7. Indie
SEVEN
Indie
H is lips smash against mine, and I freeze, unsure if I should lean into the moment. My head wins out, urging me to jerk away from him. His hand still cups my cheek. His eyes are soft, but his pupils are blown wide. He wants this.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Indie. I shouldn’t have—” he mumbles, pulling away and situating himself to stand.
Something comes over me. Maybe I’m caught up. Maybe it’s knowing this is the in that I need. But when my core pulses with an all too familiar ache, I know what it really is.
“Brooks,” I whisper.
His head jerks back in my direction, and I throw myself into his chest, knocking him back to the ground. He lands with a huff, the air blowing across my face.
“Kiss me again,” I murmur nervously.
He hesitates long enough that my body tenses, ready to be thrown to the side and embarrassed. The first fat drop of rain lands in the muddy puddle we’re currently half occupying, sending the water rippling toward our bodies.
Then, it all happens at once.
The sky opens, drowning us in a spring shower. I’m manhandled to sitting, my hips straddling Brooks, as his rough hand tangles in my wet, messy locks.
“I’m not letting you get away this time.”
He squeezes, holding me in place, chest to chest, as the rain bounces off our bodies. His searing kiss steals the breath from my lungs. My hips rock of their own accord, and the friction pulls a moan from deep in my chest.
He swallows it down, making me melt further into his heat. I’m lost in our entangled embrace and don’t think I ever want to be found.
“Excuse me!”
I hear it, but I’m too preoccupied to pry myself free.
“Excuse me!” The rattling voice comes again, this time louder and with more irritation.
We pop apart and look up.
The older woman who sits behind the inn’s front desk to check people in glares down at us, tucked tightly under the largest umbrella I’ve ever seen. Suddenly, I’m thrust back into my teen years, getting caught in the back seat with my high school boyfriend.
“This is a nice and respectful establishment, young man. My guests don’t need to be looking out their windows, seeing you mauling this poor girl. Don’t you be thinking I’m too old to be whipping that butt, just as I did when you were a boy.”
I scramble to my feet, the sudden movement hiding the shock of laughter that falls from my lips at her threat.
He’s quick to join me standing, but my eyes widen in shock when they catch on the thick bulge, indecently making its presence known. He catches my gaze, following its path. His hand shoots out, pulling my body in front of his as a human shield.
He reaches out for the umbrella, taking it from the old woman, watching our fumbling chaos unfold. “Ain’t no one peeking out the windows watching us, Auntie. Now, let’s get you back inside and out of this cold.” He slides between the two of us, ensuring we’re covered until we step onto the porch.
The old woman—his aunt, apparently—gives us a knowing look before returning inside the inn. The old, rickety screen porch slams behind her retreating form.
“Well, then.” I let out with a soft laugh.
“Not exactly how I saw our first kiss going,” he adds.
“Same. Considering I never thought we’d have one at all with how you acted last night.”
“I thought that was water under the bridge?”
“Oh, it is! But now, I’m curious. When were you picturing this first kiss? Was it when you yelled at me to get off your precious bar?” I close the space between us. “Maybe when you threatened to throw me out?”
His thick arm bands around my waist, pulling me into his chest. My hands slap flat against his hard pecks, the fabric of his shirt sopping wet with rain.
“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” he grumbles.
Before I can answer, his lips are on mine again, this time soft and sweet and much more aligned with how I expected him to kiss. It’s a foot-popping, skin-tingling, head-spinning kiss by the time he pulls back.
He steps away and makes for the stairs back into the rain. “Dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something casual,” he calls, walking backward to his truck.
I’m stuck in place, mouth agape at the wink he shoots me before turning and climbing back into his truck out of the rain.
Shit, I might just be in trouble.
By the time I shake free from my stupor and make it back to my room, I’m caked in drying mud and in desperate need of a shower. I only have two hours to wash away the unexpected spa treatment and find something cute and casual to wear that doesn’t look like I tried too hard to piece it together.
I’m just slipping into my boots to head downstairs and wait for Brooks when there’s a knock at the door.
“Just a second,” I call out.
Shouldering my purse, I snag the bag full of my soiled clothes for dry cleaning off the mattress and head to the door.
“Thank you so much,” I say as I open the door.
Instead of housekeeping as I expected, bright blue eyes peer down at me with a quirked eyebrow.
“You’re welcome?” he questions.
“You’re not housekeeping.”
“Not anymore, anyway.”
Now I’m the one confused.
“I used to fill in when my aunt needed extra bodies for busy weekends,” he explains, and it reminds me that I wanted to ask him about her. “We can drop that off at the front desk on our way out.” He grabs the bag from my hand and closes the hotel door behind me before ushering me toward the stairs.
“Has this always been a family business?”
“My aunt, Ruth, who you met, and her older sister, Mary, used to house families traveling through town. This place was my great grandparents’ farm, and they left it to Mary when she didn’t marry.
Aunt Mary passed away about ten years ago now, but Aunt Ruth’s been carrying it on with the help of her kids. She may be getting up there in years, but the woman has never rested a day in her life. My dad was too busy with the bar to offer much help in running the place, but he did most of the renovations in the late sixties to turn it into a full-fledged inn. The upgrades you’re enjoying today are thanks to me and Nick.”
“Wow, I guess having a big family comes in handy. It must have been great growing up with all of them around.”
He pauses at the front desk, tapping the bell, even though his aunt is sitting in her chair, staring straight at us.
“Boy, don’t make me box your ears.”
“You’d have to catch me first, Auntie.”
“Watch that lip, or you’ll regret it when I catch up.”
Watching their banter warms my heart. I had nothing like that growing up. It was just me and mom. And our relationship was more friendship than the typical mother-daughter hierarchy.
He plops the oversized bag with my filthy clothes on the desk. “Can you take care of these for Indie? We’re heading to dinner.”
“Oh my god, Brooks. I’m a guest, not family! I’m so sorry for his rude demands. He just showed up at my door before housekeeping could come by and collect, and they really are?—”
“Dear,” she cuts me off, talking over my ramblings, “it’s okay. Mercy, our housekeeper, had to take the evening off, so no one would have been by tonight, anyhow. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of and up to your room by morning.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Great, now that that’s settled, let’s go. I’m starved.”
The drive to the heart of Abaline is slow, but I don’t mind. The scenery is beautiful as the watercolor sunset moves toward the horizon. From the outskirts of town, where the inn is settled, it’s mostly flat farm fields in the middle of plowing for sowing season. The old truck rumbles across the pothole-riddled pavement as a muted tune plays on the staticky radio.
“So, where are you taking me for dinner? I don’t remember seeing anywhere else on Main Street?” I ask when we stop at the single stop light before the two rows of shops off Main.
“It’s a town secret. Can’t get in without a reservation, and they rarely give them out.”
I throw him a confused look across the bench seat. It deepens when he puts the truck in park in front of his bar. “Uhh, I don’t want to come across as a stuck-up city bitch, but are you bringing me to your bar for dinner?”
He ignores me, jumping out and running around the front of the truck again to pull open my door. This time I don’t give him shit for it, because deep down maybe it is nice to have a man be a gentleman for once.
“The bar’s packed full. No, I’m not taking you there. Trust me?” he asks, holding out his hand to help me down.
“I’m famished, so I don’t really have a choice.” I shrug and follow his lead. It doesn’t last long. Pulling up short, I yank against his hand when he tries to lead me into the alley next to the bar. “Uhh…” I let my unease hang in the darkening night air.
“If I were going to murder you, I would have done it when you were half-conscious in my truck last night. No need to be scared now.”
He has a point.
Using my free hand, I wave back to the sketchy path down the shadowed alley. If I go missing in a town like this, they’ll never suspect their golden boy.
“You’re still thinking about me offing you, aren’t you?” he asks, halting at a metal door that’s doing very little to make me feel any better. He shoves a key into the lock and pushes it open. A dimly lit hallway, with old carpet and paneled walls, leads to a narrow set of stairs.
“I’ll be partially to blame if this ends badly. Look at me following right into your trap.” I laugh, trying to play off the nervous energy coursing through my veins.
We walk into an open, well-lit apartment at the top of the stairs. Relief washes over me, calming my racing heart. It’s sparse, but what little belongings he has are organized neatly and it’s impeccably clean. Maybe those fill-in days at playing housekeeper left him with a tidy hand.
“Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?” he asks from the small kitchen to the left. “Though I should warn you. I don’t keep liquor up here.”
“That’s okay. I don’t drink much. I’ll take a water or iced tea if you have any.”
He spins on his heels, one hand still holding open the fridge. “Could have fooled me with how you threw them back last night.”
“Yeah, well, drinks are cheaper here than in LA. Last night would have cost me three times as much. The same as a month’s rent, and my place is smaller than this.” I swing around, motioning to his space.
“How can you stand to live in a place like that? Costing that much and with all those people?”
I drop onto one of the barstools lined on the other side of the short counter, separating the kitchen from the rest of the room. He slides a clinking glass of iced tea in front of me, and I drink down the refreshing sweetness, steadying myself to answer his question without making it weird.
“I don’t really have much choice. But that’s a long story and not one for nights like tonight. So, why don’t you tell me what we’re having for dinner? I heard this place is exceptional. Five-star Michelin, they say.”
He smiles at my joke, letting the awkwardness fade away. “We’re having pasta.”