Dad Bod

by Lily Kate

  “I can’t watch,” I say, but I don’t make a move to cover my eyes. “How can she think this is a good idea? Everyone who’s gone downstairs ends up dead!”

  The music intensifies, the glow from beneath the door in the film brightens. The night grows darker, the female’s arm shakes as it reaches toward the handle. My own palms are slick with sweat, and Emily is cutting off circulation to my bicep. She reaches for the knob, turns it, and—

  The front door to the Lilac Inn bursts open. “Hello?”

  The screams that follow are sure to wake several of our guests. We’ll definitely have noise complaints in the morning, which will result in us comping several breakfasts, and in turn annoying both Luca and Jax. Jax is kept busy enough in the kitchen with paying customers, let alone those with a free meal ticket.

  It’s only once we’re done screaming that I realize the horrible shrieking sounds are coming mostly from me. Emily stopped screaming a few seconds ago, though apparently my heart kept pumping and my blood kept racing, and I kept right on screaming.

  “Sorry,” the distinctly male voice says from the doorway. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to check in. I knocked, but I didn’t think anyone heard me.”

  By the time Luca rounds the corner with a hand on his heart—probably terrified that a mass murderer had walked through the door and wiped us all out—the situation has stabilized. Though it’s not lost on me that Luca first looks to Emily and, once her safety is ensured, his eyes sweep over to me. Flattering.

  In the awkward silence that lands over the four of us, I pull myself onto a shaky pair of legs and make my way to the entrance. As I wobble, the man, whose face is still shadowed by the night, speaks in confusion.

  “This is the Lilac Inn, correct?”

  “Yes, it is, and I’m Maggie. I run this place along with...” I trail off as I catch sight of Emily staring at Luca. “Emily.”

  “Did you say your name was Maggie?” There’s a hint of curiosity to the man’s voice that has me turning around slowly to face him. He raises his eyebrows, a cocky little smirk turning up the sides of his mouth, as he continues. “As in... Margaret Marshall?”

  The way the last name is emphasized, along with the use of my seldom-spoken first name, has me on instant high alert. I continue my spin to face him, dragging my eyes away from Emily, to land on another face that is surprisingly familiar.

  Too familiar.

  “Holy shit,” I mumble.

  “What’s wrong?” Emily finally senses there’s more happening than her infatuation with Luca, and joins my side. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Tyler?” I ask.

  The name triggers Emily’s memory—she’s never met Tyler personally, but she’s heard his name plenty over shared bottles of wine and tears. She faces him with renewed surprise. “Tyler Daniels?”

  Tyler Daniels steps out of the dark entrance and into the warmly lit lobby. Once there, the light hits his face and sends spirals of confusion flooding through my bones. A long time ago, I thought he might be half-god—based mostly on his looks, but also on the things he could do with his tongue.

  I’m disappointed to find he’s so much worse now.

  Instead of the lanky, almost-handsome boy that’d left town nearly a decade ago, there’s a full-on man standing before me. A gorgeous specimen of broad shoulders, curly dark hair, and that teasing little smirk he’s already flashed one too many times. He’s dressed to the nines in a dark blue suit and brown leather shoes, rounding out his polished look.

  Thick, dark lashes brush his cheek as he gives me a pleased grin, teeth brightening up the room once more. Even his face, which I’d first thought was clean-shaven, is covered in a slight stubble that inches the whole businessman look a notch toward sexy. Something that is not helped by his lack of tie and the slightly open shirt he’s wearing, along with the dark wisps of hair peeking from the top of it.

  The man is no longer halfway to godlike. He’s the real deal.

  Except, I’m pretty sure he’s closer to Hades than he is to Zeus.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, forcing my tone to remain polite. “I never thought we’d see you back in Harp’s Haven.”

  “I didn’t have plans to come back,” he says, “but maybe I should have.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Emily looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. I’m not sure why I sound so snappish, but there’s this attitude I can’t seem to shake. Maybe it’s because the last memory of Tyler Daniels that I have is the image of his taillights burning away from the scene of an incredible kiss.

  “Do I smell popcorn?” Tyler glances over my shoulder, keeping his voice falsely light. “Movie night at the Lilac Inn?”

  “What’s it matter to you?” I ask, waspish. “You probably wouldn’t want to stay for it, anyway.”

  “How about I get you checked in,” Emily suggests, hurrying over to the reception desk. “Maggie, you can finish watching people get murdered while I help this nice man out.”

  Emily leaves me standing in the lobby studying Tyler Daniels. He watches me back with equal intensity. It appears neither of us are willing to break our staring game. Tyler’s gaze pierces me with gleaming pools of moonstone, the most interesting mix between gray and blue.

  I don’t realize I’ve fallen into them until he steps close to me, bringing with him a scent of expensive cologne and fresh fall air. Not until Emily snaps her finger and forces me to return to my senses, do I look at her. Tyler, however, continues to stare.

  “Your friend called me a nice man,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out to brush a piece of hair from my face. “Never thought I’d hear that one.”

  I’m too mesmerized by his closeness to think of a witty retort. I know I’ll have one later when I’m trying to sleep at three in the morning and replaying this encounter a hundred and one times, wishing I could run to his room, pound on his door, and spew all of my smart and funny comebacks in his face.

  In reality, I’ll lay in bed feeling my face burn to bits, wishing I could die of embarrassment.

  “Hey, earth to you two,” Emily says from the reception desk. “If you don’t hurry, I’m going to make Luca check you in, and he’s not nearly as friendly as me.”

  Tyler and I hold in a battle for one final moment as something flickers through his eyes. At first, I thought it would be dislike, or something similar, but I’m surprised to find it’s not. There’s an almost frustrated, wistful glance that has me wondering what Tyler can possibly be thinking.

  I know what I’m remembering, and those thoughts are warming me in all sorts of places I’d prefer remained on lockdown and ice cold. My breath comes out in a weird gasp, and this draws a pleased smile from Tyler’s face.

  “It’s really good to see you, Margaret Marshall,” he says in that deep, tender tone I used to love. “I’ve missed you.”

  Chapter 3

  TYLER

  I can see her standing outside my door.

  I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that I can see her, but the way Maggie’s pacing outside of my room, I’d have to be dead not to notice. Not only is the floor shaking, but there’s the little-known fact that my blood pressure spikes through the roof every time Margaret Marshall steps within ten feet of me.

  Which is one of the reasons we fell apart in the first place.

  I’d been a senior in high school when she’d been a sophomore, all starry eyed and young and beautiful. Anyone in this town who had a blip of testosterone in their blood had noticed Margaret Marshall.

  She’d had the softest brunette waves that fell in tangles down her back, and sweet little freckles dotted across round, full cheeks. Not to mention the curves she’d developed sometime around her sixteenth birthday that could cripple a teenage boy.

  Stomp, stomp-stomp...stomp.

  Margaret’s friend, Emily, put me on the second floor of their inn, and I’m fairly certain that if someone is occupying the room belo
w me, they’ll be shaken awake by the tremors radiating from Maggie’s footsteps.

  She’s got her hands clasped behind her back and her lips are moving at a hundred miles an hour. It looks like she’s mumbling something, or practicing a speech she’s too scared to give. I halfway wonder if she’s outside my door for a reason, or if she makes a habit of pacing the halls around here nightly. If that’s the case, I might just join her. It’d be nice to catch up with Margaret, to see where life’s taken her since we split ways.

  As Margaret paces, she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear, and I’m already feeling body parts react that should have no business standing to attention. That ship sailed a long time ago when she opted to stay home in Harp’s Haven for college, while I felt the pull to leap into New York and explore. I’d left. She’d stayed. End of story.

  Family, a house, children...that’s what Maggie had wanted.

  Parties, cash, The City...that’s what I’d wanted.

  And that’s how we’d left things.

  I glance down at my watch, an expensive Christmas gift from work, and realize I’ve been watching Maggie pace for a solid thirteen minutes. I either need to buck the hell up and ask her what’s going on, or get my ass in bed. This peeking through the peephole and watching doesn’t fit my style.

  I gave up the practice of chasing women a long time ago. Ever since the only one I wanted turned out to be the one I couldn’t have. My ego was frail back then, and I’m not sure it’s improved all that much; I don’t enjoy being rejected—and, as I figured out later in life—I can’t be rejected if I don’t play the game.

  Maggie’s pacing continues until I force myself to look away. It’s painful to shed my pants, slide under the covers, and pull the blanket up to my chest knowing she’s out there.

  I try to sleep, but it doesn’t come for hours. I’m feeling edgy, angsty.

  It’s only when sleep crawls onto the horizon and pulls me under that it hits me. For the first time in years, I’ve been tempted to chase. I still want Margaret Marshall just as much as I did the day I left town.

  Chapter 4

  MAGGIE

  “I’m such a chicken.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Jax pours a piping hot mug of coffee and slides it across the counter to me. “What happened?”

  I wrap my hands around the ceramic mug, admiring the handmade design of it, and sigh. “The guy staying on the second floor—business suit, you’ll see him—is an old boyfriend of mine. He wandered into the inn last night, and I acted like a moron. I couldn’t think of a thing to say back when he got all suave on me, and I probably just stared at him and drooled.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad.” Jax raises an eyebrow, looking like the cover model for GQ. He’s the sort of man who always looks like he’s just rolled out of bed after having the best sex of his life. He’s got this blond-brown mix of ruffled hair and dark brown eyes that are warm and gooey like the chocolate cake he’s famous for baking. “You have to understand, Maggie, that it takes a lot to turn us guys off. He’s probably feeling flattered right now.”

  “You’re no help. You never have to worry about these things.”

  His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he shakes his head. “You’re one to talk, Miss Maggie.”

  I can’t help but smile back. Jax and I have a solidly business friendship that rarely crosses the line to personal chitchat. But, in times of dire need, I go to him for a male perspective.

  Though he’s pretty to look at, Jax is also quite reserved and, unsurprisingly, fully invested in his work. As am I, which means the two of us get along well. I don’t mess with his kitchen, and he keeps the good food coming; it’s a match made in heaven.

  “Don’t you have a cake for me to test?” I ask, leaning over the counter. “I smell chocolate.”

  “Your nose is broken.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I pay your bills, mister—don’t hold out on me.”

  “I bring business to your inn.” He sets down the towel he’s holding and leans over the counter, our eyes meeting in a staring match of wills. “You think they come here for the beds?” He shakes his head. “They come here for the food.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know the women lunch here for a glimpse of your face; it has nothing to do with your food.”

  To anyone walking by, it might look like we’re flirting—heads tilted together, eyes narrowed, hovering on the precipice between playful banter and serious discussion—but we both know better. I’m simply negotiating for cake. Jax is like a brother to me and Emily, and a doting uncle to Mila.

  He backs away slowly, not quite admitting defeat. But he does disappear into the kitchen to retrieve a fluffy brown two-tier cake with chocolate ganache dripping down the sides. My mouth waters.

  “Can I get it a la mode?” I beg. “I’ll be your slave forever.”

  My heart thumps faster at the sight of cake. There’s simply nothing more fulfilling for breakfast in my mind. It’s good for the soul, it’s great with coffee, and it’s fresh from the oven.

  I’m practically panting in anticipation. I’m not proud of it, but I’m even more uncomfortable when I look to the right and find Tyler Daniels standing there, watching the interaction.

  He has a crooked grin frozen on his face, as if he were halfway on his way to a smug retort when he caught me salivating over a handsome man holding cake. I briefly wonder if he heard the part where I offered to be Jax’s slave for life.

  Good, I think, narrowing my eyes at him. Tyler’s face unfreezes somewhat, and there’s a distinct look of annoyance in its place. Extra good, I think, since the last thing I want is for Tyler to think I’ve been waiting for him all these years—saving all my drool to salivate over him.

  It’s a good thing Tyler can only see the glare on my face, however, because inside, my feelings for him are more complicated. I don’t want to be happy to see him, but my heart disagrees. It thumps just a little too loudly at the sight of his sleep-worn face, his complex, gray-blue eyes, and the smart-fitting suit that places him in the upper one percent as far as I’m concerned.

  The microwave dings, and Jax pulls the cake slice out and artistically plops a generous serving of cinnamon ice cream to the side. “Voila,” he says, sliding the cake expertly down the counter so it lands in front of me.

  This shakes me from my staring contest with Tyler as I react, throwing an arm out to catch the still-spinning plate. Except something goes utterly, horribly wrong. I’m so flustered that instead of catching the plate, I somehow manage to upend the whole thing and send the cake flying the rest of the way down the counter—without the plate.

  The beautiful concoction of chocolate and ice cream lands with a splat inches from Tyler’s fingers which, I notice, are clutching the bar so tightly his knuckles are an unhealthy shade of white.

  “Ooops,” I say, cowering under the wrath of Jax. “Five second rule?”

  “Can I help you?” Jax snarls at Tyler. “Need something for breakfast? Or will you throw it on the floor, too?”

  “It’s not on the floor,” I say, and slide down the counter to retrieve the cake. I pitifully scoop it all back onto my plate, finding myself tucked almost between Tyler’s arms as I do.

  “Coffee—to go, please,” Tyler says, and his words sizzle over my skin.

  He’s already showered this morning. His hair is still slightly damp, and I can practically taste the scent of him—all fresh and minty, with a hint of whatever expensive cologne men from New York use. I could lick him based on that scent alone. Theoretically.

  Jax, bless his soul, has returned to cut another slice of cake. He places this one in front of me, removing the pile of mush and dumping it into the trash with a grimace. He hates wasting food, and I don’t blame him. When he spends hours on a cake, every crumb costs a pretty penny.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize again as Jax reaches for the ice cream. I eye the chocolate mess on the counter. “Can you toss me the wash cloth?”

&nb
sp; Jax rinses the cloth under the water and throws it in my direction. Somehow, however, I get distracted in the two seconds since I’ve asked him, and my reflexes aren’t fast enough to recover. I reach for the flying washcloth, but I’m too slow. It sails right over my shoulder and hits Tyler Daniels straight in the forehead.

  “Oh, my God,” I murmur, staring in horror at the damp cloth now dripping water over Tyler’s face. “Your hair! I’m so sorry.”

  Tyler merely pauses for a moment, raises a hand, and peels the damp—and thankfully clean—washrag from his head. My fingers reach up of their own accord, smoothing his hair down, patting his face with my sleeve in a clumsy attempt to dry him off.

  “Coffee’s on me, mate,” Jax says, placing an extra-large Styrofoam cup on the counter, shooting Tyler an apologetic smile. “Sorry our girl can’t catch.”

  “Our girl?” Tyler murmurs into my ear, a sardonic smile landing on his face as his eyes turn to steel.

  To my surprise, he seems more concerned with Jax’s statement than he does his flattened hair.

  “Um,” I flounder. “It’s nothing. I’m so sorry about your hair.” Reaching up, I once again attempt to fluff Tyler’s hair into the ruffled look he had going before. “I hope you’re not running late for something.”

  “Don’t.” Tyler’s hand snakes out and catches my wrist. His eyes land on mine with absolutely no give to them. No sign of friendship or light banter this time around. “Thanks, but you’ve done enough.”

  My gut sinks a few notches as Tyler reaches around me, carefully avoiding physical contact, and retrieves his coffee. He raises it in a nod of thanks to Jax, and then turns and strolls from the dining room without looking back.

  “Remember...” I turn to Jax slowly, unable to even glance at the new piece of cake sitting before me, and wrinkle my nose. “When I told you about feeling like a chicken because I made a fool of myself in front of my old flame?”

  A light blinks on in Jax’s eyes. “That’s him.”

  “Yep.”