The room stilled. The house shifted around me, the room closing in, as my thoughts scrambled. This was a hell of a conversation to be having on a random Tuesday morning.
But isn’t that when all life-changing conversations happen? When you least expect them?
From outside, Esther’s voice rose on the wind. “Parking rates have just switched to hourly. Ten pounds for an hour and a compliment for Cherise’s hat or I’ll read you my thoughts on Dickens.”
My phone dinged and I glanced down to see a cancellation notification, and an email from another.
“The rest of my guests coming this week just canceled,” I murmured, deflating. “Look at that.”
“So it’s just us.”
“Just us,” I repeated, the words working their way through me and igniting my core with need.
Along with anxiety.I have no income now for the foreseeable future. Bloody hell.How was that going to work? Would I have to close the inn? The last thing I wanted was to fail Gran.
Voices rose outside, and I stood and crossed the room to peek out the door. More cars had arrived, and Harper and Rosie had joined the Book Bitches in their standoff.They’d brought chairs, and someone had dragged a small fire pit onto my lawn. Gregory was squatting and building the base for a fire, while Cherise was flirting with a man whose cheeks had gone pink at the attention.
“I brought my guitar,” Noah offered. “Maybe you’ve got a few half-finished songs sitting around. Want to give it a go?”
It felt like he was asking so much more.
We stood on either side of the room. The inn breathed. The wind rattled the old glass. Outside, the Book Bitches startedJingle Bellsin a key previously unknown to science. And even though it was just confirmed that the inn would probably have to close, Noah wanted to make music. Did he really not care that I was losing my gran’s business?
I pushed past him to the hallway because I couldn’t be in a room with him right now. My emotions were pinging around inside, like too many balls loose in a pinball machine, and I wasn’t sure I could trust what I said next. I paused when I realized he was following me and turned. While a part of me did want to make music with him again—desperately—I was also worried about my inn.
For some reason, we looked up at the same time.
“Mm,” Noah said, a surprised look on his face. “That wasn’t there before.”
Mistletoe.
Hanging right in the center of the arch, its pearly berries looking smug, leaves tied in a green satin bow made from Gran’s ribbons.
“I didn’t put that there,” I rushed out.
“Esther?” he guessed, craning his neck.
“Esther would have posted a sign,” I said faintly. “With rules.”
“Rosie?”
“She’d have strung fairy lights around it and a footnote about informed consent.”
He looked at me. “Gran?”
“Stress,” I said immediately, too loudly. “This is stress. We donothave a ghost.”
We didn’t move.Of coursewe didn’t move. The hallway seemed to pull in on itself, the old plaster holding its breath, the wind outside lifting its chin to see better. The Book Bitches launched intoSilent Nightlike an unlicensed Greek chorus. Somewhere, a car door slammed.
He stepped in and I felt the heat of him like a hand at my back. It had always been like that. He was so tall, so strong, and whenever I was near him, he seemed to be able to envelop me.I’ve longed to be this close to this man again. I missed his touch.I’d never admitted that out loud, but the heat between us—the love—had been insanely amazing. And here we were, together, the mistletoe hung above us, a question unanswered.
“House rules?” he asked.
“No songs about me,” I said, because if I stopped being ridiculous, I’d start being honest, and we could not have that on a weekday. “No paparazzi. No touching”—my mouth betrayed me—“without asking.”
He swallowed. “Skye.”
“Noah.”
