “Hey!”

  He opened one eye and then the other. “You’re really pretty,” he slurred again.

  “We’ve already established that,” she said, stepping into the shower stall and doing her best to wrestle his wet, naked body into a standing position.

  “You don’t like me, right?” Davis asked, reaching out to touch her nose in slow motion. “Booooop.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Eden yanked a towel off the bar and shoved it into his hands. “Dry off and put those clothes on,” she said, pointing to the decidedly feminine wardrobe she’d provided.

  She left him alone in the bathroom to wrestle his way into her clothing. Her watch vibrated indicating a new text message.

  Layla: Sorry about before. Just doing my job.

  Eden and Layla had been friends since junior high when an eighth-grade boy had farted into Layla’s trumpet’s mouthpiece while she was getting a drink from the water fountain. Eden had saved Layla from impending fart mouth, and together the two of them had pummeled Pond Birkbeck into submission. Now, her so-called-friend was questioning whether Eden had it in her to burn down a house in front of her guests.

  She tucked her phone away again, deciding to deal with Layla later and instead focused on taking inventory of the room. Pillows? Check. Quilt? Check. TV remote? Check. Dish of candy? Check.

  The bathroom door opened and Davis shuffled into the bedroom. Eden bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. The yoga pants were stretched to capacity to accommodate Davis’s package.

  “Now I get why women wear these so often. I’ve never been more comfortable,” Davis announced stretching from side to side.

  “Okay, let’s not overdo it on the motion,” Eden said.

  “I threw up in your shower,” he said.

  “Is this Ruin Eden’s Life Day?”

  “It was eggs,” he said dreamily. Davis looked beyond her to the full-sized bed dressed in a frilly duvet and tasseled pillows. “I think I’ll go to sleep,” he decided. With two long strides, he face-planted onto the mattress.

  “Shit,” Eden muttered. “Are you allowed to sleep when you’re concussed?”

  He didn’t answer, just burrowed further under the mound of pillows. Eden swallowed hard and tried to ignore the perfect ass that was currently filling out her yoga pants better than her own ever had.

  The Davis Gates that had returned to Blue Moon after college and several years on the West Coast was still the town golden boy. Only he’d traded his hand-woven ponchos for tailored suits, and his hair no longer did the adorable flip of his high school days. He was friendly, organized, and incredibly professional. Essentially, he was obnoxiously perfect.

  It annoyed the living crap out of Eden.

  Seeing him like this? Disheveled and confused? Well, it was the tiniest bit entertaining.

  With a sigh, Eden pulled her phone from her apron pocket and dialed.

  “’Lo?” Sammy Ames, Blue Moon’s large animal vet, and Eden’s best friend answered.

  “Sammy, I know you’re probably elbow-deep in a cow vagina right now, but I need medical advice.” Sammy and Eden had been best friends since the third grade when they were both put in charge of the class hamster for the week. Mr. Flufferbottom hadn’t survived the week, but their friendship had endured.

  There was a weird slooshing noise on Sammy’s end, and Eden had no desire to know exactly what she was interrupting. “The dogs okay?” her friend asked.

  “They’re fine. It’s a human patient. A concussion.”

  “You know I’m a vet, right?” Sammy quipped dryly.

  “Medicine is medicine. Can he sleep with a concussion?”

  She could hear Sammy’s wheels turning. “Can he carry on a conversation?”

  Eden stared at Davis’s prone form. “Yeah, he’s talking.”

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  “I’m not sure. About two hours?”

  “The sleeping thing is basically a myth when it comes to concussions. You want to keep him awake for four-ish hours after the trauma just to make sure symptoms aren’t worsening. You’ll want to watch for vomiting, the inability to recognize familiar people or places, seizures, and weak limbs.”

  “Holy crap. Well, he already barfed in my shower.”

  “In your shower?” Sammy repeated. “Who is this concussed Lothario?”

  Eden paused, wrinkling her nose. “Davis Gates,” she sighed.

  “WHAT?” Sammy’s shout had Eden yanking the phone away from her ear.

  “Keep it down, will you?” Davis mumbled through his mound of pillows.

  “Stay focused for a second. Do I need to take him to the hospital?” Eden asked Sammy.

  “Puking is normal after a concussion. Just watch for excessive puking.”

  “Why is this happening to me?” Eden lamented. “I was having a nice day. I was going to bake a pie.”

  “Ooh! What kind? Also, why is Davis Gates puking in your shower?”

  “Rhubarb. And at this point, I’m not really sure. I think the universe is punking me. His house caught fire, and Bruce Oakleigh and Ellery show up with him wrapped in a blanket smelling horrible. And then they were talking about Business of the Year award. And now I’m stuck with my mortal enemy who’s wearing my yoga pants and trying to build himself a pillow igloo in my guest room.”

  “Oh, babe,” Sammy said sympathetically.

  Eden shoved a hand into her hair. “They played me like a damn banjo.”

  “They sure did.” There was a high-pitched whinny on Sammy’s end. “Shit. I gotta go vaccinate this Adonis of horseflesh before he kicks me in the chest. I’ll call you later okay?”

  “Yeah, later,” Eden said flatly. She disconnected the call and studied Davis. She had to keep him awake for two more hours. And hopefully by then another Blue Moon Samaritan would open up their home to the guy who’d broken her heart and turned her into a small time criminal.

  It took every trick in the book, but Eden got Davis back onto his feet and into her office. It was the promise of a sticky bun that did it. When he winced at the sunlight streaming through from the window overlooking the front porch, Eden adjusted the blinds. He sat in the upholstered chair in front of her desk with his long legs stretched out, his socked feet touching her desk. The sticky bun disappeared in slow, measured bites.

  “Why can’t I sleep?” he asked again mournfully.

  “Because you might die, and then no one will ever want to stay here again with you haunting them,” Eden said, scanning the search results for concussion symptoms and treatments. “Does your head hurt?”

  “Do goats hate Jax Pierce?” Davis grumbled.

  At least he was stringing more words together and no longer booping her.

  “This says you can have acetaminophen for the pain,” Eden said, skimming the article. She pushed her intercom button. “Hey, Sunny, can you grab some Tylenol and water from the kitchen and bring it to my office?”

  “Totally,” Sunny answered from the front desk.

  “Totally,” Davis parroted.

  “She’s a third-generation hippie, Gates. What do you expect?” Eden snapped.

  “Don’t yell at me, please,” he begged, rubbing his hand over his temples. The gauze she’d hastily slapped on his forehead was soggy and drooping over his eyebrow.

  Why was she suddenly charged with supervising Davis Gates? Why was the universe torturing her? She was a good person, damn it. She donated to charity. She never was anything but kind and helpful to the very few rude visitors to her B&B. She rescued dogs. She supported her community in weird and wonderful ways. She tried her hardest to make sure that every guest left feeling like they had a magical experience in Blue Moon. So, why was she stuck with the one man on the entire planet that she despised with the fire of a thousand pottery kilns?

  Eden dug through her desk drawer for her emergency back-up first aid kit, used
primarily to treat paper cuts. She yanked out a bandage and shoved the kit back in the desk drawer with a slam.

  She came around the desk tearing the wrapper open. “Hold still,” she commanded, ripping the soggy gauze from his forehead.

  “Ow! Why are you so mean?” Davis hissed.

  “Stop being a baby,” Eden said, though she gentled her touch. She pressed the fresh bandage to his cut.

  “Hey, boss,” Sunny sang out her greeting as she swept through the door smelling like a scented candle store.

  Eden coughed. “Jeez, Sun. Go a little heavy on the perfume today?”

  “Have you smelled it outside?” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like an outhouse convention exploded. It reeks. Hey, Davis.” The lanky blonde turned her attention to Eden’s unwanted guest.

  “Hey, Sunny. How’s your day so far?” Davis asked weakly.

  At least he recognized her part-time help, Eden thought. Cross that symptom off the list.

  “Better than yours. Heard about the fire. Rumor has it, it was either a gas leak or your septic tank spontaneously imploded,” Sunny said, cheerfully sliding onto the corner of Eden’s desk and swinging her feet back and forth.

  Eden’s office was getting crowded.

  A movement on the small security monitor caught Eden’s eye. “Fire chief,” Sunny said.

  “Keep an eye on him and don’t let him fall asleep or throw up on anything,” Eden ordered.

  She found Fire Chief Eloisa MacDougal sniffing the collar of her jacket and wincing at the front desk.

  “Hi, chief,” Eden greeted her.

  “Sorry for the smell, Eden. I won’t stay long. How’s Davis?”

  “Concussed and confused. When can I send him home?” Eden asked, covering her nose and mouth. If the entire inn didn’t end up smelling, it would be a miracle.

  “Not any time soon,” Eloisa said, cracking her gum. She was a lean black woman in her early fifties who was more than capable of hauling a two-hundred-pound victim out of a window if necessary. She lifted weights religiously and fueled her muscles with a bowl of Rocky Road every night. “Structure’s not safe with the whole end of the house wide open. I’ve got Calvin Finestra’s card in here if Davis is looking for a contractor. It’s gonna be a lot of work.”