Page 53 of Kellan & Emmett
The screen door thumped open just then, rattling the frame. A breeze swept through, carrying the smell of cut grass and sunburnt earth.
“Hey,” Kellan called, voice rough with heat and kids’ chaos. He stepped into view, sweat-dark T-shirt plastered to his chest, hair damp at the edges like he’d dumped water over his head on the way home. His whistle swung from his fingers until he hooked it on the nail by the door like he’d been doing it for years, not weeks.
My eyes snagged on him—on the faint burn across his nose, the dirt smudge along his forearm, the way he seemed to take up the whole room without even trying. And the problem that had been a headache a minute ago twisted into something else entirely: because the only fix staring me in the face meant puttinghimin my room. Sharing more than walls. Sharing space that had always been mine alone.
He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
I jerked my chin toward the office. “Come on.”
Once the door was shut behind us, I dropped into the chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Double booking. Jenna must’ve duplicated an entry in the system. Normally I’d send folks over to Carol’s place or comp a night, but it’s June. Every inn in the county’s booked solid.”
Kellan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest. He listened, silent at first, sweat still dampening the collar of his shirt. Then his mouth curved, not unkind—half amusement, half pragmatism.
“So stick them in my room.”
My head snapped up. “That’s not professional.”
He shrugged one shoulder, casual as ever. “Neither is kicking out paying guests.”
I scowled, but heat crept up my neck anyway. Not at him—at the picture my brain painted without permission: his bag on my floor, his shirts mixed with mine, his toothbrush standing in the cup by my sink. It sparked panic and want in equal measure, tangling so tight I couldn’t tell which was stronger.[22]
I dragged a hand down my face. “Kell—”
“Emmy.” His voice was steady, softer than the smirk made it seem. “It’s fine. They’re paying. I’m not. I can bunk with you for a few nights.”
I shook my head, the wordunprofessionalstill clawing at me, but even as I opened my mouth to argue again, I knew I was out of moves. Guests came first. They always had. That was the rule I built this place on.
I blew out a breath, the fight draining from me. Kellan hadn’t even hesitated—like the guests mattered, but I mattered more. He’d always been like that. Back then it was sliding down the bench in the cafeteria so I wouldn’t have to eat alone, or shifting his shoulder toward me on the bus so I’d have something solid to lean against. He’d always found a way to make space for me, even when there wasn’t any. Once, when I’d muttereddon’t laughas my voice shook over something stupid, he’d rolled his eyes and said quietly,don’t worry, I’ve got you.I’d believed him, and true to his words, he’d gotten me. Always did.
“Go on,” I said, rougher thanI[23] meant. “Grab your stuff. I’ll clear some space.”
His boots thudded up the stairs a few minutes later, each sound a reminder that the lines I’d drawn—guests first, keep everything separate—were about to blur. I stacked shirts too neatly, straightened the lamp that didn’t need straightening, and stalled like the room might look different once he stepped inside.
The bag landed with a soft thud by the door. I looked up. He was leaning in the frame, watching me, waiting like he always did—like I got the final say.
“This okay?” he asked.
My room. My bed. And him, finally stepping in. All those nights I’d slipped into his space—quiet, careful, temporary—now turning into something I hadn’t let myself hope for.
I swallowed, pulse skittering. “Yeah,” I managed. “It’s okay.”
He crossed the threshold, easy, sure, and the air shifted with him. The room didn’t feel like mine alone anymore. It felt smaller. Charged. Like we’d been heading here all along.
Chapter 28
Emmett
Dinner lingered in the air — roasted chicken, fresh bread, peach cobbler. By the time the last thank-yous were spoken and doors clicked shut upstairs, my body buzzed with something that had nothing to do with the inn. Every sound felt sharper, every shadow stretched longer, because I knew what waited behind my bedroom door.
When I finally pushed it open, he was there. Sprawled across my bed like he’d always belonged in it. Barefoot, hair still damp from his shower, one arm flung over his head. His T-shirt clung to his chest in soft folds, and my gut went tight at the sight.
I almost went straight to him. Almost bent to press a kiss to his jaw, thank him for being a good sport about giving up his room, for helping me strip and re-dress the guest bed until it gleamed. But something tugged me sideways, and I stepped into the bathroom instead.
That’s when I saw it. Two toothbrushes resting side by side in the cup. His navy handle next to my green one, close enough their bristles touched. The sight hit harder than it should have — domestic and intimate, the kind of thing I used to dream about and never thought I’d get. My throat went tight.[24]
“Emmy,” he called from the bed, voice lazy but warm. “You gonna stand in there all night, or you coming back to me?”
I swallowed, heat prickling low in my stomach. When I returned, he’d propped himself on one elbow, watching me with a look that was half amusement, half want.
