Page 33 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

Just the thought of having her beg me, makes my dick twitch. Calm the fuck down boy, I order. We’re not going to play with Lily. She’s off-limits.

“I’m afraid not, dear. We’re all booked up, on account of the festival this weekend. The Whispering Willows room is all we have left.” She leans forward with a knowing look in her eyes. “But don’t you worry now, that bed is plenty big for two. Comfiest in the whole inn, I reckon.”

I manage a strained smile, tamping down the surge of panic mixed with anticipation rising in my chest. Lily, bless her, waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, really. We’ll figure it out. No big deal.” Her breezy tone belies the faint flush coloring her cheeks.

We shuffle up the creaky stairs to our room, an old-fashioned brass key with a room number stamped on the tag clutched in my increasingly clammy palm. I mean, who even uses real keys anymore in this age of key cards and electronic locks? But that’s part of this inn’s timeless charm, I suppose.

As I turn the key and push open the door, Lily lets out a soft, appreciative “Ooh!” The room is like something out of a period drama, all antique furniture and cozy, homespun touches. Dominating the space is a grand four-poster bed that looks like it could comfortably sleep a family of four, piled high with plump pillows and a handmade patchwork quilt in soothing shades of cream and sage.

It practically begs you to dive in and burrow under the covers. The wallpaper is a delicate pattern of tiny rosebuds, the kind of feminine detail I can easily imagine Lily doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her sketchbook during long car rides.

“Will you look at this bed?” she marvels, flopping onto it dramatically and sinking into the feather-soft mattress with a blissful sigh. “It’s just so . . . fluffy and perfect.”

A chuckle rumbles in my chest as I watch her limbs starfish out, the quilt puffing up around her. “I think you mean it’s scientifically the most comfortable bed in existence. That’s my professional assessment, anyway.”

“Oh, is that so?” Lily turns her head to look at me, quirking one delicate eyebrow. Her lips curve into a playful smirk as she pats the empty space beside her in clear invitation. “Scientifically speaking, you should probably join me. For research purposes, of course.”

“For research. Naturally,” I agree, aiming for solemnity even as the corners of my mouth twitch traitorously. Toeing off my shoes, I ease myself onto the bed next to her, the mattress dipping under my weight. And God, she’s right—it feels like sinking into a cloud, or what I imagine lounging on a cirrus would feel like. We exhale in unison, twin sighs of bone-deep contentment filling the quiet room.

“Think they’d notice if we just stayed here all day tomorrow?” Lily asks, her eyes already fluttering closed.

“Probably,” I admit with a grin. “But I wouldn’t blame you. This place is like a little slice of heaven.”

“Or a page from one of those novels you pretend not to read when I come over,” she teases, and I can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up.

“Caught red-handed,” I confess. “But hey, if life’s going to imitate art, this isn’t a bad scene to land in, right?”

“Definitely not,” she agrees, her voice softening. “It’s perfect.”

And as I lie there, her hand finding mine under the quilt, I’ve got to say—I think she’s absolutely right.

“Hey, Lily?” My voice wavers slightly, but I firm it up, because this is important. “Can we talk about something serious for a sec?”

She turns to me, her eyes reflecting concern mixed with a sprinkle of curiosity. “Of course, what’s up?”

I get off the bed and run a hand through my hair. It’s now or never.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lily

Ethan’s restless energy fills the room as he begins to pace, his long strides carrying him from the bed to the window and back again. I watch him from my perch on the edge of the mattress, my fingers twisting nervously in the soft quilt. The air between us feels charged, crackling with unspoken words and pent-up emotions.

I chew on my bottom lip, a war raging inside me. Part of me wants to bolt, to flee from this conversation and the feelings it might unearth. It would be so easy to laugh it off, to pretend that kiss was just a fluke, a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by too much wine and the romantic ambiance.

But another part of me, the part that comes alive when Ethan is near, whispers that running away will only delay the inevitable.

“Lily . . .” Ethan’s voice cuts through my tangled thoughts, low and serious. He stops pacing and turns to face me, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the window. “We need to talk about what happened. About that kiss.”

I feel my cheeks heat at the memory—the press of his lips against mine, the way his hands cradled my face like I was something precious. Ducking my head, I fiddle with a loose thread on the quilt, avoiding his intense gaze. “What is there to talk about? It was just a kiss. No big deal.”

“Was it?” Ethan takes a step closer, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. “Because it didn’t feel like ‘just a kiss’ to me, Lil.”

Slowly, reluctantly, I lift my eyes to meet his. The intensity in his green gaze steals my breath, a swirl of emotions I’m almost afraid to put a name to. Need. Want. Longing. And underneath it all, a flicker of vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

“Ethan, I . . .” My voice comes out as a whisper, cracking on the syllables.

He reaches out, his fingertips grazing my cheek with a tenderness that makes me quiver. “I can’t stop thinking about it, about you. And I know you feel it too, this thing between us.”

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