Let It Be Me (Men of the Misfit Inn Book 1)

by Kait Nolan

  He expected her to immediately shove away, but she stayed right where she was, tucked up against his chest, breathing softly. Had she fallen asleep? Not that he was complaining. He liked the feel of her in his arms, liked the sense of trust that she hadn’t tried to stuff all that emotion away when he’d showed up. At least, he hoped it was trust.

  “I soaked your shirt.” Her soft voice was ragged.

  “It’ll dry,” he murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head and sat up, wiping at her face as she pulled away. “Why are you here?”

  He itched to pull her back in but reached for the bag he’d brought instead. “I wanted to check on you. I came prepared to either celebrate”— He held up the Malbec—“or commiserate.” He pulled out the Moose Tracks ice cream, which had started to melt.

  Her blue eyes glimmered, and for a moment he thought she might cry again. She swallowed. “That was really sweet. Thank you.”

  “Which one would you like?”

  Her lips twitched into a ghost of her usual smile. “Both?”

  “That can be arranged.” Caleb shoved up from the sofa and strode into the kitchen.

  Knowing she’d want a few minutes to pull herself together, he took his time, digging in the utensil drawer for the corkscrew and ice cream scoop. Water ran in the bathroom down the hall as he opened the wine and began to fill two bowls with ice cream. Snagging one of the trays she kept for parties, he loaded up the ice cream, along with an empty wine glass, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a tall glass of ice water. She needed to rehydrate some before she started in on that wine. By the time he carried the tray into the living room, she’d adiosed all the tissues and washed her face.

  At the sight of the tray, she crossed her arms. “Two bowls?”

  Studiously not looking at how those arms emphasized her breasts in that tank top, he settled his cargo on the coffee table and handed her the water and medication. “It’s my delivery fee. C’mon. Bottoms up.”

  As she swallowed it down, he dropped back onto the sofa and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and flipping to Netflix.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Starting Stranger Things. I know you’ve been wanting to watch it. Why, did you want to watch something else?”

  “You don’t have to babysit me, Caleb.”

  As the unmistakable theme music began to play, he set the remote aside and settled back with his ice cream. “Are you kidding? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to discuss this with you? Fiona doesn’t know what she’s missing by refusing to watch it. This show is perfection in television.”

  “You just surfaced from a forty-eight-hour shift.”

  “It wasn’t a bad one.” She didn’t need to know about the overtime.

  Emerson gave him the side eye. If she’d looked uncomfortable or like she really wanted him to go, he would’ve. But she needed to think about something else, and he was here to deliver—even if it wasn’t the kind of distraction he might’ve preferred. Besides, it would be fun revisiting the eighties with someone who’d lived through it. Probably best not to mention that, though.

  Reaching for her bowl, he handed it to her. “Eat your ice cream, Aldridge.”

  Folding herself onto the sofa beside him, she dug in, turning her attention to the screen. By the time the second episode started, she’d long since finished the ice cream and a glass of the wine, and he knew she was hooked. Without taking her eyes off the TV, she held out a hand, “Pass the wine.”

  Smiling, Caleb topped off her glass and settled in for a solid binge session.

  Chapter 4

  A nagging throb in Emerson’s skull pulled her from the most delicious dream about…what? Even as she reached for it, the pieces slid away, leaving her with nothing but the hangover. This. This was why she didn’t indulge in crying jags. Or was it the wine? She’d lost count of how much she’d drunk. Surely Caleb hadn’t let her finish the whole bottle by herself. She shifted her head to press her face into the pillow, hoping to block out the light. It wasn’t morning until she said it was morning.

  The pillow didn’t give. It was hard and warm and…moved.

  Shock banished the last traces of sleep as she realized her pillow was a muscular chest. Her whole body was plastered against the full length of a big, tall someone who shouldn’t have fit on her sofa.

  Oh dear God in heaven, she’d spent the night with Caleb on her couch.

  What the hell was he still doing here?

  Thinking hard, she unearthed a dim memory of finishing off the ice cream at two in the morning. She’d gotten cold, so he’d wrapped her up in a throw blanket and they’d…cuddled?

  No. That couldn’t be right. The cuddling was probably part of the dream because it had been so damned long since she’d been held. Paisley would no doubt have plenty to say about how sad that was. Not that Emerson needed reminding. She was so very aware that there’d been no one for her since Fiona became a daily part of her life.

  But…here they were. Her leg was thrown over his muscled thigh, her arm was draped over his waist, and the only thing keeping her from crashing to the floor were the strong arms tucking her close enough she could feel his every inhalation against her breasts.

  He felt so damned good, all wrapped around her. Solid and warm and safe. Everything in her wanted to burrow in and hold on to this feeling that, for just a little while, she wasn’t standing alone.

  Last night, she hadn’t been. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she’d had someone share her grief. It should’ve been weird. But he’d been there the night everything changed. He understood, as no one else could, how much it had gutted her. She’d never shown anyone else, not even Fiona. That child had enough on her plate navigating her own grief.

  It definitely wasn’t grief she felt now as she breathed in Caleb’s scent—that curious, intimate smell of sleep-warmed skin. She wanted to bury her nose against his throat and wiggle even closer. Not that she did any such thing. Moving would wake him up and then this was going to get really weird. She just wanted to enjoy the closeness for a little while longer.

  And, yeah, okay, she wanted to catalog the sensation of being up close and personal with a body like his because holy hell. She spent so much time trying not to think about his physique. But there was no ignoring it now. Not when she could feel the ridges of those abs beneath her palm and the evidence of morning just brushing her thigh. Her long starved libido sat up and said, Hello, Sailor!

  She should not be having these thoughts about Caleb Romero. He was nearly a decade younger, for Pete’s sake. She was not a cradle robber. But it was hard to think about cradles when all the evidence pressed against her pointed to a very, very adult body.

  That body tensed in a long stretch, accompanied by a rusty groan that had all kinds of inappropriate thoughts sparking in her brain. Thoughts that weren’t at all helped by the big hand that stroked down her waist, over her hip. Emerson couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to settle that palm over the curve of her ass or not. Would it be worse to know how that felt or be left to imagine it?

  He blinked open dark, devastating eyes and smiled. “Morning.”

  “Hi.” Brilliant conversation, Emerson. Way to be articulate.

  Should she move? She should move.

  Caleb brushed the hair back from her face, lighting little fires where his fingers skimmed over her cheek. “Sleep okay?”

  “I…uh…” How could she think with him so close? What was this look on his face? This wasn’t easy, friendly, funny Caleb. This was…something else. Something had shifted between them, and Emerson didn’t know what the hell to do with it.

  “Why did you stay?” Oh, great. Just blurt it out, why don’t you? But she needed to know.

  “Because you asked me to.”

  Oh God.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. After all his kindness last night, after the mess he’d walked in on, she’d asked him to stay?

  Needing some dis
tance, she started to shove up and away, but he just pulled her back, until she was sprawled fully atop him, chest to chest, his hands laced at the small of her back.

  “And because I wanted to.”

  From her position, it was very obvious he meant it. Blatant interest shone in his eyes, which was befuddling and flattering and…so ridiculous. He was twenty-eight years old and in his absolute prime. She was in her mid-thirties, just realizing that she wasn’t going to get back the life she’d put on hold to raise a child. There was no rewind, no do-over button.

  “It was late. You were probably exhausted after your shift.” In a bit of a panic, she pushed away, narrowly avoiding unmanning him as he let her go. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. It was just Paisley’s stupid suggestion worming its way into her stupid skull.

  Caleb straightened, and she chanced a look in his direction. No sign of offense or disappointment on his face. Those beautiful, sensual lips were twisted in…amusement. Damn him. And now she was looking at his mouth.

  Jerking her gaze away, she smoothed down her tank top. There was no way she could make it through offering him coffee. She was mildly hung over, her hair was probably a mess, she had morning breath, and whatever she’d thought she’d seen simply wasn’t a thing. He had to go. She needed space to breathe. And think. And breathe. She’d be able to do that once he was gone.

  “I should get rolling. I’ve got a full morning of recording slated.” There wasn’t a chance in hell she could record with the sandpaper lining her throat, but he didn’t need to know that. She headed toward the back door in a clear signal he should leave. He didn’t deserve the bum’s rush after last night, but embarrassment was stronger than manners.

  Caleb slipped on his shoes. “I’ve got a few things to do myself. But when you break this afternoon, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

  Already off balance, she whipped around and nearly plowed into him. “What? Where? Why?”

  Neatly sidestepping, he opened the door himself. “Can’t tell you where. I promised Fiona.”

  “Promised her what, exactly?”

  “Can’t tell you that either. I have to show you.”

  She didn’t have the brainpower to figure out what the hell her child had talked him into. If she agreed, he’d leave, and then she could shower and get her head on straight. By this afternoon, she’d be back to normal and able to look him in the eye. Then she could figure out whether it was worth trying to ground a college freshman.

  “Fine. I should be done around two.”

  He flashed that easy, familiar smile and her insides went molten. “See you then.”

  Emerson waited until he’d shut the door and the sound of his footsteps off the deck faded, then she collapsed back against the nearest wall.

  What the hell had just happened?

  The dog was clearly the result of an unholy union between the cat from Shrek and a pit bull. It looked up at them from the corner of the kennel with big, liquid eyes that made Caleb want to say, “Take my money!” if only to bring him home and shower him with every dog toy known to man.

  The moment Emerson laid eyes on him, she sighed. “Damn it.”

  Caleb was glad he wasn’t the only one.

  “I wasn’t going to let you talk me into this.”

  “Fiona thought you’d be lonely without someone to take care of. I wasn’t gonna disabuse her of that notion. I just promised to bring you down here to look.”

  “There’s a reason I’ve never had a dog. They bark. Barking is bad when you make your living recording stuff.”

  The high-school-aged volunteer piped up, “Actually, I’ve never heard him bark.”

  Caleb had noticed that. While practically every other dog in the place was making bids to be noticed, this one hadn’t made a peep.

  Emerson eyed the boy as if she didn’t quite trust him. “Really?”

  “He’s a funny little dude. Loves to curl up in boxes, like a big cat. The prevailing theory is that he was maybe raised with them.”

  She hummed a noncommittal note and turned her focus back to the dog.

  Caleb couldn’t help poking at her, just a little. “Seriously, Em, how can you say no to that face?”

  “Plenty of people have,” the kid informed them. “He’s been here for three months.”

  “Monsters.” Emerson crouched down, curling her fingers through the chain link and making cooing noises.

  The dog’s little stump of a tail gave a hesitant wag.

  “A lot of people are terrified of pit mixes,” the volunteer continued.

  “Worst smear campaign ever. There’s no such thing as bad dogs. Just bad owners,” Emerson continued in a sing-song voice.

  Caleb and the kid exchanged knowing glances as the dog belly crawled over to sniff her fingers.

  “You’re just scared and lonely, aren’t you, baby? All you want is somebody to love. Isn’t that right?”

  “We think he’s about two. He’s heartworm negative, house-trained, and has really good leash manners.”

  The dog licked her hand, and Emerson scratched his chin in praise. “Can I go in?”

  “Sure.” The guy opened the kennel for her.

  Slowly, Emerson edged inside, moving to the opposite side of the kennel and sitting. She held out a hand and waited, murmuring to the dog in a low voice. Caleb knew from experience how soothing her voice could be. He had a collection of her audiobooks on his phone to listen to on his way to sleep or during downtime at the fire station. The dog was no different. He rose partway to his feet and inched forward, pink-and-black-spotted nose twitching. When he settled his head gently on her knee, Emerson stroked his brown and white ears. The dog let out a sigh, his whole body relaxing.

  She swore softly. “Bring me the paperwork.”

  Two hours later, after an enormously expensive trip to PetSmart, where they’d both been compelled to buy every non-squeaking dog toy on offer, in addition to the essentials, they arrived home with the dog, who still had no name. Emerson took him straight through the house to the backyard, while Caleb hauled in the supplies.

  She was leaning against the porch rail, grinning, when Caleb came out to join her. “I think he likes it.”

  Down below, the dog ran zoomies around the perimeter.

  “I’d say so.” After last night’s tears, he hadn’t expected to see that smile so soon. Score one for Fi.

  Emerson nudged him in the shoulder, a casual gesture that told him they were back on even footing. “You’re really lucky.”

  Relieved that he hadn’t miscalculated by being so bold this morning, he folded his arms on the rail and leaned beside her. “That he’s cute? Yeah, I figured that out.”

  “That, too. But no, that I already have a fenced yard. If I didn’t, you’d get drafted to help build me one, since this is all your fault.”

  “Technically it’s Fiona’s fault. I was just keeping a promise.”

  “The pair of you are both sneaky sneaky, and I ought to be mad, but it’s hard to hold on to when I see how happy we just made this guy.”

  The dog had stopped to roll on his back and wriggle on the grass in ecstasy. Emerson laughed. She looked free and unburdened for the first time since he’d known her, and the sight of it struck Caleb in the solar plexus.

  “Have dinner with me.” The words were out before he could think better of them. Damn it. She’d only just relaxed around him again.

  She cut him a glance. “Are you under the impression I can’t feed myself if I’m not wrangling a teenager? I promise, I’ll eat a vegetable.” Amusement glimmered in her eyes instead of this morning’s panic. She’d shut him back in that friend box, talking herself out of believing whatever it was that had prompted her to rush him out the door.

  Because he didn’t want her to forget it, he pivoted toward her, deliberately edging into her personal space to test them both. “You can eat whatever you damn well please. Have dinner with me.”

  She blinked at him, the smile sliding into confus
ion as she leaned back, just a little. Caleb liked seeing her off balance, liked knowing he could keep her guessing.

  “I appreciate last night. Really, I do. But you don’t need to babysit me. I’m not fragile, and I’m not going to fall apart again.”

  He got that she was embarrassed about last night’s breakdown. This, at least, was a worry he could put to rest. “Fragile is the last way I’d ever describe you. You’re one of the most terrifyingly competent women I’ve ever met, and I find that sexy as hell. This is not about babysitting. I want to spend time with you. On a date.”

  Taking another step toward her, he reached out to cage her against the porch rail, close but not quite touching. He hadn’t meant to get into all this quite yet. He’d meant to give her more time. But, after last night…this morning…it was hard to remember why he was still holding back. Hell, hadn’t he given her the last four years?

  Emerson’s mouth dropped open, part surprise, part arousal, if those dilated pupils were any indication. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered like mad, and a flush worked its way up the column of her lovely throat.

  “A date? With me? That’s…ridiculous. I’m old enough to be your—”

  Caleb arched a brow, waiting for her to finish that sentence. There wasn’t that big an age gap between them, and what there was had ceased mattering years ago. He was a grown-ass, responsible man attracted to a mature, amazing woman.

  “I…I’m older than you.”

  The stammer almost made him smile. He liked making her nervous. “So?”

  A little furrow of consternation dug in between her eyes. He wanted to kiss it away. “So, it’s weird.”

  Yeah, he’d been prepared for this. He knew damned well the only reason they’d gotten this close as friends was because she didn’t think he looked at her as a woman. She’d confided, let him in, let him close, without all that self-consciousness because she hadn’t been worried about what he thought or trying to impress him. Damn if he didn’t love that about her.