Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Frankie
I was in trouble.
Strange, since usually I was the one responsible for the trouble, but it was no less the truth.
Kissing Chandler in my shop two days ago had been a grave mistake—a match that ignited an invisible fuse. And that night, when it came to backing down or sleeping in the same bed as him, I summoned every ounce of bravado and pretended like it wouldn’t matter—like it didn’t matter.
But god, did it matter.
The heat of the body next to me, my arm slung like a traitor over his chest.
For two days, I pretended that this didn’t happen. That every morning, I didn’t carefully extricate my body from where it had crept and curled around him like a vine. And that every night, I slid onto the air mattress, my mind ready to chase dreams that brought me close to him.
It was ridiculous. All of it. Every lingering stare. Every caught breath. Every darkening of his gaze when it met mine for too long.
Every night, we fell asleep with a bomb in the bed, each of us waiting for the thing that would make it blow.
He made a low sound when I pulled my arm away and turned to my side. I waited for a split second, my stomach doing a little flip when I heard him turn and reach for me. Foolish Frankie waited for the approach of his heat like a flame she was dying to touch—and that was when I pulled away, rising from the mattress with such force and enough noise to make sure it woke him, too.
The last thing either of us needed was both of us knowing just how close we got each morning.
“Good morning,” I said over my shoulder, quickly tying my hair back.
“Morning.” His first words of the day were in a league of their own. Like salted caramel on my skin, they were sweet and smooth, with just enough coarseness to make me wonder how they’d feel against the shell of my ear or on the slope of my neck. “One more night spared from the ghosts.”
Goose bumps took shelter along my spine.
I needed to do something drastic—something to put an end to this—before the idea of this ending began to ache a little too much.
“And the noises last night?” I shot over my shoulder.
Two nights ago, Nox moved all of our things.
Last night, we’d returned to the inn, fresh sets of batteries and lightbulbs for the lamps in hand, and just as we settled into our uncomfortable sleeping arrangement, there was banging coming from upstairs. The sound of footfalls on the floor.
Chandler had ordered me to stay downstairs while he rushed to investigate. As soon as he reached the second floor, the sounds stopped.
Or I thought they did.
I’d sat up on the mattress, a hint of triumph on my face waiting for him to return, when the banging on the windows started.
I jumped and cried out, diving under the covers as the old panes rattled and shook.
I knew it was Nox—not that we’d nailed down the details of this plan beyond “I need you to haunt the inn. For Lou,” because I couldn’t risk it—but I still clutched the blanket to my chin, my heart pounding higher in my throat as my head whipped from one location to the next, trying to follow the path of the agitated rattle.
And then Chandler had barreled into the room, and the only thing I could focus on was him.
The hard edges of his expression. The thump in his jaw muscle. The ferocity bubbling under his typical veneer of calm.
“Are you all right?” Four little words made me melt.
Four little words spoken by a gorgeous man crouched beside the air mattress. Four little words quelling my racing heart as his gaze raked over me, the protectiveness in it as obvious as a lit match in the dark.
A nod hadn’t been enough to assure him. Warm fingers gripped my chin, holding it firm for his demand: “ Say it.”
The words “ I’m alright” trembled and fluttered from my lips, my unsteady breath drawing him closer like a fishing line pulled taut.
Once again, we tiptoed at the edge of detonation. Destruction. Desire.
And then there was another rattle—one I wished I’d never asked for as it drew him away.
The second time Chandler returned, he was all business. He saw nothing upstairs. Nothing outside the windows. His gruff explanation last night was the same answer he gave this morning.
“The wind.”
Was it the wind? Was it rocks against windows? Was it Nox running along the hall to the back staircase and then out the broken kitchen window?
“If you say so.” I bit the corner of my lip and grabbed my bag. “I’m heading out.”
Chandler moved on the mattress, and before I could catch myself, I found myself staring at his bare, muscled chest rising from the blankets.
“I’ll see you soon.”
I shouldn’t want to hear those words. Shouldn’t want to know he planned on spending another day babysitting my every move.
But as I left the inn, all I felt was relief, knowing he wasn’t far behind me.
Every day the routine was the same.
I’d head home for a quick shower and change, and then open up my shop. Within forty minutes of that open sign posted on my door, Chandler would stroll in, and I’d spend the rest of the day with my adversary. The one who helped me make candles. Who ordered food to the store when most days I would’ve forgotten to eat. And who talked to my customers like they were his own.
Like now.
I stood with my back to the wall, my head tipped to listen through the curtain as Chandler spoke with a young couple who’d wandered in; they were in Friendship on their honeymoon, headed further north from here to hike Acadia .
I’d been on my way out to introduce myself and my candles, but when I reached the curtain and saw how Chandler strode forward to greet them, I held back.
Some people had chocolate or wine or candy. But this was my guilty pleasure: listening to him market my candles. My business. My dream.
“Oh, is this cinnamon?” I heard the woman ask.
“Yes, that’s our Cinnamon Swirl.” Our. My breath caught. Why was he so… him? “But if you’re here on your honeymoon, I’d recommend this.” I bit my bottom lip, curious what he was going to suggest. “Our Blueberry Bomb.”
Our.
It was a good choice even though the cinnamon was my favorite; he always seemed to turn people away from the cinnamon, I’d noticed. Maybe he didn’t like the smell. Strange though, since it was the cinnamon candles I’d lit at the inn and he hadn’t said anything.
“Maine is famous for their blueberries, and the scent used in this comes from the blueberries grown by Stonebar Farms. You can find their shop a few blocks down with some of their famous jam.”
“Oh, yes! We stopped there yesterday and met the owner, Ailene. She’s wonderful.”
Minutes later, two more Blueberry Bombs were off the shelves and leaving with their new owners.
For over a decade, it had only been me. My dream. My candles. My store. But in a matter of days, he’d become a staple here.
A man I should hate because, in a few more days, he was going to break my sister’s heart and sell her inn to someone else. It’s business was always his response whenever we touched on the topic .
I knew it was business. I knew business. But this was my family.
And every time he sold a blueberry candle, more of my defenses seemed to melt away.
“Oh, Chandler!”
No.
The curtain smacked against the frame as I flung it to the side.
“Gigi—”
“Oh, perfect.” My grandmother turned with a smile, her hands gripping a cardboard box. “Harper wanted me to give this to you.”
The box landed presumptuously in my arms.
Of course, I knew what it was: beeswax. My newest joint venture with my younger cousin. Beeswax candles made with wax from her honeybees.
“Great. Do you want to come in the back with me?”
“No, actually, I came to talk to Chandler.” She patted my arm and then shooed me away. Shooed me. And Chandler just stood there with a smile on his face.
I bit back a groan, deciding my next-best course of action was to set the box down and get back out here as quickly as possible.
The box landed with a thud, and I immediately pulled out my phone, searching until I found Nox’s number.
Last night was great. We need to step it up.
The dots appeared and then disappeared.
Why were you at the inn last night, Frankie ?
Shit. I swayed back, my hip bumping the counter. Double shit. After the noises scared the crap out of me, my next thought had been if Nox had seen anything—had seen me.
Proving that it’s haunted.
My cheeks were on fire as I sent the message and then instantly fired off another.
If you tell anyone, Lou will lose the inn.
What was happening to me? Threatening Nox? It wasn’t like I’d never threatened my cousins to assist in my schemes before, but this was different. I knew how it looked—like I was sleeping with the enemy.
Please tell me you aren’t…
God no!!!
I shouldn’t have sent three exclamation points. Three exclamation points was clearly a lie.
It was a challenge. We both had to stay at the inn. Me, to prove it’s haunted. Him, to prove it’s not.
And it’ll be a massacre if Jamie finds out.
I huffed and rolled my eyes.
It’s only two more nights. One, if you can step up your game.
“Francesca!”
My head jerked in the direction of Gigi’s voice, and I shoved my phone back into my pocket, sending up a silent prayer that Nox kept his mouth shut .
I didn’t particularly like keeping things from my older brother, but he had this habit of still looking at me and Lou like we were seven instead of twenty-seven. A time when it was easy to convince us that boys had cooties.
Of course, there wasn’t anything he could do about my decision…except blow up at Chandler and completely destroy any chance I had at salvaging Lou’s offer.
“Here,” I said, a little flushed and breathless when I returned to the front.
I caught Chandler’s stare narrow curiously before his head dropped, distracted by the vibration of his phone.
His brow creased. “Excuse me.” He spoke but didn’t look up before stalking to the front of the store, his phone pressed to his ear.
My chest tightened. The call was important. Very important. For being who he was, I hadn’t seen him take a single call in the last two days. It had to be Mr. Fairfax. What could be more important…and what other reason would he not want me to hear?
“So, we’ll see you for dinner then, Francesca?” Gigi asked, the expression on her face indicating that my attention had been stuck on Chandler’s retreat for a meaningful amount of time.
I exhaled. “I don’t know. I have work?—”
“Work isn’t more important than family,” she chided.
“I know?—”
“Do you?” Her cloud of orange hair tipped to one side. “I don’t think you’ve learned this lesson quite yet.”
There was no point in arguing with her.
“I’ll see?—”
“Chandler is coming.”
I choked on air. On nothing but the invisible boulder of fear that slammed into the front of my chest .
“You invited…”
“Well, of course, I did.”
I groaned and covered my face. “No, Gigi. He’s not coming to dinner. You don’t know who he is?—”
“He’s Chandler.”
My groan multiplied. “No, Gigi, you don’t understand. He’s?—”
“The man who owns the inn.”
My eyes bulged. “How…”
She cackled. “Who do you think I am, dear? Who do you think your mother gets her detective skills from?”
The color drained from my face. “Does Mom?—”
“No, your mother doesn’t know.” She patted my arm again like that was supposed to comfort me. “Your sister told me.”
My nostrils flared. “Lou?—”
“Thought she was helping you by explaining why he couldn’t be that Chandler.”
Of course, she did.
“So then why are you inviting him to dinner?” I asked, my voice coming out in a hiss.
Her wide grin somehow spread wider. “Because this is exactly who that Chandler would be.”
My heart did some kind of flutter inside my chest, traitor that it was. More excuses piled on my tongue, weighing it into silence for a second. He’s only here for business. We both only care about business. Neither of us want a relationship. He lives in Boston. He’s going to sell the inn to some heartless developer, and I could never be with someone who cared so little about my family ? —
“Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to run. See you both for dinner at the house.” She moved with surprising speed out of range of further conversation .
The door didn’t have a chance to shut behind her before Chandler slipped back through it, his eyes and head ducked.
I needed to get out of here. Get some space. Give us both an excuse to get out of dinner and prepare for another night in the same bed.
“I’m sorry about Gigi. Don’t feel obligated to do anything she asked. I’m closing up for the day?—”
“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice like gravel.
Something was wrong. The tone of his voice. The tension on his face. His jaw was wrenched so tight, it looked about to snap.
“What?” I folded my apron in my arms. “Today’s my half-day?—”
“And we have to go.” He took the fabric from my hands and stalked to the back to hang it up.
I bristled, blaming my irritation on his bold presumption and not on the unsettling idea that he was that Chandler. “I don’t just go places with strangers when they tell me.”
“You just share a bed with them for a whole week?” His brow arched as he stopped in front of me.
Five nights. “And if I have plans?”
“Do you?” he dared.
My throat bobbed as I forced myself to swallow. “No.”
“Okay then.” He angled toward the front door.
I grabbed my bag and followed, locking the door to my store behind us. “Do I get to know where I’m being kidnapped to?”
“You’re not being kidnapped.” He held the passenger door of his car open for me.
I paused. “I’m being taken against my will.”
“You’re being taken,” he replied low. “But not against your will.”
He wasn’t wrong. Even with no answers, I was going to go with him because of the look in his eyes. It was broken and painful, and I wondered what in this world had the power to make this man weak.
“Where are we going?” I refused to get in without an answer.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “To see my mom.”