Chapter 20
As I pushopen the heavy oak door of the inn, a wave of warmth washes over us. The hinges creak slightly, adding to the vintage charm. “Wow,” Lily breathes out beside me, her brown eyes widening in wonder. I can’t help but agree, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my travel-weary state.
The place is like something out of an old romantic comedy or a Hallmark movie, all soft golden lighting that casts a warm glow over the polished wood floors and plush armchairs upholstered in rich jewel tones that practically beg you to sink into them. Intricate tapestries adorn the walls, their threads telling stories of times gone by.
I catch Lily glancing around, the designer in her no doubt cataloging all the charming and quirky touches—a vintage gramophone here, a stack of worn leather-bound books there, an antique globe beside the stone fireplace. And permeating everything is this inviting aroma, like cinnamon and cloves and something else wonderfully comforting, wrapping around us like a well-worn cashmere blanket.
I breathe in deeply, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. Lily glances over at me, her lips curving up. “This place is incredible,” she sighs, her voice warm with appreciation and contentment, conjuring up thoughts of lazy Sunday mornings tangled in soft sheets and the rich, familiar scent of coffee.
“It’s charming,” I concede, sighing because I was afraid that the pictures on the website were just stock images bought from some website to make sure suckers like me will travel all the way out here.
We make our way over to the check-in desk, our shoes sinking into the plush rug. Behind the polished oak counter stands a woman with silver hair pulled back in a neat chignon, her eyes bright and welcoming behind tortoise-shell glasses. She smiles warmly at our approach.
“Well, hello there. Don’t you two make a lovely couple,” she trills, her voice like a songbird’s. “Checking in, are you, my dears?”
“Oh, we’re not—” I start to correct her assumption, but she’s already pulling up something on the computer, her brow furrowing slightly. “Name, please.”
“I made a reservation, two rooms under Montgomery. Ethan Montgomery.”
“Hmm, I see we only have you down for one room, loves. Let me just double-check that . . .” She taps away at the keyboard, the clacking of her coral-pink nails filling the momentary silence.
I dart a glance at Lily, reading my own startled expression mirrored on her face. One room? Surely there’s been some mistake. Before either of us can clarify the situation, the woman looks back up with an apologetic smile.
“I’m afraid that’s all we have available at the moment, my sweets. Our Whispering Willows room, with a nice king-sized bed. Perfect for a cozy couple’s retreat.”
She says it so certainly, so matter-of-factly, that I find myself just nodding dumbly, not quite processing this unexpected development. Beside me, Lily seems similarly thrown off balance, a faint pink blossoming on her cheeks that I’m sure matches my own.
One room. One bed. For us, together. Oh boy. This trip just took another fucking detour . . . What am I supposed to do now? Sleep in the RV.
I would if I hadn’t left it back in Denver and rented a car to drive up into the mountains. Hindsight, you cruel mistress.
“Are you sure there aren’t any other rooms available?” I press, trying to keep the edge of desperation from my voice. Because honestly, I don’t think I have it in me to ignore Lily, especially if she’s going to be sleeping right beside me, close enough to touch.
I’ve been exceedingly well-behaved so far on this trip, keeping my hands and thoughts to myself, but I’m not sure I have the willpower to maintain that gentlemanly resolve much longer. The next time we’re that close, skin nearly brushing skin, I’m probably going to give in to the temptation to kiss her senseless—and maybe even more if she asks me nicely, looking up at me with those big, imploring eyes.
Just the thought of having her beg me, makes my dick twitch. Calm the fuck down boy, I order. We’re not going to play with Lily. She’s off-limits.
“I’m afraid not, dear. We’re all booked up, on account of the festival this weekend. The Whispering Willows room is all we have left.” She leans forward with a knowing look in her eyes. “But don’t you worry now, that bed is plenty big for two. Comfiest in the whole inn, I reckon.”
I manage a strained smile, tamping down the surge of panic mixed with anticipation rising in my chest. Lily, bless her, waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, really. We’ll figure it out. No big deal.” Her breezy tone belies the faint flush coloring her cheeks.
We shuffle up the creaky stairs to our room, an old-fashioned brass key with a room number stamped on the tag clutched in my increasingly clammy palm. I mean, who even uses real keys anymore in this age of key cards and electronic locks? But that’s part of this inn’s timeless charm, I suppose.
As I turn the key and push open the door, Lily lets out a soft, appreciative “Ooh!” The room is like something out of a period drama, all antique furniture and cozy, homespun touches. Dominating the space is a grand four-poster bed that looks like it could comfortably sleep a family of four, piled high with plump pillows and a handmade patchwork quilt in soothing shades of cream and sage.
It practically begs you to dive in and burrow under the covers. The wallpaper is a delicate pattern of tiny rosebuds, the kind of feminine detail I can easily imagine Lily doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her sketchbook during long car rides.
“Will you look at this bed?” she marvels, flopping onto it dramatically and sinking into the feather-soft mattress with a blissful sigh. “It’s just so . . . fluffy and perfect.”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest as I watch her limbs starfish out, the quilt puffing up around her. “I think you mean it’s scientifically the most comfortable bed in existence. That’s my professional assessment, anyway.”
“Oh, is that so?” Lily turns her head to look at me, quirking one delicate eyebrow. Her lips curve into a playful smirk as she pats the empty space beside her in clear invitation. “Scientifically speaking, you should probably join me. For research purposes, of course.”
“For research. Naturally,” I agree, aiming for solemnity even as the corners of my mouth twitch traitorously. Toeing off my shoes, I ease myself onto the bed next to her, the mattress dipping under my weight. And God, she’s right—it feels like sinking into a cloud, or what I imagine lounging on a cirrus would feel like. We exhale in unison, twin sighs of bone-deep contentment filling the quiet room.
“Think they’d notice if we just stayed here all day tomorrow?” Lily asks, her eyes already fluttering closed.
“Probably,” I admit with a grin. “But I wouldn’t blame you. This place is like a little slice of heaven.”
“Or a page from one of those novels you pretend not to read when I come over,” she teases, and I can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up.
“Caught red-handed,” I confess. “But hey, if life’s going to imitate art, this isn’t a bad scene to land in, right?”
“Definitely not,” she agrees, her voice softening. “It’s perfect.”
And as I lie there, her hand finding mine under the quilt, I’ve got to say—I think she’s absolutely right.
“Hey, Lily?” My voice wavers slightly, but I firm it up, because this is important. “Can we talk about something serious for a sec?”
She turns to me, her eyes reflecting concern mixed with a sprinkle of curiosity. “Of course, what’s up?”
I get off the bed and run a hand through my hair. It’s now or never.