Chapter 27
SYLVIE
Itried to keep myself busy mingling with the guests, but I kept catching myself glancing toward the front door every few minutes, hoping to see Kent return.
It had been over an hour since he’d left with Phineas, and I was starting to worry.
What if the old man had gotten belligerent?
What if Kent was stranded at Phineas’s place with no way to extract himself from the situation? Phineas was a very demanding man.
I was making small talk with Mrs. Patterson about her granddaughter’s upcoming wedding when Emmy appeared at my elbow with two glasses of wine.
“You look like you need this,” she said, pressing one of the glasses into my hand.
“Thanks.” I took a grateful sip, realizing I’d been too distracted to eat or drink much since Kent had left.
Emmy studied my face with those sharp eyes that never missed anything. “Okay, spill. What happened with the grumpy old man situation?”
I glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard, then pulled Emmy toward a quieter corner near one of our decorated trees. “Phineas showed up drunk and angry, making a scene. Kent stepped in and somehow convinced him to leave.”
“Wait, Kent volunteered to deal with Withers?” Emmy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Like, willingly?”
“More than that. He took a bottle of bourbon and drove Phineas home to make sure he got there safely.”
Emmy stared at me for a long moment, her expression shifting from surprise to something that looked almost like respect. “Damn. I did not see that coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, rich city boys don’t usually sign up for drunk old man duty. Especially not with someone as difficult as Phineas Withers.” She took a sip of her wine, looking thoughtful. “That’s actually pretty impressive.”
I felt a warm flutter in my chest at her grudging approval. Emmy was notoriously hard to impress when it came to men, and the fact that Kent’s actions had earned her respect meant something.
“I’m worried he’s not going to be able to handle Phineas,” I admitted. “The man can be absolutely vicious when he’s drinking.”
“Maybe. Or maybe your mysterious billionaire has more substance than I gave him credit for.” Emmy nudged me with her elbow. “Either way, the man clearly has it bad for you if he’s willing to babysit the town drunk just to make your life easier.”
Before I could respond to that statement, Brom and Stacy appeared beside us, both wearing the slightly frazzled expressions of parents who’d been chasing overexcited children around a party.
“Have you seen Kent?” Stacy asked, looking around the room. “Alder was asking about him. Something about showing him his new Pokémon cards.”
“He took Phineas home,” I explained, watching Stacy’s face shift from confusion to concern.
“Oh no,” she said immediately. “Kent doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. Phineas can be absolutely impossible when he’s been drinking.”
I felt my stomach clench with worry. “That’s what I told him, but he insisted he could handle it.”
“Should we send someone to check on them?” Brom asked. “I could take the SUV over there, make sure everything’s okay.”
“Not yet,” I said. “It’s only been thirty minutes.”
I spent another hour trying to look like I wasn’t thinking about our rich city boy. I had a feeling I was failing miserably.
I waited on the front porch long after the party had wound down and the last of our guests had made their way home or up to their rooms. The lodge had settled into the kind of peaceful quiet that came after a successful evening, but I couldn’t bring myself to go home just yet.
I was worried. Phineas wasn’t violent, right?
I stood there staring out into the night over our Christmas trees, which were dusted with fresh snow that had begun falling while we were inside dancing and celebrating.
Under normal circumstances, the view would have taken my breath away.
Rows upon rows of evergreens twinkling with lights, each one perfect and magical in the starlight.
But tonight, I couldn’t appreciate any of it because I couldn’t stop thinking about Kent.
What if old man Withers had gotten annoyed with Kent’s approach and decided to take his cane to him?
Phineas might be ancient, but he was still surprisingly spry when he was angry.
And that cane of his could do some real damage.
He had beaten the hell out of a park bench last year.
And there was the incident with a garbage can in his way.
What if Kent had said the wrong thing and ended up on the receiving end of the old man’s wrath?
Or worse, what if they’d made it to Phineas’s place safely, but something had happened on the drive back?
Kent wasn’t familiar with these old country roads, especially not in winter conditions.
They were covered in ice, full of sharp turns and steep drops, and one wrong move could send a car right off the road.
I should have gone with him. I should have insisted, despite his protests that he could handle the situation on his own. At the very least, I should have made sure he had my phone number in case something went wrong.
Not that a cell phone was going to do a lot of good out here. There were more dead spots than actual service. What if Kent got drunk and tried to drive home? He really could be wrapped around a tree.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ward off both the cold and the growing knot of anxiety in my stomach. This was exactly why Emmy’s warning had been so important. I was already getting too attached, too invested in someone who was essentially a stranger.
But he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Somewhere over the past few days, Kent Bancroft had stopped being just a mysterious guest and had become something else. Someone I cared about? Someone whose absence made me pace the porch like a worried girlfriend?
The thought should have been alarming, but before I could examine it too closely, I saw headlights coming around the bend in the road. I held my breath as Brom’s old pickup truck rumbled down the driveway. Brom’s truck had the best winter tires on the property and four-wheel-drive if needed.
The truck pulled up near the porch steps and Kent climbed out, looking completely unharmed and devastatingly handsome in his dark peacoat. When he spotted me standing there, he stopped and flashed me that cocky grin that never failed to make my pulse quicken.
“Honey, I’m home,” he said, his voice carrying easily in the cold night air.
I rolled my eyes at his presumption, but I couldn’t suppress my smile of relief. “Is he okay?”
“Safe and sound asleep in his bed,” Kent assured me, climbing the porch steps to where I was standing. “How did the rest of the party go after we left?”
“It was good,” I said, though truthfully I’d been too distracted to pay much attention to anything after he’d left with Phineas. “Everyone had a nice time, and the kids finally crashed around ten.”
“And you waited up for me?” he asked, something warm and pleased flickering in his eyes.
“Only so you could walk me home,” I said, trying to sound casual about it.
He chuckled at that, clearly not buying my nonchalant act. “Well then, I guess I’d better fulfill my gentlemanly duties. Been a busy night for heroes.”
I snorted. “Hero is a bit of a stretch.”
We made the short walk across the driveway to my entrance by the garage, our footsteps crunching softly in the fresh snow. I unlocked the door and turned back to him, struck once again by how the porch light seemed to highlight all his best features. It was so unfair a man could look so good.
“It was really kind of you to step up like that tonight,” I said. “I was surprised by how well Mr. Withers responded to you. Usually he just gets angrier when people try to help.”
Kent’s expression softened, and he looked suddenly far away, as if he was remembering something from his past. “I know a thing or two about drinking your sorrows away.”
The quiet admission caught me off guard. “You?”
He shook his head quickly. “My brother.”
Those two simple words carried a weight of pain and experience that made my heart twist in my chest. Suddenly so much about Kent’s calm, competent handling of Phineas made sense. This wasn’t theoretical knowledge. He’d lived through watching someone he cared about struggle with alcohol.
In that moment, standing there in the soft glow of the porch light, I saw so much in Kent that I liked. So much that I more than liked, if I was being honest with myself.
He had stepped up tonight when I needed help.
The man had handled a difficult situation with more grace and understanding than anyone else at that party could have managed.
People that had known Phineas for years couldn’t have done it any better.
He’d shown kindness to a lonely old man who most people just wrote off as a nuisance.
And now I was learning that he’d done it all from a place of personal experience and compassion.
How was I supposed to keep my emotional distance from someone like that?
“Is it too late to invite you in for that nightcap?” I heard myself asking.
The question surprised me almost as much as it surprised him.
I hadn’t planned to ask, hadn’t consciously decided to ignore Emmy’s warning about keeping things professional.
But standing there looking at Kent, thinking about everything he’d shown me about himself tonight, I found that I didn’t want to say goodbye just yet.
His eager smirk was back immediately, transforming his face from thoughtful to wickedly attractive in the span of a heartbeat.
“It’s never too late for that,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone that made heat pool in my stomach.
I stepped back and held the door open for him, my heart racing as he brushed past me into the small entryway. Whatever happened next, I had a feeling there would be no going back to the careful professional distance I’d been trying to maintain.
I found that I didn’t care about playing it safe anymore.