Page 3 of Stranded with a Wounded Vampire

I went all out.

The navigation app lets me know I’m only two minutes away.

Okay, don't be nervous. Don't turn back.

Yes, he ran away from me without saying a word. But I’m certain there was a flash of heat in his gaze and I swear he was staring at my lips, neck and breasts a beat too long.

You can do this, Willow.

Be bold.

There's the house visible between the treetops. Three stories tall, with a tower on each side. Yeah, it still looks a little spooky.

Bruce Bloodworth moved into a historic mansion, built when this area used to be a summer home location for Gilded Age rich people. This isn’t a hot spot anymore, but their grand old houses remain, cherished and updated by new generations. This one is the biggest of them all, high on the mountain.

People say it’s haunted, mainly because it looks dark and spooky from the front and seems to attract owners who live there in isolated splendor, adding to the mystery of the place.

Luckily, it's early summer, no snow and the roads are clear. But the dark rain clouds that are forming add to the dark tone.

I pull up the long driveway, surprised there isn't a gate. Thank God. What if there had been a gate? I don't know. I would’ve had to charm my way in and say I'm here for delivery.

I keep driving and turn a bend and see the entire house in all its glory. There’s a huge front lawn, and a curved driveway in front. Now that I’m so close, the mansion looks very charming. It's got that faux Tudor look with mullion windows and dark wood timbers I like, maybe even a bit of rustic French. The gardens are green but overly bushy and sadly lacking in flowered splendor, but I can imagine this being turned into something amazing. A place for gatherings. Hmm…

Nervous butterflies take flight in my belly. What if he’s snooty and thinks I’m not upper class enough? In college I had friends who came from wealthy families and they would invite me for weekend trips to their families’ vacation homes. So I'm not a complete newbie to this, but those houses were nothing compared to this mansion. Yes, I own my own business but it’s not like I’m super rich. I live in a little apartment not far from my bakery.

I pull up into the curved driveway and park the car and turn it off. Then I rub my sweaty palms against the tiered skirt of my cute, linen, summer dress and exhale. Because now I’m a little intimidated by all the splendor. But I did originally meet this man in the spaghetti sauce and pasta aisle of a very ordinary grocery store. So there’s that.

I'm here. I can do this.

I pull on my crossbody purse, which I might not need, but it's got my cell phone and keys. You never know.

I turn off the car and grab my pink box with four cupcakes and two Old-Fashioned donuts. I didn't go crazy, but I did bring him my best. These are fresh out of the oven and decorated just this morning. My best-selling cupcakes. I've brought strawberry champagne, pistachio and dark chocolate, chocolate chip with cinnamon and birthday cake. I figured that's a wide variety of taste options.

I deliver donuts each morning to the grocery store on main and they sell them there. And the owner recently told me that the “alien vampire” bought a box of my Old-Fashioned donuts when he was here in person and now always requests them when he orders his groceries delivered.

He likes donuts. My donuts.

I let out a cough, close the car door and lift my chin, proudly holding the box in my arms.

There’s a little flash of movement in an upstairs window, like a curtain moved.

A smile widens across my face. He's here. I know he's here. This is a good time.

And again, I’m just here to offer the donuts I know he likes, plus some of our cupcakes to see if he likes those too. This doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’s just a quick second meeting. I leave the box and my card behind and go.

I stride up the steps to the grand front door and do a tentative knock. But it’s such a thick wooden door I’m not certain he can even hear me. I see a doorbell and push it and hear a deep series of echoing rings.

And then I hear footsteps.

I suck in a sharp breath and paste another smile on my face and shift on my feet.

The door opens and I lift my chin because at first all I see is white T-shirt chest.

He's wearing an outfit very similar to what he wore the first time I saw him except this time no jacket. A white T-shirt tucked into black jeans. And now I can see that he’s wearing a form-fitted, long-sleeved gray shirt under the T-shirt, just to cover his arms. He wears a black belt with a large silver belt. I assume black boots but I'm not looking down that far. And I look up at his face, just as handsome as I remember. He needs to shave and his hair still looks short.

“Why are you here?” Bruce Bloodstone questions with a deep, disgruntled voice.

I lick my lips and shift on my feet again. Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. But I carry on, giving him a big smile. “Hi, my name is?—"

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