He scowls at the long line of people snaking along the perimeter.
“You can use the one in my office,” I offer before I can think better of it.
“Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow. “You looked like you were heading somewhere important.”
I should take the out he’s giving me. Tell him I have too much to do. But just like that night in Boston, there’s something about being near him that has me acting out of character.
“I was actually about to head inside,” I tell him. “I needed a breather.”
“If you’re sure?” He arches a single brow.
“It’s the least I can do,” I respond with a smile, then start toward the building, every inch of me prickling with awareness.
The lobby of the inn is bustling, but it’s nowhere near as chaotic as outside. The scent of pine and cinnamon lingers in the air, blending with faint hints of firewood and something sugary.
Declan follows me down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor. The silence between us is thick with tension, everything we shouldn’t say hanging in the space between us.
“It’s in here.” I open the last door on the right and flick on the light.
He steps inside, his eyes sweeping over the room — the window overlooking the lake, desk cluttered with paperwork, bookshelf adorned with several framed photos.
It dawns on me how personal this space is, and I suddenly feel exposed. Like I just let him see a piece of me I never meant to share.
“It’s not much, but it’s got a great view,” I offer nervously. “Especially in the fall. It’s my favorite time of year.”
“Not Christmas?”
“I love Christmas, but fall…” I push out a sigh. “It’s quieter. Simpler. And the reflection of the trees on the lake with their leaves all different colors is absolutely breathtaking. It’s what people should flock here to see.” I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. “But I’m glad they don’t.”
“Some things are better when you don’t invite the world in,” he offers.
“Yes, they are.”
I slowly bring my eyes to his, and a chill rushes down my spine from the intensity in his gaze. Like I’m a mystery he’s desperate to unravel. But it only lasts a heartbeat before he tears his eyes from mine, focusing on one of the framed photos on the bookshelf.
“Is this your sister?” He picks it up, admiring a photo of Genevieve and me from my college graduation.
“It is.”
He examines it for a few moments before returning it to the shelf and studying the other photos. I can sense when he spies one of Joshua and me from a yearly camping trip we still go on with several of our friends from high school. His jaw ticks, his shoulders becoming tense.
“You mentioned I could use your bathroom.”
“Right.” I gesture to the door to the right of the bookcase.
He slides off his suit jacket and drapes it over a chair before loosening and removing his tie. As he steps into the bathroom, he untucks his shirt and grabs a towel. He wets it and brings it up to his shirt.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I tell him.
He pauses mid-motion, his eyes finding mine. “What’s that?”
“What you’re about to do. It’ll just set the stain.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I can grab some stain remover from housekeeping. I can bring you a shirt, too.”
“Do you keep a stash for wine-related emergencies?” he asks with a slight chuckle.
