Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
BASH
We’re only halfway to Boston when steam begins rising from beneath the hood of my car.
It takes me a moment to realize what’s happening, because the day is overcast, with a heavy fog clinging to the trees and blurring the edges of the road.
The steam blends right in with the thick, damp air, at first indistinguishable from the mist.
But sure enough, it’s steam. And there’s a lot of it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I mutter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Romilly’s eyes widen. “Seriously? After you just said your car was good?”
“Oh, believe me. The irony is not lost on me, Romilly.”
“I thought you said a mechanic looked at it.”
“A very cheap mechanic.” I hang my head and pull off to the side of the road to get out.
Unlatching the hood, I peer into the maze of metal, tubes, and unknown liquids.
If only my dad taught me how to decipher this mess instead of how to overprice items for auction.
Anytime I’d expressed an interest in learning, he’d say, “But why go through all that when you can pay someone else to do it?”
Now, I feel like a fool. I may be able to jab my way to victory in the ring, or charm my way through a room full of snobs who’d typically look down on me, but what good is any of that now?
Romilly gets out of the car, the torch from her phone illuminated.
She shines the light onto the hood. “It has to be your blown head gasket still,” she says, fidgeting with the strand of pearls around her neck.
“We’ll have to call a tow truck so they can get it to a real mechanic.
Hopefully, we’ll be back on the road by morning. ”
“By morning?” My eyes widen. “But…Romilly. My fight is tomorrow.”
“I know, but you can’t drive it like this. There’s no way.” She hugs her arms around herself. “We could call someone to pick us up, but then we’d have to leave your car here. We’re better off just finding somewhere to stay tonight while we wait.”
My shoulders sag. The highway stretches endlessly in both directions, framed by dense woods on either side. The occasional whoosh of a passing car is the only sound breaking the eerie quiet.
Romilly looks up the tow truck company on her phone and dials the number, not wasting any time. I tune her out as she explains our situation.
My gaze snags on a tiny inn within walking distance from the highway exit.
Its wooden sign, faintly lit by a flickering lantern, reads Whispering Pines Inn.
The building is small and rustic, with ivy creeping up its stone exterior and warm light spilling from the windows.
“How about there?” I ask when she hangs up.
She glances at the inn and then at me. “Um, sure. The tow truck is going to take your car to a mechanic, and we’ll get a call tomorrow when it’s done. So that works.”
We walk to the inn together, and the gravel shoulder of the road crunches beneath our shoes and rolling luggage as we go. The air is brisk, and the fog seems even thicker off the highway, curling around us like ghostly tendrils.
When we’re up close, I can’t help but notice the vintage style of the place. The front porch is framed by wooden beams and flower boxes overflowing with colorful pumpkins and hay. A bell rings as I push open the heavy oak door, stepping in after Romilly.
She beams. “Are you kidding me? Bash, this place is so cute.”
I look around, trying to see our surroundings through her adorably rose-tinted glasses.
The lobby is small but inviting, with a stone fireplace crackling in the corner and leather armchairs arranged around a worn coffee table.
The faint scent of pine and something sweet like fresh-baked cookies lingers in the air.
It’s nothing like the five-star hotels I’ve stayed at in the past, but it’s somehow just as appealing.
A woman stands behind the front desk, her silver-streaked hair tied back in a bun. She looks up with a smile. “Welcome to Whispering Pines Inn. How can I help you?”
I step forward. “We need two rooms for the night, please.”
Her smile falters. “Oh dear. I’m afraid we only have one room available for tonight.”
I blink at her, sure I must’ve misheard. “Only one room?”
“Yes. We’re usually quiet this time of year, but we’ve had a full house since yesterday, thanks to a nearby wedding. It’s just the one left, with a queen bed.”
Romilly clears her throat beside me, and I glance at her. A fierce blush appears on her cheeks, though whether from the chilly walk or the current predicament, I’m not sure. “That’s fine,” she says.
I arch a brow, waiting for her to change her mind, but when she doesn’t, I sigh and reach for my wallet. “All right, we’ll take it.”
The woman slides a key across the counter. “Room 4. Up the stairs and to your left.”
We make our way to the room in silence. The sound of our footsteps is muffled by the thick green and brown patterned carpet. Our key sticks a little in the lock, but after a moment of jiggling, the door swings open.
The room is so small, it’s practically dominated by the bed. I step inside and wrinkle my nose in distaste at the antiquated decor. At least the bed looks sturdy on its wooden frame. The last thing we need is a room as fragile as my car.
But Romilly practically skips through the doorway. She turns on the soft lamplight and sets her purse on the single armchair sitting in the corner next to a little round table. “This is adorably quaint.”
“Quaint is one word for it,” I mutter, setting the rest of our bags down by the chair. “Don’t worry—I’ll take the floor.”
“That’s so sad. I’m sorry we’re in this position,” she says.
“Don’t worry, it’s alright. But on a serious note, are you sure you’re comfortable with this? Us sharing a room?”
“I mean, it’s obviously not my first choice.” She sighs. “But we’re adults, and I trust you.”
Those three words hit me harder than they should. They almost feel like a test coming from her. Though I have no idea what I’m being tested on, I can only hope I don’t fail.
Or is this a test from You, Lord? Give me the strength to pass.
She fidgets with her hands. “I’m going to change and brush my teeth.” Opening her suitcase on the floor, Romilly retrieves a small, purple bag from it, as well as something burgundy and satin before heading into the bathroom.
I open my bag as well. I imagine Romilly coming out while I’m still undressing and blush like a teenager.
Ridiculous. You’re a grown man, Bash. Relax.
But it’s hard, because my feelings for her are practically suffocating me, and now she wants me to sleep in this room with her and not touch her and pretend I’m okay being around her without her being mine.
Romilly emerges from the bathroom. Her face is freshly washed, hair in a loose braid, and that satin object she grabbed is now on her body.
It’s her set of pajamas.
They’re casual, nothing more than a tank top and shorts set, but they’re silky and smooth along her body like a river of dark wine, and the shorts stop well above her knees.
I’ve never seen her legs before, but there they are, along with her bare arms and an alarming amount of her neck and collarbone.
I feel like I’m going to die.
“So much better,” she sighs. “I’m glad it’s so warm in here.” Brushing past me, she pulls the quilt back and sits on the edge of the bed. I’m frozen for a beat before I grab a pillow and spare quilt and settle onto the floor.
She peers down at me from the bed. The way she’s laying on her stomach with her head resting on the edge of the mattress has our faces perfectly aligned, since I’m still sitting up on the ground.
We’re much too close. “I feel bad taking the only bed the night before your big fight. Maybe I should take the floor.”
“Absolutely not. I’m fine, pumpkin. Don’t worry.”
Her presence is practically tangible, even with this respectable distance between us. The quiet of the room wraps around us like a blanket, broken only by the faint creak of the old building and the muffled sound of cars outside.
After a few moments, Romilly looks at my lips and blushes. And then her gaze lingers on my arms, my shoulders.
Hope swells up inside me. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to date me, but maybe there’s a chance she does want me romantically as much as I want her. Though it feels impossible, I know I’m not misreading the signals clearly present in her expression.
I scoot even closer to her face, making my voice soft. “I have to admit, I was worried you’d be plotting my demise after failing to get you a separate room.”
“Your demise? No,” she murmurs. “I’d miss you too much. When you’re not being infuriating, that is.” She hesitates, then reaches out, letting her fingers brush my arm. The touch is light, tentative, but it sends a bolt of heat straight through me. She’s somehow both too close and too far away.
Lord, give me strength. I simply cannot resist this woman.
Before I can stop myself, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d miss you too. Even when you’re bossing me around.”
Our gazes lock, and then her eyes dip down to my mouth once more.
“Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you?” I ask.
“ Bash. ”
“Tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me you don’t want me to.”
“But…” She swallows hard. “If I told you that, I’d be lying.”
And then she pulls me closer by the back of my neck and kisses me. My heart stutters, then picks up in a frantic rhythm, the sound of it pounding loud enough to drown out every rational thought left in my head.
She’s going to push me away any second. She’s going to get angry or laugh this off as a mistake.
But she doesn’t do any of that. She gets off the bed and kneels beside me.
I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, every nerve in my body sparking to life. It’s like a dam breaking. My hands move on their own, finding her face, cupping her delicate jaw as though she might vanish if I’m not careful.
Romilly’s thumb brushes against my cheek, impossibly soft, and the sensation sends a jolt straight to my heart.
My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her flush against me, and the silkiness of her pajamas and the warmth from her skin pressed to my body sends another wave of heat crashing over me.
The kiss is no longer tentative but filled with something I can’t quite name—desire, yes, but also longing and something achingly tender.
My chest tightens, because what I feel for her is more than lust, or even friendship—it’s everything I’ve been running from.
With each passing second our lips are pressed together, it strikes me just how badly I’ve fallen for her.
It’s been happening all this time, and not the kind of falling I’m used to.
This time, I haven’t been falling for lies or superficial beauty.
I haven’t been falling for an act or a fleeting infatuation.
This is the wrong kind of falling. The kind I’ve been desperately trying to avoid.
Falling in love.
Every brush of her mouth against mine puts me in a more dangerous position, tangling my heart with hers until I can no longer get away, can no longer deny or suppress the truth.
I love Romilly so much.
And I have no idea if she loves me back.
Our faces remain close together when this kiss ends.
All I can think about is how much I wish it wouldn’t.
The back of my brain screams at me that this is too fast, that I’ve done it all wrong.
I wasn’t supposed to be this gone for my boss, but it’s too late, and now I can’t imagine my life without her.
A future with her flashes before my eyes—Romilly walking down the aisle to meet me at the end.
Slipping a ring onto her finger. Helping her at The Paw Spa when she needs it and using my fighting money to make sure she never has to work too hard.
Spending years making her laugh, teasing her, and loving her before taking the next step and maybe rescuing a bunch of animals together, or starting a family. Who knows?
One thing is clear though. I want her. I need her. And there’s no getting over her now.
There never has been.