Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Winnie and Matthew reached the bed and breakfast after a cold, wet walk, both of them relieved to see the “Vacancies” sign bright at the front of the red-bricked, white-trimmed home.
Newly energized by the mere thought of a warm bed and dry clothes, they rushed forward. Matthew opened the door for Winnie as a bell jingled above, and instantly, they were greeted by the warmth of a crackling fire and by the smell of wet wood and brown sugar.
“It’s freezing out there,” Matthew said, closing the door behind them and giving his head a little shake as raindrops flew out to the side of him.
They looked around the small waiting area of the bed and breakfast where three claw-footed chairs were arranged before a modest fire that cast a glow across the wooden floor. A table sat in the middle of the chairs, holding a tray with clean, floral teacups and lace doilies beneath it.
At the other end of the room, a small front desk was situated with no one behind it, though a white cat sat on top, flicking its tail toward them. A vase of flowers was perched at one end, and a bell on the other, which Matthew moved forward to ring .
A few moments passed by, but no one responded.
“I guess we’ll try again,” he said, dinging the bell once more.
By the third time, Winnie began to worry they’d have to walk back to the car, but a moment later, a door opened in the back room, and a harried looking woman appeared around the corner. Her raincoat was sopping wet, along with her wellies and hat that barely covered a bush of gray hair.
Her brow rose in surprise when she caught sight of them. “Oh, oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. Have you been—Oh, Angel!”
Winnie nearly jumped out of her skin as the woman ran forward, pulling the cat into her arms with her eyes heavenward. “Oh, I thought I’d lost you for good, my darling boy.” She cast her eyes at the cat, giving him a stern look. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
Once more, she held him close to her chest, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. Finally, she looked back to Winnie and Matthew, who both stood staring at the woman in stunned silence, though they still tried to smile politely.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the woman said. “I’ve been out in the rain looking for this little rascal for the last thirty minutes. Thought he’d got lost in the storm.” She pulled him away from her and scowled at him again. “Did you just slip right past me as I walked out? Cheeky mite.” Once more, she held him against her chest. “I couldn’t live without my little boy, despite him causing me turmoil day in and day out.”
She breathed another sigh, then finally placed the cat on the floor and began to shed her wet clothing. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Welcome to Robin’s Nest Bed and Breakfast. I’m the owner, Agnes Kitchingside.” She smiled, then raised her eyes up and down the length of them. “I take it you’re here looking for a room and shelter from the storm yourselves?”
Winnie paused, heat crawling up her neck, despite how chilled she still was. Did she say a room? As in one?
“Yes, we are,” Matthew said .
Winnie’s eyes rounded. Had he not caught Mrs. Kitchingside’s words?
“Alright,” the woman said, placing thin glasses at the end of her short nose and pulling out a binder filled with paper. Had she no computer system to book people into the rooms?
“Um…” Winnie said, moving forward with a finger in the air. “Two rooms, that is.”
Matthew stared at Winnie, as if to say, “That goes without saying.” But he nodded all the same. “Oh, yes. Of course. Two rooms.”
Mrs. Kitchingside eyed them above her glasses, a wince marring one brown eye. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, but we’ve just one room available.”
Winnie’s ears started to ring. One room? Would they have to walk back to the car, spend the night in Minnie’s cold clutches? She wasn’t sure she had the tenacity to even step foot in that rain again. She was chilled to the absolute bone.
“Just one?” Matthew repeated, as if he was coming to terms with what that meant, too.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Kitchingside explained. “We’ve one under construction and the other is occupied.” She stared at them, clearly wondering why the two of them were having a difficult time accepting her words. “The room I have to offer is equipped with a king-sized bed, however.”
Matthew nodded absentmindedly. “Do you know of any other places to stay nearby?”
“Not for miles, deary. I’d give up my own bed, but I don’t think either of you would take kindly to Angel as a sleeping companion.”
Winnie nearly laughed, thinking the woman was joking, but at Mrs. Kitchingside’s sincere expression, Winnie swallowed her chuckle and took to staring at the cat, instead. Angel now slept comfortably before the fire, curled into a warm, hairy ball. At this point, Winnie would take the cat’s place at the front entryway before returning to the car .
“Winnie?”
Winnie pulled her attention back to Matthew, who stared down at her expectantly.
“What do you think?” he asked, motioning to Mrs. Kitchingside.
Winnie hesitated, glancing at the woman, who still watched them curiously over her glasses.
“Excuse us just one second,” Winnie said politely, then before awaiting a response, she led the way back to the door.
She faced Matthew once they were far enough away from the woman’s prying ears, intent on stating in no uncertain terms that she could not fathom walking back to the car, but he spoke first.
“You take the room,” he whispered. “I’ll sleep in the car.”
Despite his gallant offer, she instantly shook her head. “And have you freeze to death at my expense? Absolutely not.”
“I’d most likely be fine,” he said with a flippant shrug.
But Winnie was adamant. “No. That’s not an option.”
He stared down at her, their voices still low. “Okay, but what other option do we have, short of sharing the room tonight?”
Honestly, the very notion was ridiculous. Absurd. Absolutely asinine.
And yet…
She sighed. “That’s fine.”
“What’s fine?”
“We can just share the room.”
He stared down at her, his brow raised in surprise. “And you’d be okay with that?”
“Of course,” she said, determined not to make it a big deal.
Who cared that they were once enemies and now friends? Or that there was all this tangible, warm, sparkling chemistry between them? They were professional, working adults. They could handle one night in the same room in order to keep the both of them dry, safe, and warm. Not to mention alive.
“But,” Matthew began, still clearly hesitant, “wouldn’t it be a little…inappropriate? ”
Bless his heart. “Only if you make it so, Matthew Wintour,” she teased.
He smiled, and the awkwardness from before seemed to drip off them with the rain.
“Anyway,” she continued in a whisper, glancing back at Mrs. Kitchingside. The woman’s eyes darted swiftly away as she pretended not to listen. “It’s not like we have to share the bed. One of us can sleep in it, and the other can sleep on the floor with pillows. Anything is better for the both of us than sleeping with that traitorous Minnie for the night.”
Matthew grimaced. “She is traitorous. The little minx.”
Winnie nearly laughed. “So it’s decided, then. We share the room.”
“You sure it won’t make you uncomfortable?”
“Nope. I trust you.”
The words startled her as much as they seemed to startle Matthew. His eyes darted toward her, lingering and softening as the seconds ticked by.
“You do?” he asked.
Winnie had no idea where the words had come from, other than the center of her soul. She didn’t really have a problem trusting others. She’d trusted some boyfriends in the past. She trusted her sister Sarah. But trust the guy who’d openly admitted trying to get rid of her?
Yet, it was true.
“Yep,” she said flippantly. “Any guy who names his car Minnie can’t possibly be a threat.”
He chuckled, and they returned to Mrs. Kitchingside. “We’d love your final room, thank you.”
“Excellent,” the woman responded, though her curious eyes remained on them.
Winnie looked away, unable to respond to anymore probing. She was questioning herself enough, wondering once again how she’d managed to go from practically hating Matthew Wintour to liking him…If not more .
After providing their information and paying for the room, Winnie assuring Matthew she’d reimburse him for half, they followed Mrs. Kitchingside to the room upstairs.
Winnie didn’t think they would have had any trouble finding the way on their own, but Mrs. Kitchingside had insisted—no doubt to lob more questions at them.
“So are you in Littlethorpe for any particular reason?” she asked with a smile over her shoulder.
“We had a spot of car trouble on the way in,” Matthew responded politely. “Had to leave it on the side of the road a couple miles back.”
“Oh, dear. I can recommend the motor mechanic we use, but he won’t be available until morning.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Matthew returned.
Before long, after a few more investigative questions from Mrs. Kitchingside, the three of them arrived at the room.
“Toilet’s down the hall, breakfast is served downstairs in the dining room from six o’clock to nine o’clock, and I’ll be up shortly with complimentary cake and a hot drink for you both.”
“Oh, lovely,” Matthew said with a smile, taking the ancient-looking key she extended toward him. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Kitchingside.”
She nodded, her eyes flicking between them before she left, though it looked like it pained her to do so.
Matthew unlocked the door, then motioned for Winnie to precede him inside the room. With a grateful nod, she ducked past him and entered the cozy space, her eyes sweeping across the room in pleasant surprise at the clean, inviting atmosphere.
The walls were painted a soft olive green, dotted with a few frames holding pressed leaves from oak trees and bracken, and the king-sized bed was covered with a white duvet, a large, floral comforter was folded neatly at the foot of it.
At the far side of the room, near the single black, diamond-paned window, was a small seating area with two thin chairs and a table that didn’t look like it could support the weight of a single crumpet, let alone two meals.
The size of the room wasn’t very grand at all, the bed taking up most of it, but it was tidy, smelled of lemons and musty wood, and—most importantly—was warm and dry.
“Not bad, is it?” Matthew asked behind her.
Winnie nearly jumped. She’d been so taken with the quaintness of the room, she’d almost forgotten she wasn’t alone.
Almost . Because who could ever really forget when they were around Matthew Wintour?
“It’s really nice,” she agreed, still turned slightly away from him.
“And look,” he said, motioning to a twelve-inch television with a video player beneath it. “We could even fall asleep to a movie tonight. No, wait. I’ve forgotten my VHS collection at home.”
She grinned. “Are you sure you didn’t leave it behind with your other antique?”
He turned accusing eyes on her. “You’d best not be speaking of my Minnie.”
She laughed, and they shared a smile, their eyes catching as neither pulled away.
Winnie’s breathing shallowed. She tried to lean on that same confidence she had downstairs, but the reality of their situation continued to thwap her right in the face.
This had not been a part of the plan, to spend the night with Matthew. Not a part of the plan, her plan, or any plan.
But tonight, with those once-glacial blue eyes now looking at her with all the warmth of the deep, crystal pools of the Caribbean, she wasn’t sure that she didn’t want this—that she didn’t want him —to have been a part of her plan all along.
“You’re not going to make this awkward now, are you?” Matthew asked.
She placed a hand on her hip. “Nope, definitely not. Are you?”
“Why would it be awkward?” He walked to the other side of the room, sliding her suitcase—which he’d carried up the stairs for her—against the bed. “We’re just two enemies turned business associates turned…friends? Question mark?”
She nodded, laughing at his words, as if he was voice texting.
“Yes, friends,” he continued, “who just spent two days together not on a date, and who are now going to end it by sharing a room together.” He glanced at her from over his shoulder as he moved his own suitcase toward the opposite side of the room. “There’s nothing strange about that at all.” He looked up, staring at nothing in particular. “And yet, if my mum knew where I was…” He blew out a slow whistle and shook his head.
“If she did, she’d be just fine with it,” Winnie said, taking a few steps forward. He seemed to be owning the room as he walked about, but she was going to pay for half of it. She could own it, too. “Because that’s literally all we’re doing. Sharing a room. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else at all.” He turned to face her, tucking his hands in his front pockets as his eyes took on a glint she wasn’t sure she liked.
It was a good thing she did trust him because otherwise, with a look like that, she would have gone running for a distraction from Mrs. Kitchingside and Angel.
With an amused shake of her head, she turned away from him, feeling slightly overheated, despite her clothing still being soaked through.
Speaking of.
“I’m gonna go get changed,” she said, pulling out her pajamas and bag of toiletries from her packing cube at the top of the suitcase.
Then she paused. Should she get in her pajamas? Or should she just sleep in a change of clothes? No, that would be ridiculous. Besides, her pajamas were perfectly fine. Sweats and an oversized sweatshirt. He’d seen her in them already, hadn’t he? The night she’d almost quit .
With a nod of resolve, reminding herself that this situation was only going to be awkward if she made it awkward, she excused herself from the room and walked down the hallway to where the shared bathroom was situated.
She didn’t like the idea of sharing a toilet with all the tenants, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And tonight, she was a beggar.
Closing the door behind her, she took a quick glance in the mirror, horror rushing over her at the sight of herself. She looked worse than a wet dog tonight. Her hair was slicked back and half-fallen from her bun, her makeup leaked down from her eyes and slid down the sides of her cheeks, and her silk shirt stuck to her shoulders with wrinkles galore.
Swiftly, she tried to fix her appearance, pulling out her bun to reset it, but her wet hair wouldn’t cooperate. With a sigh, she ran a comb through it, instead, fluffed up the strands with her fingertips, wiped off her failed mascara, and changed into her pajamas.
She and Matthew were friends, and if they were friends, it really didn’t matter what she looked like. Maybe tonight, she would be fine with being average.
Actually, that could be her new mantra.
Step aside, ‘Be like Fort Knox.’ Make room for ‘I’m fine with average.’
Her hand paused above the door handle at the thought, and she turned to look at herself in the mirror, surprised at what she saw now.
Instead of a wounded fawn trying to hide exactly who she was, impressing others with a wealth of business knowledge and pencil skirts and pulled-back hair, she saw a simple girl with imperfect locks down to her shoulders, comfortable, oversized clothing, and eyes that reflected the joy she’d felt with the most perfect man and the most perfect two days of her life.
She could get used to seeing this side of her—the real, true version of Winnie Knox.
With confident steps, feeling lighter than the air around her, she made her way back to the room, opening the door with that same smile on her lips.
And there it froze, as did her feet, body, and heart, all of them immobilized by the sight before her—Matthew half-dressed, standing in the middle of the room they would share that night.
With his dark blue sweats fortunately in place, he lowered his shirt, turning toward her as he revealed just a glimpse of his chest and abdomen.
He looked…Well, let’s put it this way. He looked exactly how a person would expect a knight to look putting on his shirt. Except multiply that expectation by three thousand and maybe, maybe , you’d get close to how Matthew looked right now in front of her.
The moment lasted shorter than two blinks of an eye, and yet, the image of the contours of his back, the angles across his abs and chest, the shifting of his many muscles as he put on his shirt would be engrained in her mind for all eternity.
And she wasn’t mad about it.
She wasn’t mad about it at all.