CHAPTER EIGHT
Raina
I’d never come so close to spontaneously orgasming from just watching someone as I did standing there at Lenora’s laundry room window, watching Jagger swing the mighty axe over his head, again and again, crashing it into the wood and splitting it into pieces.
Dear god, the man was sexy.
And when he took off his shirt and his abs started to pop, and his arm muscles flexed, I wasn’t the only woman sighing or fanning herself at the window.
Now, I stood there in front of the woodstove, already an inferno of embarrassment, because I thought Jagger asked me to have sex with him on the dining room table in front of everyone.
Why the fucking fuck did I think that was what he meant? Was I really that horny?
Apparently.
Horny or deranged. Possibly both.
When Jagger returned, the puzzle box, cribbage board, and deck of cards in his hands, the heat in my cheeks had barely subsided. Then he flashed me a big smile, and I went right back to being on fire, with the added bonus of butterflies in my belly.
You ghosted the guy years ago and have been a bitch to him ever since. Like you have a chance with him now. Dream the fuck on.
The butterflies in my stomach dragged me away from the warmth of the fire—even though there was so much sweat trickling down my back and between my boobs—to the dining room table where Jagger was busy setting up the puzzle.
“Open to help,” he announced to the other guests. Based on my quick estimation, we were by far the youngest guests—by at least twenty years.
An older couple in matching beige cardigans and brown slacks shuffled over. “We’re avid dissectologists,” the man said.
“What?” I asked, my eye on the seat furthest from Jagger, but the woman swooped in and grabbed it, so I was forced to sit next to Jagger instead.
“That’s the correct term for a jigsaw puzzle enthusiast,” she said, her voice a little shaky as she glanced up at me through her thick glasses. “I’m Effie. This is Bernie.”
“I’m Raina,” I said, making a conscious effort not to look at Jagger as he dumped the puzzle pieces onto the table.
“Jagger,” he said, holding out his hand to Effie.
“Oh, we know your name. Lenora told us. So we had to go take a look at the young man who worked so hard to make sure the rest of us stayed warm.” Effie’s wrinkly cheeks turned pink, which triggered her husband to clear his throat.
She shot him a quick glare, then settled into her seat and began flipping the puzzle pieces over, picture-side up.
“Where are you two from?” Bernie asked, after he’d already assembled six pieces to make up a corner in less than five minutes.
“San Camanez,” Jagger replied. “You?”
“Oh, we love San Camanez,” Effie said. “We love the wine there.”
I beamed and glanced at Jagger, a little too full of myself. He rolled his eyes. “I’m actually one of the owners of the Westhaven Winery,” I said. “I have a few bottles in my car.”
“Well, share the wealth, young lady,” Bernie said, a twinkle in his blue gaze. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Snorting at his cheekiness, I stood up and hightailed it out into the rain to my SUV, bringing back four bottles of our merlot. Then I popped upstairs and brought down the remaining bottles of white as well. “Here we go.”
Bernie and Effie’s eyes widened and the other guests in the sitting room rose from their spots and flocked into the dining room. Lenora came out of the kitchen with wine glasses, and I played sommelier for ten minutes, pouring everyone some vino.
“This is delicious,” Bernie said, swirling the merlot around in his glass. “I love the earthy overtones of vanilla and clove.”
“I’m tasting mocha,” said another man.
I nodded. “You’re both correct.”
“We’re from Seattle, but make our way to San Camanez whenever we can,” Effie said, finishing off her Moscato. “Bernie drags me to the brewery too, but I’m not much of a beer drinker.” She patted her belly. “Makes me feel bloated.”
With a snort, I snagged Jagger’s gaze as he sat at the table and continued to search for matching puzzle pieces. “Well, one of the Brew Brothers from the brewery is right here.”
Bernie’s interest piqued, and he turned his head with the thinning gray hair toward Jagger. “Really? We’ve got two island celebrities staying with us right now?”
Now it was Jagger’s turn to snort. “Not quite. But I’ve got beer in the truck, and upstairs.
Hang on.” With far less enthusiasm in his step, he bounded upstairs, grabbed the beer and brought it back, setting it on the dining room table with the wine bottles, before ducking out to the cube truck.
He brought back an entire case of mixed bottles.
“I’m still haggard from tying one on last night.
So I think I’ll refrain, but you lot have at it.
” He sat back down at the table while the guests all dove into the beer and wine.
I had to agree with my roommate. I was still feeling a little queasy after binge drinking last night, and the idea of beer or wine in my belly made bile coat the back of my tongue.
But the older guests seemed eager to get sloshed and forget about the lack of electricity, and crummy weather.
Within an hour, the laughter roaring from the sitting area was enough to drown out my thoughts.
Effie and Bernie had also abandoned us to go hang out with the cool kids who were drinking, leaving us nerds to work on our puzzle.
I had no idea what time it was, but around the time Effie knocked her wine glass onto the floor with a crash, my belly started to rumble.
Lenora—who was also drinking wine, but not nearly as much as the rest—was quick to grab a towel and broom and tidy up the mess as Effie simply stumbled into the dining room to fill herself up another glass. “Whoops,” she said with a slow, drunk smile.
“This lot needs food,” I murmured. “Otherwise, we’re going to have a whole bunch of drunk senior citizens on our hands soon.”
“I think they’re all already drunk,” Jagger murmured, gasping when he found two pieces that fit together. “Booyah!”
“I’m going to go get some of the food from upstairs,” I said. “You want anything?”
“The salad?” he asked, not bothering to look at me.
“Sure.”
I nearly bowled over a headshaking Lenora as I was about to cross the threshold from the dining room into the sitting room, but the look of frustration on her face had me following her into the kitchen—after making sure she didn’t topple over—instead. “What’s wrong, Lenora?” I asked.
“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” she said, still shaking her head and visibly flustered. Even her curly white hair seemed frizzier than it did earlier today. “Normally, I only have to worry about one meal for guests. But now I have to worry about lunch and dinner too.”
“Okay,” I said, taking the dustpan from her and setting it on the tile-topped island before gripping her gently by the shoulders. “That’s not a problem. Let’s make a big pot of soup, or chili, or something. Do you have a bag of frozen vegetables? Canned beans?”
She nodded.
“What about some buns or rolls in the freezer?”
Her head bobbed again, hard enough that she needed to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
I released her shoulders and smiled. “Perfect. With the right seasonings and a little creativity, we can make a delicious and filling pot of vegetarian chili on the woodstove. Sound good?”
Her shoulders sagged as she sighed and nodded some more. “Yeah, that sounds doable.” Moving to the enormous stainless steel two-door fridge, she opened the left side and hauled out a big bag of mixed veg medley.
“Will this work?” she asked.
“It sure will.”
“There are beans and cans of stewed tomatoes in the pantry over there.” She pointed to a bifold door across the kitchen.
I scooted around the island and opened the door, surprised that it was a walk-in and not just a bunch of shelves in front of me.
The little space was packed with dried food in jars; bags of rice and dried pasta; so many home-canned jars of jams, fruits, and vegetables; and store-bought tin cans of food.
The woman was fretting about feeding people, yet here she had enough food to nourish the entire island for a month.
I grabbed three cans of stewed tomatoes and various cans of beans, precariously stacking them in my arms, before rejoining our frazzled hostess.
Jagger was in the kitchen now, which explained why it suddenly felt smaller than the pantry.
His bulky shoulders and beard were everywhere.
He had a cutting board out and was dicing onions without a tear in his eye.
“I knew it,” I murmured, setting the cans down beside him. “You are a robot.”
Shooting me a sideways glance before resuming his cutting was the only response I got.
“Only robots don’t cry when chopping onions.”
“I’m wearing glasses,” he said blandly. “It helps stop the off-gassed enzymes from penetrating my eyeballs.” Then he sniffed, turned his head, and blinked a bunch. “But they’re not perfect. I still tear up, depending on the onion. I’m also chopping away from the root, which helps.”
Lenora came back into the kitchen from the direction of the laundry room.
“My big soup pot was up on the shelf.” She set it on the island.
“I should have listened to Walt when he wanted to switch the stove to a gas range. Only thing that man was good for—that one idea.” Her head shook, jostling her curls.
“Okay, and maybe the children. But that was it. Besides my children and suggesting a gas range—which I dismissed—he was good for nothing.”
I met Jagger’s amused gaze for a moment, but as soon as my cheeks grew hot, I quickly looked away.
Not wanting to be the only one not doing anything, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the knife block and opened up the bag of mixed veg, dumping them into the pot with the onions.
Then I opened the cans, rinsing the beans before adding them to the pot.
Lenora was back in the freezer, digging around and muttering to herself.