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Chapter Fifteen

Lake

The knock at the door came just as I’d finally managed a paragraph I didn’t hate, after more than an hour of trying. I grimaced and resolved to ignore it. It wasn’t Verity. I knew she had a hospital appointment this morning. And it wasn’t Baxter—he’d said he was going to the gym. They were the only two people I’d stop writing for.

I snorted softly. Christ! How had Baxter landed himself on the same list as my sister, whom I’d known my entire life, when I’d only known him for a week?

The second knock was louder and more insistent. Whoever it was clearly had no intention of leaving. With an exaggerated sigh, I pushed my chair back and stood. After checking I wore clothes—one perk of working from home being the lack of a need to do so—I headed downstairs.

Two men stood on the doorstep, neither of them familiar. “Bed delivery for yer,” the taller, darker one said, his voice gravelly.

I blinked. “What?”

“Bed delivery.”

“There’s been a mistake,” I said. “I didn’t order a bed.”

The shorter, fairer man squinted at his clipboard. “Are you Lake Larson?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then it’s your bed.”

Satisfied they’d gotten the right address and the right man, they headed to the white van parked in front of the house. Leaving the front door open, I followed. By the time I reached them, one large plastic-wrapped box sat on the pavement, and they were already wrestling a second one free.

“Installation’s paid for,” Tall and Dark said. “You just need to tell us where you want it, and we’ll do the rest.”

“Paid for by whom?” Verity immediately sprang to mind. She must have seen through my lie about already buying one, which wasn’t beyond the realm of belief. It was annoying, though, because I’d never hear the end of it. She might not want monetary reimbursement, but I’d pay for it in other ways only siblings could enact.

Short and Fair checked the clipboard again. “Baxter Canmore.”

“Baxter Stuart Canmore,” I corrected automatically, my mind reeling. All I got for that was a shrug.

It only took them a couple of minutes to lug everything inside, and with an expertise presumably borne of assembling many beds a day, were gone within fifteen minutes. It left me staring at the solid pine bed topped with a memory-foam mattress, far superior to my old one. Ha! Take that, Carl.

Baxter answered on the second ring when I called him. “You bought me a bed,” I said. I hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, but that was the way it came out. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because… I don’t know. You just can’t. That’s not what people do.”

“It’s a gift,” he said lightly. “Happy Birthday.”

“My birthday’s in June.”

“Then it’s an early birthday present.” Baxter sounded amused. “Tell me you accepted it.”

I winced. Right. Refusing to accept it would have been the correct move. A bit late for that now. “I accepted it,” I admitted, lowering myself onto the mattress and testing it with a little bounce. It was definitely comfortable.

“Good. I was worried sleeping on the sofa would turn you into a hunchback.”

“The sofa’s fine.”

“I’ve slept on your sofa. It’s acceptable at best.”

“It’s—” I stopped myself, self-awareness kicking in. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

“No, you won’t. Besides…” His voice dipped. “I might have ulterior motives for wanting you beholden to me.”