Page 4 of One Chance to Stay
Just to be sure, I reached down, hands patting along the belly hair until I reached my junk. Yup, morning erection. I lifted my head to see what my savior had done with my clothes. The room remained sparse, with a dresser on one wall and a single wooden chair on the other. The owner didn’t strike me as the decorating type.
“What the hell,” I whispered. As I rolled to the edge of the bed, my muscles ached. I think I remember him saying that would happen. It didn’t feel great, but I preferred the pain radiating through my body to the alternative.
Getting out of bed, I inspected the drawers. Nothing. That bastard had stolen my clothes. Or… I glanced at the bed. There were two pillows side-by-side, but only one looked disturbed. Ilet out a sigh of relief. Not that the rescue wasn’t worth a little roll in the hay, but still.
I sniffed the air. “Bacon?”
I hadn’t woken up in a strange place since my freshman year in college. It only got more awkward as an adult. I couldn’t boast about being a stud after last night. I recalled him calling me out on manners, and now I was about to parade through his house with my junk leading the way.
“It could be worse.”
Cracking the door only made the smell of bacon intensify. Peeking around the corner, the coast was clear. What did I expect? Bolting for the door and running through the snow naked? That’d make for an entertaining headline.
I tiptoed down the hallway until I reached the stairs. Photographs of him with a young girl lined the wall. One showed him with who I presumed was his wife. I paused, seeing the same straight face that greeted me last night. Glad to know it wasn’t just me who put him in a sour mood. My first act of repaying my savior— I straightened the photograph.
“Breakfast is ready.”
I froze.
“You can’t sneak around in an old house.”
Well, there was no point in hiding now. I marched down the stairs, following the scent of bacon. When I reached the kitchen, I stood in the doorway, hands on my hips and all my glory out in the open. At a small table, he looked up from doling out eggs. Did he have an expression other than dissatisfied and sour?
“Put on some damned clothes,” he said. “They’re on the banister.”
Oh. I rushed back to the stairs. I hadn’t noticed them as I bravely strutted through the house. Dry and neatly folded, I slid on my underwear and jeans, then pulled my shirt over myhead. How many ways could I embarrass myself before I had the opportunity to say thank you?
I walked into the kitchen, and he had already taken a seat. He gestured across the table. If he were a crazy kidnapper, at least he made sure his victims were well-fed. I wouldn’t object to his unexpected kindness.
Taking my seat, I waited for him to make the next move. His elbows rested on the table as if he were protecting his plate from enemy invasion. I’d call him handsome, a rugged man with square shoulders and a torso to match. What I didn’t see were laugh lines. I bet his face hurt when he smiled.
“Usually I wait until the second date before getting naked.” I forced a smile. If he wasn’t going to talk, I could fill the space for two people. “Hope it was as magical for you as it was for me.”
“You talk a lot.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Seamus.”
“Patrick.”
We weren’t far from grunting at one another. If the small talk got any smaller, it’d poof out of existence. I had met the type plenty of times at the bar. They pretended they didn’t want to talk, as if they were a fortress. I had crossed that bridge before, and then they turned into talkers.
“You’re an idiot.”
I raised an eyebrow at Patrick’s assessment. “You're a grumpy old man.”
He let out a lengthy sigh. “Let me guess, decided to hike the mountain in winter? Wearing that? What are you, boy, a flatlander?”
Mainers treated it like the ultimate insult. To be mistaken for somebody from out of state was about as grave as it got. I prepared a scathing retort, but bit my tongue. He might appear rude, but the man had taken me in, dried and folded my clothes.Now he offered me breakfast? I didn’t need him to speak to know Seamus was a complicated man.
“I took the low trail. Didn’t expect it to snow.”
He picked up his fork and shoveled eggs into his mouth. The supernatural abilities of a bartender were at play. This man had a story, and how could I not want to figure it out? He opens the door with a gun in hand, saves me from the cold, and then tucks me into bed. He might be gruff, but I sensed a heart.
“I’m staying at Valhalla bed-and-breakfast. I won a raffle and got a free week there. My friends are always raving about Firefly. They speak about it like it has magical powers.” I picked up a piece of bacon, waving it about. “You show up and somehow, POOF, Firefly solves all your problems.”
“You don’t say.”
