The glasses guy picks up his phone. “I’m telling Everett she’s still out cold. He was worried about her.”
Everett. The name triggers another memory fragment: blond hair, kind eyes, hot as hell.
That’s when I make my move for it.
Both men turn to stare at me: pancake giant with a spatula frozen mid-flip, glasses guy with his phone in hand.
I brandish my spray, my hands shaking. “Who are you people, and what are you doing in my house?”
Glasses guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, good morning to you, too?”
“Step away from the pancakes,” I command, finger poised on the spray trigger.
I honestly don’t know why I say that. It’s not like the pancakes are in any danger, but I’m improvising.
Pancake giant looks down at the spatula in his hand, then back at me. His expression remains neutral, but I swear there’s amusement in his eyes.
“You invited us,” he says simply.
I blink. “I did what now?”
“Last night,” glasses guy supplies, setting down his phone carefully like I’m a bomb that might detonate. “After the bonfire. You insisted we stay because, and I quote, ‘criminal’ that we were sleeping in Everett’s tiny room while there were ‘five whole empty bedrooms just sitting here being lonely.’”
I lower the spray slightly, confusion temporarily overriding panic. “I don’t remember that.”
“I bet you don’t remember trying to teach Everett how to twerk, but that happened, too,” glasses Guy says with a grin.
My face instantly combusts. “I did not.”
“You did,” they confirm in unison.
The glasses beta stands, offering his hand. “Finnigan. But everyone calls me Finn. And this mountain is Gabe.”
Gabe nods curtly, his green eyes assessing me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. His scent is potent—cedar and black pepper, with something darker underneath, like chocolate. It’s… not unpleasant.
“Melody,” I say, shaking Finn’s hand. “Melody Winters.”
“We know,” Finn smiles. “You told us. Several times. Along with your life story and a detailed critique of your boss.”
I wince.
“You were…” he searches for a diplomatic word, “‘festive.’”
“I remember the llama,” I say cautiously. “Oxford. And walking him home.”
“Yes!” Finn says brightly. “You rescued him. Our hero.”
I frown, trying to piece it together. “And there was a bonfire. And hot cocoa.”
“With bourbon,” Finn adds helpfully. “Quite a lot of bourbon.”
Gabe shoots him a look, but Finn just shrugs.
“What? It was bourbon-heavy. That’s just factual.”
I move farther into the kitchen, still keeping a safe distance. “So I, what, invited two strangers to stay in my rental cabin while drunk? That doesn’t sound like me.”
And then it comes back… all of it.
