Page 41 of The Candlemaker

“Ow,”her soft voice muttered from the floor beside me.

I stifled a chuckle, listening to her muffled grumbles from the floor next to my bed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept on an air mattress—probably at least two and a half decades ago at a friend’s house in middle school—but it wasn’t too bad. Definitely better than a sleeping bag on the floor, that was for sure.

I turned my head, careful not to move anything else, so I could watch her stand. As she rose, I caught her subtle scent of cinnamon again, its prickly sweetness making my lungs burn.Or maybe it was the way the soft morning light caught the gold in her hair as it fell down her back.

Frankie started to gather her things with quiet franticness, and my jaw clenched. I’d never had a woman so desperate to leave the morning after. Sure, this was different. I’d never spent a night like this with a woman. But whateverthe circumstances, I’d also never woken up wanting her to stay…like I did now.

“Good morning.”

Frankie gasped and spun, her hand slapping to her chest and drawing my focus to the swift rise and fall of her breasts.Fuck.The whoosh of my exhale carried my smile with it. She had on a white tee, Maine Squeeze written on it in that blocky seventies’ font; it would’ve been cute if it didn’t show her tight little nipples peaked against the thin fabric. And in this light, I swore I could see their color.Fucking cinnamon.

I’d heard her take off her sweatshirt overnight. I’d heard the cadence of her breath between the crackling of the fire. I’d heard the swish of her sleeping bag every goddamn time she shifted or turned. I’d heard because—contrary to her little jab—my cock wasn’t atrophied; it was aggravated. Angry to be feet from the woman I fantasized about with no relief in sight—let alone sleep.

I sat up, letting the blankets pool at my waist and hiding the way my cock thickened. She frowned, scanning my chest.She was either getting a good look at my bare torso or my morning wood—I made the presumptuous decision she’d prefer my chest.

“How’d you sleep?”

Her eyes snapped back to my face, pink clouding the faint smatter of freckles on her nose. They must only come out in the sun.

I thought I’d been clever—more clever than her when I’d suggested this damn charade. But every second since the words came out of my mouth had only proved I’d been nothing but a fool. I should’ve blustered—dared Fairfax to take the deal or make his superstitions public; being the man I usually was—cold, confident, uncaring—would’ve sealed the dealin minutes.

But that would’ve ended…this…with her.

“Great.” She smiled and folded her arms, unable to fully mask her wince. There was no way she wasn’t stiff after a night basically on the floor. “How about you?”

“Ghost-free,” I replied, watching her smile turn into that damn adorable frown.

“Maybe.” She shrugged, and my dick twitched at the way it moved her breasts.God, it was so fucking inconvenient the way I wanted her.“There are still five more nights.” She pulled on her sweatshirt, and I bit into my tongue when her raised arms teased a glimpse of the skin of her stomach.

I lowered my chin. “True.”

“Okay, well.” She bent forward and grabbed her bag. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

She didn’t even wait for a reply before bolting from the inn, and I smiled when I saw the murky outline of her shape flee down the front path. She was going to see me a lot sooner than tonight, and I was going to enjoy the look on her face when she realized it.

But for right now, I was going to get back to my hotel room, into a cold shower, and fuck my hand as fast as humanly possible.

“Frankie, when did you start making these orange honey ones? They are divine!”

The almost-shouted compliment was the first thing I heard when I walked into the Candle Cabin almost an hour later, and the old woman it came from was impossible to miss. Anyone with bright orange hair was hard to miss, but when it was a cloudlike perm attached to a woman who had to be in her eighties? Impossible.

The old woman was small—I wouldn’t say frail because I got the sense if I did, she’d take the cane that was tucked underneath her arm, clearly giving her no support, and whack me with it. She stood at one of the displays, smelling the same scent several times with a smile on her face.

Whoever she was, Frankie must know her because she didn’t reply, and there was no way she couldn’t have heard the woman yell. And there was no way the little orange-haired old lady was going to take silence for an answer—or at least, there hadn’t been a way until she saw me.

“Well, hello there. Welcome.” Eyes wide under her thick glasses, a smile beaming a familiar path to her wrinkles, and a cane still hooked under her arm, she strolled right up to me. “Welcome to the Candle Cabin, Mr.…”

I smiled back. “No Mister, just Chandler.”

“Chan…” Her wide eyes filled the frames of her glasses, and her jaw dropped.

I froze, afraid I’d given the woman a heart attack.Did she know who I was? Had Frankie told her?I pushed the thought aside; there was no way.Then, just as quickly as her expression morphed into shock, warm excitement bloomed back into her face.

“Welcome, Chandler, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Finally?She took hold of my arm and led me deeper into the store.

“You can call me Gigi. Everyone does.So, what brings you to Friendship, Chandler?”

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