A Fairfield Romance Box Set 1

by Lydia Reeves

  I was quiet at that, using the excuse of checking the truck to make sure we’d gotten everything and locking it up to cover my reaction. Multi-lingual, world traveler, many hobbies…yes, she was exactly the sort of woman my brother would pursue. The sort of woman who had a taste for adventure, and no use for a small-town bookstore owner who hadn’t left the state more than a handful of times and had never traveled outside the country.

  I held the door for her as we made our last trip up the stairs and tried not to be affected by her grateful smile. Don’t get attached, I reminded myself. A guy like you has nothing to offer a woman like that.

  Chapter 5

  ELLEN

  It had been fun spending the morning with Sam. I’d been worried that things would be weird or strained between us, after he’d turned me down mid-kiss the night before and left me alone in his spare room wondering if I had done something to upset him. I didn’t think so—he had seemed as into it as I had, but clearly something had spooked him.

  But then this morning things had been as effortless and easy between us as they had yesterday evening. And yet, the sexual tension was still there, coiled tight as a wire, vibrating with energy.

  I did my best to ignore it—the intensity of his looks, the way our bodies moved around each other like orbiting planets. And we’d had fun, retrieving my belongings from my poor, broken car. Even though he didn’t seem to like to talk much about himself, conversation had been easy, and I’d enjoyed answering his questions and telling him more about myself.

  Until now, that was. I was used to people being overly interested in my bizarre childhood experiences. Usually people found my life exciting, and wanted to hear stories, and while I certainly didn’t like being fawned over, I did enjoy sharing some of my more bizarre experiences. But Sam had gone quiet, and I couldn’t read his expression. Or his mind.

  We made our way up the stairs with the last load of boxes and sat them down on the stack in the corner. Slightly out of breath from all the exertion, I collapsed in one of the chairs by the window, and after a second, he took the seat opposite me.

  I was just beginning to wonder if I’d mis-stepped again and upset him somehow when he asked, “Do your parents still move around as much as you do?”

  I tilted my head to the side, looking out the window as I pondered his question. “Well, yes and no. My dad passed away almost a decade ago, but my mom still travels. Less, though. She’s been in South Korea for the past few years, teaching English as a second language, but she actually just moved back to the States about six months ago. She’s living in Florida right now, I think.”

  “You think,” he repeated, the barest smile tugging up a corner of his mouth.

  I gave him a shrug and a smile. “You never know with her.”

  He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. I tried not to notice the way it made his shirt stretch across his chest.

  “So, tell me about one of your crazy childhood adventures,” he said. And there it was. One of the standard questions everyone asked me. And yet, from him it was different somehow. His mouth was still quirked in a half-smile, but his eyes were serious, and I got the feeling he wasn’t just asking because he wanted to hear a crazy story. There was something more there, something I couldn’t identify.

  “Well,” I said, leaning forward to brace my elbows on my knees as I thought. “There was one time, when I was about nine, that I had a toothache. We were passing through somewhere in Montana, heading east, and my parents stopped and took me to a dentist. I don’t know what the dentist did, exactly, but I left with half my face numb. By the time I got feeling back in my face, my tooth hurt even more. We were in South Dakota at that point, so we stopped again at a new dentist, and he went on about how the first dentist had messed it up. So, he did something else to my poor tooth and I guess he messed it up too, because we went to another dentist in Iowa and then another in Illinois. Each one thought the others had screwed up and they were going to fix it. I’ve hated dentists ever since.”

  Sam looked at me incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. “That’s your crazy childhood adventure story?”

  “What?” I said defensively, though I was laughing as well.

  “I was expecting something about skydiving in the Andes or taking a train across Canada, and you tell me about your toothache.”

  I shrugged, but he was still smiling, and his eyes had softened a little. “So,” he said, “did the dentist in Illinois get it right? Did your tooth stop hurting?”

  “Well, I don’t know if he got it right, but I didn’t have a tooth after that, so there was nothing left to hurt.” I gave him a broad smile and tapped on my fake premolar.

  He continued to chuckle, a low gravelly sound that made my insides clench.

  “So, tell me about yourself, then,” I said, shifting in the hard hotel chair. “You mentioned you had a brother. What does he do?”

  And just like that, his whole demeanor changed. His chuckle stopped and his face closed, like a shutter had dropped behind his eyes, erasing the softness I’d seen there.

  “He’s an artist. And writer. Sometimes musician.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot.”

  “You’d probably like him.”

  I tilted my head. “I’m not sure about that. Anyone with that many talents must have an ego to match.”

  His face softened a fraction. “Ah, he’s not so bad. Besides, it sounds like you’ve got plenty of talent yourself.”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of me at that. “I said I’d tried lots of things. I certainly didn’t say I was any good at them.”

  He smiled at that, and I pushed up to my feet, stretching my arms above my head. I didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the movement, and a shiver tingled down my spine. Suddenly I became very aware of the fact that we were alone together in a hotel room, sitting next to a large, very empty, very welcoming bed.

  A second later he rose as well and took a step toward the door. His face was slightly flushed, and I wondered if his train of thought had taken the same turn as mine. “I should probably get back to the bookstore,” he said, and there was a faint apology in his words.

  “Of course,” I said. “I’ve kept you here long enough. Thank you again, so much, for everything you’ve done.”

  His eyes were warm again when he nodded. “Anytime.” He paused awkwardly for a moment, and I acted without thinking, crossing the few steps and wrapping my arms around him. His came up around me as well. Just a hug, a thank you, between two friends. Safe and warm and comforting, and maybe going on slightly longer than necessary, but the muscles of his back were so hard beneath my hands, and I buried my face in his shoulder and breathed in his scent—and okay, maybe that wasn’t exactly what friends did when they hugged, but his arms were tight around me and his breath warm on my hair and I couldn’t seem to bring myself to let go.

  He let go first, and I felt a rush of guilt. Despite our mutual attraction, he had set clear boundaries the night before, and I had just overstepped them. “I’m sorry, Sam, I—”

  But I couldn’t get the words out before he was kissing me, his mouth hot and firm against mine. I’d been half convinced that last night had been a fluke, that since he’d left when I’d been so turned on, I must have exaggerated the feel of his kiss in my mind. I’d been kissed plenty of times before, and there was no way he could feel as good as I remembered. But I’d been wrong. Nothing had ever felt this good. His stubble scraped against my skin as he deepened the kiss, his hands were in my hair, and my blood was molten metal as it pulsed through my veins, spreading a hot twist of pleasure deep within me.

  I kissed him back for all I was worth, and I wondered what was going to happen. Would he stop this again? Would he regret it if he didn’t? Would he—

  A harsh jangling sound shrilled loud and we jumped apart as if doused with ice water. It took me a second to get my bearings and realize the terrible racket was coming from the phone on
the bedside table. I chanced a look at Sam and found he was breathing as hard as I was, and with his hair mussed from my hands and the sleepy, hooded look in his eyes, I barely stopped myself from hurtling back into his arms. But his mouth quirked at me and he nodded his head toward the phone, and reluctantly I crossed to the table and lifted the receiver, silencing the awful ringing.

  “Hello?” Good, not too breathless.

  “Miss Price? This is Cynthia from the front desk. I just checked you in a few minutes ago?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but we’ve had a report of bedbugs from someone on your floor, and we’ve just verified it to be true.”

  “Aaah!” I leapt back away from the bed, and the phone pulled off the desk and crashed to the floor. Sam looked mildly alarmed. You might think, with my extensive traveling, that I would be used to all manner of creepy-crawlies and would not freak out at the mere thought of bedbugs not a foot away from where I was standing. You would be wrong.

  “Miss Price?”

  “I’m here!”

  “Unfortunately, we’re evacuating the floor as a precaution. If you’d like to stay, we’re happy to transfer you to a new room on another floor that has been checked and cleared, or if you’d prefer not to stay I can offer you a full refund, with our sincere apologies.”

  My answer came out as a garbled squeak.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Refund!” I cleared my throat. “I’ll go with the refund. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right down.”

  I hung up the phone and darted across the floor, grabbing Sam’s hand along the way and hauling him behind me. “What the—”

  I only answered once we were safely in the hallway.

  “Bedbugs.”

  He started to laugh.

  Chapter 6

  SAM

  The suggestion to stay at my place came from Ellen this time, and I readily agreed. I had tried to do what was best, I told myself—give her space so she wouldn’t feel like she was imposing, and give myself distance from this woman who was so quickly getting under my skin—but if fate had decreed that she would stay with me, who was I to complain? Besides, you couldn’t argue with bedbugs.

  It was unfortunate that we had to lug all of her belongings back down the stairs and reload my truck, only to haul them all back up the stairs when we reached my apartment, but we laughed as we did so and it ended up being more fun than I’d had in a long time. We didn’t talk about the kiss—either kiss—and both of us focused on the task at hand. But I could feel my defenses weakening.

  I left her upstairs to unpack and get settled—and, I suspected, shower obsessively after the bedbug run-in—and I went back down to the store, checking in on my employees and making sure everything was running smoothly. She came down a while later and parked herself at the cafe with a laptop. I gave her space, focusing on my work as I left her to hers, but I couldn’t help my awareness of her, the comfort of knowing she was there as I moved around the store. In the end I decided to head out early, leaving Rachel, my cashier, in charge of closing the store. My announcement was met with dumbfounded looks and inquiries as to the state of my health, since I had only ever left early once before, and that was when I’d had the flu. But I ignored Rachel’s mocking hand on my forehead, and it was all worth it for the look I got when I leaned over the little table in the cafe and said, “Hungry? I thought I might make dinner.”

  Ellen’s answering smile was wide and lovely. “Ooh, and he can cook! Or, well, I guess I don’t know that yet. But I’ll give you a chance.” She closed the lid of her computer and leaned close, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “To be fair, I am pretty hungry; my standards might not be very high.”

  “Oh, good, then I don’t have to try very hard,” I joked, and she laughed as she followed me through the store.

  Upstairs, she made herself at home in my kitchen, setting out plates and pouring wine as I threw together the one thing I knew I could handle—spaghetti and meatballs. I was no gourmet chef, but after years of living alone, I could hold my own.

  Being with her was easy and we worked together well. She chattered amicably as we cooked and didn’t seem put off by my quiet nature. In turn, I found her stories charming and her voice soothing. We moved around each other easily; she reached across me to grab the strainer and nudged me aside to reach the knife to chop vegetables for a salad, and it was like we’d been living together for years.

  When dinner was ready, we sat together at my tiny dining room table and ate together in comfortable silence.

  “This is delicious,” she said after a while, and I nodded my thanks, trying not to lean across the table and wipe a speck of sauce from her lip. Finally, we finished, and I sat back, taking a long sip from my wine glass.

  “So,” she started. “I already know what you’re going to say to this, but I’d really like to pay you for letting me stay with you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I would be paying to stay at a hotel, and you’ve gone out of your way already.”

  “You’re not costing me anything,” I protested. “The room is just sitting there.”

  “You cooked for me,” she pointed out. “And I took you away from your work today to help me move.”

  “I won’t take your money,” I said firmly.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at me shrewdly. “I thought you might say that. So, I was thinking…”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Would you be interested in a trade?”

  I took another drink of wine and narrowed my eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, you have that huge blank brick wall in the store. It’s a focal point, this huge empty wall that dominates one whole side of the space. It’s the first thing you see when you enter the store, and it’s just…empty. Even the second floor balcony doesn’t extend that far.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  She eyed me, clearly uncertain as to how I was going to react, but she pushed on regardless. “Well…what would you think about a mural that covers the wall?”

  I blinked and leaned back in my chair, trying to picture it. “That’s an interesting idea.” It was an interesting idea. It would be a huge feature that customers would see the second they entered the store, something completely unique. It would also give my mother fits that it had been painted by someone other than my brother. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, I…well, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She blew out a breath. “I wasn’t sure you’d go for it. It would change the whole feel of your store. But if you would really consider it…” She started to look excited. “Well, I’m sure we could come up with something amazing. Plus, then I’d feel like I’d repaid your kindness in letting me stay with you.”

  I thought it over. It really would be an amazing feature in the store. It would give her something to do while she was stranded here, and another unexpected bonus—she wouldn’t be able to leave town until it was complete. I didn’t have to think long.

  “I’m in.”

  Her smile lit the room.

  “On one condition,” I added. “We won’t be trading. You have to let me pay you for it.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “No deal. Then I’m just indebted to you again.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what the going rate is for a two-story painted mural, but I’m betting it’s more than a couple of nights in a seedy hotel.”

  “Hey, your apartment isn’t seedy,” she protested. “You don’t even have bedbugs!”

  I quirked a smile, but held firm. “That’s my offer. We can find another way to trade if you want, but if you’re painting my store, I’m paying you for it.” I held my hand out across the table, and she scowled at me for a moment before reaching across and gripping my hand. “Deal.”

  “Deal,” I repeated. Her hand was soft and small in mine, and I held it just a moment longer than necessary before rele
asing it.

  * * *

  The next morning, she jumped in with both feet. Watching her work was actually rather amazing. I eventually just gave her the keys to my truck and told her to get whatever she needed, and she was back a few hours later with all kinds of supplies—gallons of paint, brushes, drop cloths, not to mention scaffolding that she’d procured from God-knew-where. She was quick and efficient, and paint was flying before the afternoon was out.

  I hadn’t considered what a draw just having her there working on it would be, but the number of customers steadily increased throughout the day until by late afternoon, people were openly standing around watching. We’d spent the evening before perusing her portfolio and deciding on a design, and finally settled on an amalgamation of imagery from famous books, better to fill the space than a single large design. She was working in the bottom corner at the moment, roughing in the shape of Moby Dick arcing out of the ocean in a spray of water as Pequod rode the waves in the background.

  I couldn’t imagine how much time a project of this size and complexity would take, but the longer it kept her around, the less I was complaining.

  Smiling to myself, I stepped around a cluster of people who were obviously only there to watch—well, and to buy coffee and pastries from Geoff while they did, so I wasn’t complaining—and made my way back to my office, where I had paperwork awaiting me. I’d no sooner sat in my chair and pulled the keyboard close when my phone rang, vibrating in my pocket. One glance at the display and I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer, but I knew if I didn’t, she would just call again. And again.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, Sammy. How are you? You haven’t called in a while.”

  I’d spoken to her just days before, but it wouldn’t be my mother if she didn’t start right in with a guilt trip. I didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m fine, Mom. How are you?”