Chapter 14
Everett
The words on the rental agreement blur together before my eyes. My clients don’t care that I’m knee-deep in pine needles and holiday madness.
I rub my eyes, willing them to focus.
Just three more applications to complete before I can call it a night. I wanted so badly to join the others at the grand cabin for dinner, but my guilty conscience wouldn’t let me leave until I’d caught up on my paperwork.
My phone buzzes.
A text from Gabe.
I open it and immediately feel my heart stutter.
It’s a photo of Oxford, looking absurdly dignified on what appears to be a dog bed in the Grand Cabin.
Melody sits beside him, head thrown back in laughter at something Finn is saying off-camera.
She wears an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of skin that makes my mouth go dry.
“Your llama has made himself at home,” Gabe’s text reads. “Melody says he’s upgraded from guest to roommate.”
I zoom in on the photo. The traitor looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him since Granny went to the hospital. And Melody…
Melody looks happy. Radiant. Comfortable.
Something hot twists in my gut, a sensation I’m not proud of. I stare at the photo longer than necessary, taking in the casual way she sits cross-legged on the floor, the way her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, the joy on her face.
It’s not that I’m jealous. That would be ridiculous.
I don’t get jealous of my friends hanging out with our pretty scent-match in the cabin I own.
Except I am.
And it’s pathetic.
I want to be over there laughing and playing games, not stuck here with inane spreadsheets. I want to be the one making Melody laugh like that, the one sitting close enough to catch the shifts in her vanilla-clove scent when she laughs.
“Coming to get the fugitive,” I text back.
The dots appear as Gabe types his response: “He’s entertaining.”
That’s when another photo arrives, this one of Melody adjusting Oxford’s scarf, a new one that she’s apparently given him. Her face is close to his, and she’s telling him something with a soft smile on her lips.
I close my laptop and stand, stretching muscles stiff from hours of chopping trees. The cottage living room feels suddenly too small, too confining. Mom knits in Granny’s chair by the window, and Charlie sprawls on the sofa, watching some Christmas movie with the volume too low to hear correctly.
“I need to go get Oxford,” I announce, trying to sound casual. “He’s at the rental cabin again.”
Mom doesn’t look up from her knitting. “That llama is more social than you are, Everett.”
Charlie snorts, her eyes still fixed on the TV. “He’s visiting his girlfriend. The one who twerks.”
I ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. “She’s not his girlfriend.”
“Whose girlfriend? The llama’s or yours?” Charlie finally looks at me, a smirk playing on her lips.
“I’m leaving now,” I say, refusing to dignify her teasing with a response.
Charlie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Tell Melody I said hi, and that I want details about whatever’s happening with you three.”
“Nothing is happening.”
“Yeah, sure. The sexual tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.”
“Charlie!” Mom scolds, but there’s amusement in her voice.
I grab my coat from the hook by the door, shrugging it on with perhaps more force than necessary. As I pass the linen closet, I pause. Melody may need more blankets. The Grand Cabin has plenty, but extra blankets are always welcome in winter. And pillows. Omegas love pillows and soft things.
I select the softest, fluffiest options we have. The large quilted one Granny made last winter, two down pillows, a throw blanket with pine trees embroidered around the edges, and one straight off my bed that still carries my scent.
No ulterior motives at all. Nope. None.
I load everything into my truck rather than taking the snowmobile. The truck seems more appropriate for a casual, not-at-all-desperate visit to retrieve a llama and deliver bedding.
The drive to the Grand Cabin takes less than five minutes, but I use every second to lecture myself on acting normal.
Don’t stare at her.
Don’t sniff the air like some creep.
Don’t mention the scent match.
Don’t make it weird.
I park in the circular driveway and gather the bedding in my arms, balancing the precarious stack as I make my way to the front door.
I’m halfway there when I realize I can’t knock while holding everything.
I awkwardly try to shuffle the bundle into one arm so I can reach out to knock, but the load is so bulky I lose my grip.
I quickly jerk to catch the falling pillows, and I smack my head against the window.
At the sound of the soft thunk, Finn spots me through the window and leaps up to open the door, his face breaking into a grin. “Well, if it isn’t the tree tycoon himself!” He steps back, gesturing grandly. “Enter, good sir. Your royal llama awaits.”
“Brought some extra bedding,” I say when Finn looks at my pile. “Nights are getting colder.”
“How thoughtful.” Finn’s eyes sparkle as he steps aside to let me in.
I step inside, and the warmth of the cabin engulfs me along with the scent of vanilla and clove that’s been haunting me since I first caught a whiff of it.
It’s everywhere—in the air, on the furniture, seeping into the very walls.
My nostrils flare involuntarily, drinking it in.
Oxford lifts his head when I enter, but makes no move to get up from his spot by the fire.
“I have to warn you,” says Finn, “Oxford has become quite the pampered pet. I’m not sure he’s interested in downgrading back to barn life.”
“Everett!” Melody’s voice draws my attention to where she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing cards spread in front of her.
Her blue eyes light up when she sees me, and my heart does a stupid little flip.
“I hope you don’t mind that Oxford is inside.
The lease agreement stated that pets were okay…
and well, um, Oxford is kinda like a pet, right? ”
Her cheeks flush as she speaks, a delicate pink that makes her eyes seem even bluer. Her scent shifts subtly, and the cloves intensify.
“I guess he is,” I say with a laugh. “I didn’t exactly have llamas in mind when I wrote the pet clause, but he seems happy here.”
I glance at Oxford, who’s watching me with what I swear is smug satisfaction. The traitor has never looked so comfortable and content.
“He’s been a perfect gentleman,” Melody says. The vanilla in her scent becomes sweeter, balancing the delicate woody spice of clove as she smiles up at me. “Though he has strong opinions about scarf placement.”
“That sounds like Oxford,” I say, trying not to stare at the way her long blonde hair falls casually across her shoulder or how her blue eyes dance and glimmer in the firelight. “And I’ll reimburse you for the rental since Gabe and Finn have basically invaded your space.”
“What? No!” Melody protests, waving her hands. “I invited them. Well, drunk me invited them, but sober me agreed it was a good decision. The cabin’s too big for just me, and they’ve been wonderful company.”
“We’re the ones who should be paying,” Gabe says from his spot on the couch. He’s watching us with that quiet intensity that always makes me feel like he can see right through me.
“You guys are helping me out with the tree crisis. Nobody’s paying,” I decide. “Consider it my Christmas gift to all of you.”
Melody’s scent warms with what I hope is pleasure. “That’s incredibly generous.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. There’s something in her expression—curiosity and a little confusion—that makes me wonder if she feels it, too: this pull between us.
“Besides, I’m the owner. I make the rules. And that includes that monstrosity,” I say, gesturing to the fake tree in the corner. “Can’t have one of those here at Perfect Pines. It’s practically sacrilegious.”
Melody follows my pointing finger. “Are you tree-shaming me right now?”
“Absolutely,” I say, unable to hold back my smile. “I’ll bring one over tomorrow.”
“Well, now you have to stay and play cards with us,” Finn says, already clearing a spot at the table. “We’re playing poker, and I’m winning, which means these two are terrible.”
“I just came for Oxford,” I say, even as I’m desperately hoping they’ll insist. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s not an intrusion when you’re invited,” Melody says, patting the floor beside her. “Besides, Oxford clearly wants you to stay.”
Oxford most definitely does not look like he cares one bit if I stay or go. He blinks at me once, then rests his head back down on his hooves, the picture of indifference.
“Oh, and I brought these,” I say, gesturing to the pile of bedding. “Extra blankets. For warmth. Because it’s cold. Outside. In winter.”
Smooth, Pine. Real smooth.
“That’s so sweet of you,” Melody says, apparently choosing to ignore my verbal diarrhea. “But you have to stay for cards. We need a fourth player.”
She pats the spot beside her, her fingers linger on the carpet, as if she’s hoping I’ll take the seat. Her scent is inviting, almost beckoning.
Gabe takes the blankets from me, raising an eyebrow at the one from my bed, but says nothing. He knows exactly what I’m doing. His nostrils flare slightly, and a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
“Sit down,” Gabe says, nodding to the empty spot at the table. It’s not a request. “I’ll get you a beer.”
I shed my coat and settle in for the game, trying not to ogle like an idiot at Melody.
“So you’re telling me you spent your day doing spreadsheets for a stranger,” Finn says to Melody as he deals the cards. “That’s either the saddest or most on-brand thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It was fun,” Melody insists, organizing her cards. “And Bea was so grateful. Plus, I got her royal icing that actually works. My gingerbread houses might have structural integrity now.”