by Lucy Score
Stepping over suits and socks, Davis opened the front door to Calvin Finestra, Blue Moon’s resident contractor. “It had to be the kitchen, didn’t it?” the man in coveralls sighed. Calvin and his crew had spent a very pleasant six weeks last spring building the addition. And now it was blackened rubble.
“What’s that smell?” Calvin asked.
“Stink bomb we think.”
“Who’d stink bomb you?”
Davis shrugged and held the door for the builder. “Your guess is as good as mine at this point. At least the smell is better today.”
The winery had been closed for two days due to the smell, and though he’d been holed up in his comfy guest bed next door to Eden, he’d seen the complaints on Facebook and knew the winds had carried the scent into town.
Calvin, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his white hair poking out from under his worn ball cap, surveyed the blackened hull of what had been a very nice kitchen. “Well, at least we didn’t build anything above it,” he said optimistically gazing up at the charred holes in the roof.
“I’ve got more bad news for you,” Davis told him.
“What’s that?”
“Insurance company isn’t going to pay out until I can prove that I didn’t set the fire.”
Calvin grimaced. “Can’t leave it like this. You’ll end up with a wildlife refuge movin’ on in.”
“Maybe I can tarp it off?” Davis wondered, rubbing his forehead. He should have been meeting with the chamber of commerce right now to flesh out the details of their Christmas party at the winery next month. Not contemplating how to keep bears and squirrels out of his house.
“Me and my crew will take care of sealing it off,” Calvin told him.
“Calvin, I’m not going to be able to pay you for a while,” Davis told him. The winery did well, and Davis was paid a fair salary for his work, but he didn’t have nearly fifty-thousand dollars lying around in a savings account just waiting for an emergency. And asking his parents for help was not an option.
Calvin waved his concern away. “Wouldn’t be neighborly to leave it like this. I’ll pull a crew together tomorrow to get started. We’ll get it sealed up so you can at least turn on the heat and save your pipes. Then we’ll figure out the rest.”
Davis was humbled. Not only had his sworn enemy opened her home to him, his neighbors were stepping up for him without even being asked.
Davis shoved his hands in his pockets so he didn’t let his emotional state run wild and hug the man. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ll be by tomorrow. I’d ask for the key, but I think we can let ourselves in,” Calvin grinned, eyeing the six-foot hole in the front of the house.
11
Eden hauled ass into Villa Harvest, the charming and deliciously scented Italian restaurant in town. She spotted her friends in the corner shoving breadsticks into their faces as if their lives depended on it. Layla was the tall, blonde bombshell to Sammy’s petite frame and no-nonsense stubby ponytail that her honey-colored curls kept trying to escape. Lunch hours for cops and large animal vets went quickly… and in this case started at three o’clock in the afternoon.
Eden took the chair next to Sammy and picked up her menu, pointedly ignoring Layla.
“Is that smell you?” Sammy asked, leaning in to sniff Eden’s shirt.
Eden swore and tugged at the collar of her olive-green tunic. “I think the smell is seeping into my wallpaper,” she moaned.
“Who would set fire to the winery?” Sammy wondered.
“It was Davis’s house. More personal than going after the business,” Layla said through a mouthful of parmesan and carbs.
“Layla thinks I did it,” Eden said, perusing the menu.
Layla kicked her under the table. “I do not. I was just doing my job.”
“You asked me if I set the fire!”
“Doing. My. Job. You know I don’t think you had anything to do with it. And no one else is going to think it either since you gave that smelly hot guy a place to stay,” Layla insisted. It was as good of an apology as Eden was going to get.
And grunting at Layla was the only apology acceptance she’d give. The three of them, friends forever, took two things in life seriously: work and friendship… also food.
“I just hate that once again, everyone thinks I’m the bad guy,” Eden grumbled.
“No one likes a whiner.” Sammy pointed at her with a breadstick. “You’ve spent your entire adulthood trying to make up for being seventeen. And it’s not necessary. This is Blue Moon. There are no outcasts.”
It was true. Eden had spent her teenage years trying to be the rebel, and when she’d finally—accidentally—earned that status, all she wanted to do was take it back. She wasn’t mean-spirited. She wasn’t vindictive or wild or reactive. But The Incident had certainly painted her in that light. She still wished she could take it all back. And as part of her penance, Eden had patently refused to say anything negative about Davis to anyone for the last fifteen years. She just thought plenty of negative things.
“I get that I’m accepted,” Eden sighed. “But no matter what I do, everyone always sees me as the girl who got revenge on Davis by—”
“Ladies! What a pleasant surprise.” Eden was interrupted by Franklin Merrill, the jolly owner and sometimes waiter at Villa Harvest, appeared tableside, notebook at the ready. “I don’t suppose I can offer any of you a margarita in the middle of the day?”
“Not today, Franklin,” Layla said, batting her lashes at the man. “But you can tell us what the lunch specials are.”
He ran through the specials adding in his personal recommendations, and they ordered with a healthy side of flirting. Franklin was a lovable bear of a man who turned out to be Phoebe Pierce’s second chance at happiness after her first husband, John, passed away. Phoebe’s sons had varying reactions to her newfound happiness. But no heart could stay hardened against Franklin. He was irresistible.
“Are you ladies trying to catch my husband’s eye?” Phoebe teased, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist. She was sixty, but her happy glow made her look a decade younger.
“Can’t help it, Phoebe,” Eden confessed. “Franklin is irresistible.”
“Women throw themselves at me,” Franklin confirmed with a chuckle.
“Well, as long as you don’t throw yourself back,” Phoebe winked up at him. “I hear there was some excitement out your way this week, Eden. We could smell it all the way out at the farm.”
“You should smell the inn,” Eden told them. “It’s lucky the damage wasn’t worse.”
“I heard Davis was injured,” Franklin added. The man served half the town their lunch and would have all the details by now.
“A bump on the head and a mild concussion,” Eden said, trying to evict the image of Davis stripping in front of her from her mind. It wasn’t working.
“And you’re putting him up. That’s very generous of you,” Phoebe said, laying a motherly hand on Eden’s shoulder. Phoebe was too nice to point out that it was surprising that Eden would be willing to lend a helping hand to a man she disliked.
“It’s just temporary,” Eden reiterated. “I’m sure he’ll be back in his house soon.” Please, God.
“Well, we’re all proud of you for stepping up for him. I know you two don’t have the smoothest history,” Phoebe said.
“Thanks,” Eden mumbled.
The Merrills left them to their breadsticks and conversation.
Sammy wiggled her eyebrows at Eden. “So?”
“So, what?”
“What’s it like having your sworn enemy living under your roof?”
“Do we have to talk about this?” Eden sighed.
“Is he doing okay? That was quite the head wound,” Layla said.
Eden’s lips quirked before she could stop them. God, he’d been cute. All disoriented, vulnerable. Naked.
“What’s that?” Sammy demanded leaning in.
“What’s what?”
“Your face, Eden. What’s it doing? You look like you just thought of a yummy secret.”
Eden ran her tongue over her teeth debating keeping her little tidbit to herself. But this was why she had these women in her life. “Okay, but this is Fort Knox-level stuff here.”
Layla scooted her chair closer. “I love Fort Knox shit.”
“Let me just make it very clear that I still intensely dislike the man,” Eden prefaced.
Sammy nodded with enthusiasm. “So noted.”
“And this doesn’t change those feelings at all.”
Layla leaned forward. “If you don’t spill it now, I’m going to get my Taser out.”
“So, he might have been a little confused by the head wound thing,” Eden began. “And he might have stripped naked in front of me.”
Sammy’s jaw hit the table, and Layla slapped an open palm down next to the basket of breadsticks. “No friggin’ way,” she hissed.
“Details. Let’s talk measurements,” Sammy insisted, snatching a breadstick out of the basket and waving it in front of Eden’s face.
“Would you stop it?” Eden hissed.
“Look, the closest I’ve been to a cock lately is wading through the flock of chickens on Old Man Carson’s farm last week,” Sammy sighed. “Humor me.”
Eden reluctantly took the breadstick from her friend. “Fine. But this too falls under the Fort Knox protection.”
She looked over both shoulders to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them. In Blue Moon, it was a risk you took being in public. Your business was everyone’s business here.
Enid Macklemore was working on a second bottle of wine with her friends Aretha and Xanna across the restaurant. Two tables away, Julio, the suave ponytailed cook from Pierce Brews, was staring deeply into the wide, violet eyes of Charisma Champion, school teacher and town astrologist who technically still should have been in school for the day.
Satisfied, Eden held up the breadstick and bit an inch off of the end and put it back down on her plate.
“You’re screwing with us, aren’t you?” Layla asked, eyeing the representation.
Eden shook her head. “I wish I was.”
“And this was just head wound, pants off, naked? Not like ready to spelunk in your lady cave naked?” Sammy asked.
Eden closed her eyes. “You need to get laid. Like ASAP.”
“Seriously,” Layla agreed, still staring at the breadstick.
“So, are you going to?” Sammy asked.
“Going to what?” Eden picked up the breadstick and hastily took another bite of it before anyone guessed that they were playing how big is Davis’s schlong.
“Are you going to have sex with Davis?”
The bread lodged in her throat, and Eden choked and coughed.
“Shit. Now I have to give her the Heimlich,” Layla sighed, putting her napkin down and standing up.
Eden coughed, her eyes watering, and grabbed for her water. “Sit down! I’m fine,” she rasped.
“Yeah, Layla. She’s fine. She just choked on Davis’s breadstick,” Sammy snickered.
“I hate you both,” Eden gasped.
“No, you don’t,” they said together.
“I do! And just to be very clear, I am not sleeping with Davis. Ever. Not in a million years would I let that man into my bed!”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed,” Franklin said, setting a plate of chicken parm in front of her.
12
She’d left the dishes from snack time next to the sink, intending to do them tomorrow. But Eden hadn’t taken into account how that decision would haunt her while she chased the sleep her body begged for. She stared at the ceiling over her bed. Blinked. Then stared some more. Sleep continued to elude her.
It was because her brain was clogged with Aurora Decker’s tea party to dos, with catering menus, and linen rentals for the Beautification Committee’s reunion luncheon. This was the second request for midnight blue napkins. Should she buy her own and add to her ivory, white, and grey collection?
She wondered if Davis was comfortable next door.
His comment card, discovered by her two-man cleaning crew on his already neatly made-up bed had simply said: Thank you, Eden.
She wondered if he slept naked.
No! Eden rolled over and punched her pillow. She was not laying here not sleeping because she was wondering if Davis Gates slept naked… and if he was covered by a sheet or sprawled out like an Adonis in repose.
“Damn it,” Eden muttered, kicking off her own blankets. Those dishes were going to get done and maybe while she was at it, she could scrub all thoughts of Davis—naked or clothed—from her mind.
She pulled on a cardigan over her sleep tank and shorts and padded barefoot into the hallway, past Davis’s door. The inn was dark and quiet at this time of night and she sent up good vibes for a sound night’s sleep for its inhabitants. Her guests’ experience was paramount. White noise machines, luxurious linens, aromatherapy oils. Everything in each room was designed to soothe and comfort. Aunt Nell, her father’s sister and owner of this fine old home, refused to turn over the keys to the inn until she was satisfied with each and every one of Eden’s improvements.
Aunt Nell remained a silent partner in the property but had promptly fled to Arizona once the responsibility had been officially transferred to Eden. She still kept Aunt Nell up to date with financial statements, occupancy stats, and written proposals on all major decisions. But her aunt trusted Eden to not bankrupt them both and stayed out of it all.
Eden tiptoed through the lobby and cut down the back hallway that led to the kitchen. She flipped the light switches and gave a hefty sigh. Dirty dishes sat in heaps on both sides of her farmhouse sink. Both dishwashers were full of—clean—dishes that needed to be put away. She was off her game. And that she could blame entirely on Davis Gates.
With the resignation of someone who should have sucked it up, done all their work earlier, and now be dreaming of Channing Tatum, Eden picked up the mixing bowl crusted with dried batter.
She worked methodically if not enthusiastically, unloading one dishwasher and then the next before tackling the first stack of dirty dishes. A shadow fell over the counter next to her and she whirled around, tea towel at the ready.
Eden smothered a strangled scream. But the intruder held up his hands and she spotted the familiar bulge in those also familiar yoga pants.
“Davis! You scared the hell out of me!” His hair was mussed and he had pillow marks on one side of his face. The sleepy-eyed sexy look so worked for him.
“Sorry. I thought you heard me come in.”
“And completely ignored you?”
“Well. Yeah.” He shrugged, testing the limits on that ladies’ V-neck tee.
Fair point. “What are you doing up at,” she paused to glance at her watch. “1:30 in the morning?”
He looked a little embarrassed and not just because he was rocking her yoga pants and t-shirt as pajamas. “I missed dinner tonight, worked through it. I thought I could power through until morning.” His stomach let out a long, low rumble. “I was wrong.”
Eden turned away from the delectably sleepy sex god and started loading teacups and coffee mugs into the dishwasher. “There’s always snacks available in the library.”
“I wasn’t aware.”
She felt his gaze travel up from her ankles, her skin warming under his perusal.
She hadn’t told him about the snacks. Hell, she hadn’t even shown him the library. She hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to make him feel unwelcome, but she certainly hadn’t offered him the full guest experience. That was bad business karma. Just because the man had dented her heart a hundred years ago was no excuse to treat him poorly.
Aunt Nell would not approve the bad vibes. Even if Davis was “a real stinker.”
“We’re having pancakes for breakfast in the morning. I could make you some eggs to tide you over,” she offered.
“P
lease. Don’t go to any trouble,” Davis insisted. “I can find the library and raid the snacks.”
“You’re a guest under my roof. The least I can do is make sure you don’t starve to death. Your skeletal remains would scare off new visitors.”
Eden pulled out a gleaming frying pan from the rollout drawer and placed it on the stove.
Davis eyed the eggs and cheese she stacked on the counter. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”
If he were a regular guest, it wouldn’t be any trouble. “I don’t mind,” she said lightly. See? She could be nice!
“Then the least I can do is the dishes.” Davis stepped up to the sink, into her personal space and she was suddenly transported back to her hormonal junior year where his mere presence had her body lighting up. She backed up a pace and rapped her elbow on the stainless-steel island.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked with a slow smile.
She snatched a cheery yellow bowl out from under the island and cracked an egg with a little extra force. “You infuriate me. You don’t make me nervous.”
“I infuriate you and you’re making me eggs,” Davis pointed out as she continued to crack eggs into the bowl.
“You’re a guest.” She whipped the egg mixture with violent efficiency. “And as such, you’re entitled to certain amenities, services.
“Hmm.” Davis’s eyebrows winged up his forehead.
The flirtatious sound of his monosyllable set Eden’s teeth on edge… and her blood warming. “Are you flirting with me?”
Davis systematically dried the mixing bowl with a dish towel, twisting it slowly around and around. “I’m weak with hunger,” he explained, his eyes twinkling.
Shaking her head, Eden dropped a pat of butter into the pan.
“What’s the craziest guest request you’ve ever accommodated?” Davis asked, changing the subject. He poked around under the sink cabinet and found the dishwasher detergent.
“Besides eggs at 1:30 in the morning?” Eden batted her lashes sarcastically at him.
“You’re still funny. I always liked that about you.”
Not in the mood to reminisce about their high school days, Eden answered. “Peacocks.”
“Peacocks?”