Page 7 of Hot Buttered Rum

Chapter 4

I lit three ivory colored candles, and instantly, a heady fragrant mix of jasmine and vanilla swirled through the steam rising up from the hot bath. I touched the water with my toe and then submerged my foot into the opalescent mounds of bubbles.

My body hadn’t even settled completely into the hot, soapy cocoon when I’d made the firm decision to buy a soaking tub when I got back home.

Heavy raindrops did a tap dance on the window pane just above the tub. I leaned back and bubbles wrapped around me like an airy cloak. The skeletal limbs of the oak tree growing below the window vibrated as a burst of wind sprayed the window with rain and leaves. As much as I would have enjoyed gazing up at a starlit sky from my luxurious bath, the stormy weather on the other side of the glass made the whole thing that much cozier.

My eyelids felt heavy from the long work week. I pushed away all the numbers and calculations that were usually scratched in my mind when I closed my eyes. Oddly enough, once free of work clutter, my mind went straight to the fisherman, Turner. When he walked into the bakery, I’d felt a weird sensation as a little voice in my head whispered, ‘he’s your happy ending’.

I’d quickly blamed it on the fact that I’d been talking about my lack of a happy ending earlier in the day. Not to mention, I was slightly intoxicated by the buttered rum cupcake and completely bewildered by the idea that I’d ended up at Silk Stocking Inn, a place that had seemingly popped up out of nowhere. The fact that Turner also looked the part of the perfect happy ending hero didn’t hurt either.

A sharp tap against the window made me look up. The tap was followed by a sharp screeching sound. I reached for the towel, and as I looked back, I was startled by a fluttering movement outside the window. A beady eye was staring in at me.

My heart raced with alarm as I stepped out of the tub and wrapped myself in the towel. It took all my courage to look at the window again.

Relief washed through me as the parrot’s green head bobbed up and down as he stared inside. “Dexter, what on earth—?”

I walked around the tub to the window and turned the lock. Dexter flapped his wings to stay perched on the sill as I slid the pane up. The second the window was open, the bird shot through in a flurry of wet green feathers. He landed on the vanity and immediately entertained himself in the mirror. He tilted his head back and forth, apparently quite enamored with his own reflection, rain-soaked and all.

I yanked down the window and plucked the plush pink guest robe off the door hook. I blew out the candles and opened the drain on the tub. Dexter’s little feet clicked across the marble topped vanity until he got to the edge and turned around. His squawk echoed off the plaster walls. Then he flapped his wings and headed right for me. Before I had a chance to shrink away or cover my face with my arms, Dexter landed softly on my shoulder. His tiny talons grabbed hold of the lush fabric, and he tottered around to face the same direction as me.

The bird made a sweet cooing sound as I reached up and rubbed its feathery chest with the side of my finger. “Guess you don’t need a towel when you’re wearing waterproof feathers.”

Dexter’s green head bobbed up and down as if he was nodding.

“I’ll get dressed. Then we better find Turner.”

“Aye matey,” Dexter muttered.

I laughed. “Right, matey.”

My new friend and I walked into the bedroom. The aroma of grilled onions wafted my direction. Even Dexter seemed to smell the deliciousness coasting around us. Somehow, without me hearing one footstep or plate being laid, Coco had set the small table in front of the bedroom window with white linens, a silver domed plate of food, and a chilled bottle of wine.

Dexter pushed off my shoulder and flew to the back of the chair. “Awk! pretty girl.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Oh, so you’re one of those guys, huh? A little flattery, shiny black eyes and you think I’m just going to hand over my food.”

I walked over and lifted the dome. The rich smell of onions and grilled cheese filled the room. I tore off a piece of the tomato wedge on the salad and held it out. Dexter danced across the back of the chair and plucked the tomato from my fingers just as someone knocked on the door.

I glanced down at the robe and pulled it together tighter. With her amazing timing, I assumed it was Coco. She’d know what to do with Dexter.

I swung open the door and just as he’d stunned me when he walked into the bakery, Turner struck me speechless again.

Rainwater dripped off his long black hair. He was entirely too tall and too big for the Victorian sized hallway. But he looked just roguish enough to be from a different century, a century when dashing men were considered just a little more pleasing if they added a touch of scoundrel to their personality. While this man was, in essence, a complete stranger, something assured me he fit the bill perfectly. My theory was immediately proven when his blue eyes brazenly scrolled down to my cleavage. I looked down, only to find that the robe had parted open enough to show the swells of my breasts.

I shifted my shoulders and drew the fabric closed, but only after allowing him to have a good long look. A look didn’t hurt, after all.

My prim behavior pushed his mouth up in a slow grin. He pulled a wet piece of paper out from behind his back. It had a crude stick drawing of a parrot with a talking bubble that said ‘pretty girl’.

“Have you seen this chatty bloke?” He lifted his hand up above his shoulder. “He’s about so high and wears a lot of green.” Turner leaned over to look past me. Dexter was still busy with the tomato. “He also has no shame when it comes to asking for treats. Oh, and he has an affinity for pretty girls.” He tapped his chest. “That he learned from me.” He finished that declaration with a beaming smile.

I stepped back and swept my hand around to point at Dexter. “You know your bird, sir.”

Turner looked down at his wet shoes. “I’m going to be hearing it from Coco. I’ve already tracked rainwater through the house.” He stepped into the room. Dexter peered up from the tomato clutched in his toes for a brief second and then returned to his treat.

“It’s strange,” Turner said as he faced back to me. “He never takes off like that. Especially in a storm. He’s lucky he made it back to the inn safely.” He had no qualms about letting his eyes travel over me from head to toe. In the business world and at work, it was a behavior that would have angered me, but standing in the middle of my sumptuous bedroom at the inn, I allowed myself to take pleasure in it.

Turner seemed to appreciate what he saw. I know I was feeling the same way about him. Even dripping wet with rain, gazing at him was like looking at the mouthwatering cover of a romance novel.

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