Page 4 of Knotty, Nice, & Holiday Lights
I turn to the bright red door and am certain coming here was the right choice as I turn the knob and push it open.
Inside, I’m greeted with a design that melds rustic and modern in a way that justworks.
There’s a hotel-style wooden desk ahead, backed by a flight of stairs. The desk is small with a lamp and a computer.
The entry is wide open, with a sprawling living room on the left, a large TV mounted to the wall, and ample seating, a beautiful fireplace with a stone face in the corner.
“Hello!” a jovial voice calls, and my gaze snaps to the doorway at the back of the entry where a tall, lean Alpha stands, donning a white apron and wiping his hands on a towel. His smile is bright white and kind, his brown hair mussed about his head, making him look even more youthful than he must be.
My heart gives a little stutter at the sight of him, then kicks in my chest when he approaches and I get a good look at his dark blue eyes. I’ve never seen sapphires in person before, but I would place a cash-money bet that this guy’s eyes are even more beautiful than the jewels.
His head tilts, a curious look overtaking his face. “I’m Will,” he explains, his voice a bit deeper, softer, now that he’s only a couple feet away. “Are you checking in?”
My mouth opens, and I wheeze a little.
That’s new.
Clearing my throat, I try again. “Yes.” My voice is way too breathy. “Yes,” I repeat, a little more forceful now. “I’m Isabelle Ross. I have a reservation.”
When he smiles at me again, there’s a twinkle in his eye, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
I’m almost insulted.
“Would you like help with your luggage?”
“Um,” I consider.
“Your room is upstairs,” he offers.
Ah. “You know what? I could use a hand.”
That grin is going to permanently affect my heartbeat.
He puts his towel on the check-in desk and gestures for me to head for the door. “After you.”
Right. After me. To my car. For my luggage.
Is it normal for someone’s brain to stop working in the presence of a good-looking man? Maybe it’s my lack of sleep.
Once we’re outside, something smells absolutely delicious. It takes me a minute to realize I recognize the scent, like the finestvanilla bean ice cream. The scent fills my lungs and even my mouth, making it water.
I must be starving.
At my tiny SUV in the parking lot, I open the back hatch and the handsome Will leans close to help remove my wheeled bags, and that vanilla bean scent wraps around my entire body. I shudder.
“Were you baking?”
The words tumble from my lips, and I cringe at myself. This fabulous scent can’t possibly be from anything other than Will himself. This super-hot Alpha smells like my favorite dessert. And the pink tinging his cheeks when he looks at me confirms it.
I’ve embarrassed him. I’m a complete idiot.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “That was really rude of me. I’m super tired, and my brain-to-mouth filter isn’t working, and I meant no disrespect! You smell really good, and I didn’t mean—”
“So do you.” His interruption of my word-vomit is quiet, but firm as he pulls the second suitcase from my car. “Blossoms,” he says. “Lemon, if I’m not mistaken.”
I blink at him, shocked. “That… that’s right.”
Then it dawns on me. I couldn’t smell him inside the B&B. They must require scent neutralizers in communal lodgings, even here in a small town.
