2. Peas and Carrots
2
Foster
What did she just say? Something about steak and peas?
Shit, does she have a concussion?
I press my fingers against the pain in my cheek and wince. Fuck, that hurts. She really slammed into me, and if her head hurts half as much as my face…she very well could have a concussion.
Worry streaks through me, and I turn toward the doorway through which she fled. Before I can take more than a couple of steps, she’s back, waving around a bag of frozen peas and carrots, mumbling something about not having an ice pack.
Before I can stop her, she’s pressing the bag to my face. I hiss and rear back as the cold plastic makes contact with my throbbing cheek. Hadley freezes, the bag still held aloft, and her chin trembles as her eyes well with tears.
Damn it. Please, don’t cry.
I lift my hands in supplication and give her a small disarming smile. “I’m fine, Hadley. Really. Are you okay? Maybe you should put that on your head.”
She blinks a few times, and thankfully, no tears roll down her cheeks. She looks confused. A little disoriented. Her gaze hops between the bag of frozen vegetables and me before she tries once more to press it to my face.
I catch her wrist in a light grip, applying just enough pressure to hold it back. She goes still, and I check out her pupils, looking for any sign of a concussion. They appear to be slightly dilated, and my brow furrows. Her cheeks darken, and she turns her head, avoiding the eye contact.
“Hadley.”
Her head snaps back toward me, her questioning eyes searching mine. She’s still blushing, and I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, in pain, or a little of both.
“You should sit down,” I say softly, releasing the wrist I just realized I’m still holding. “Here. Let me help you.”
I move to take her elbow, but she jumps out of reach with an impressive burst of speed. My hand is still hanging in the air, and I curl it into a fist before letting it drop to my side.
This is not going well.
Hadley’s pink tongue darts out to moisten her lips before she says, “Please, Foster, put this on your cheek. It’s really swollen, and I feel terrible.”
She shakes the bag of peas and carrots expectantly, so I reach out slowly and pluck it from her fingers. Her eyes are locked on the bag, following its movement as I press it to the sore spot on my face. She seems to deflate, some of the tension draining out of her as I concede to her plea.
She looks more like her normal self, and she’s forming complete, logical sentences, so my worries about a possible concussion fade. She mumbles a word of thanks, then seems to shake herself. An all-business fa?ade washes over her, and she clears her throat before turning to move behind the tall desk beside us. She flips open an old-fashioned guestbook, then picks up an equally antique fountain pen and begins scrawling my name in pretty, swooping cursive.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one of those in real life,” I say, nodding toward the book when she looks up at me in askance.
The corners of her mouth tilt upward, revealing the slightest hint of a dimple in her right cheek.
“Oh, I already have all your information entered into my computer,” she says, patting the closed laptop on the desk. “But…I don’t know. Something about having a book like this appeals to me. A hard copy record of every guest who’s stayed here feels more real than names and numbers in a digital file.”
I stare at her for a moment, then nod. “I can see the appeal.”
For some reason, her face flushes again. This time, without the worry that she’s actually hurt, her blush stirs something inside me. She so pretty, her pink cheeks making those dove-gray eyes sparkle.
It makes me wonder what she’d look like beneath me, all flushed with––
“Let me show you the rest of the place,” she says, cutting off the errant thought before I can fully think it.
It’s for the best, really. I shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts, anyway. I am not here to get tangled in an affair that could have lasting effects on our friend group’s dynamics. That’s why Roxy tried so hard to keep things strictly friendly with Miles. Sure, things worked out for them in the end, and they’re engaged now, but that doesn’t mean it would happen that way for the rest of us.
No. Hadley West is strictly off-limits.
She’s graciously allowed me to book a room at her establishment for the foreseeable future. We’re friends, and despite the rocky start we just had to this arrangement, I think this will work out fine if we keep the lines firmly drawn.
Bending over, I pick up the two boxes she’d been straining to lift when I walked in unnoticed. “First, where would you like these?”
She’d been heading toward a doorway that led from the large foyer, but at my words, she stops and spins back around. Noticing the boxes in my hands, she lets out a husky chuckle and points behind the desk toward a closed door.
“There’s an empty shelf in that closet. Please, get them out of here before I almost knock someone else out with my hard head.”
I smile at her as I round the desk, happy that the awkwardness between us seems to have faded. She’s back to acting like her normal self, and for that, I’m extremely grateful. That whole incident was my fault. If I’d announced myself and made my presence known before bending over her, she never would’ve flown upright, causing the collision between us.
After I grab the duffel bags I’d dropped by the front door and the bag of frozen vegetables I’d set on the desk, Hadley leads the way through the house, pointing out rooms as she goes.
“This is the living room,” she says as we pass an open doorway.
I look inside and see a large couch facing a big screen television on an antique table. Two chairs flank a wide fireplace, and a loveseat rests near a full bookshelf that spans the far wall. Hadley is moving toward the staircase, so I pick up the pace to catch up to her.
“You have a T.V. in your room, but you’re welcome to use the living room whenever you want,” she goes on as we start to climb. “The kitchen is in the opposite direction. Breakfast is at eight and dinner is at six in the evening, but you’re on your own for lunch. Up here, there are six bedrooms and one bathroom, but you’re currently the only guest. If someone else checks in, make sure to lock the bathroom door when you’re in there. My room is here, and I have an en suite, so you won’t have to share for the time being.”
She pauses and points toward a closed door on our left as she speaks. Her shoulders lift slightly like she’s taking a fortifying breath, then she spins toward the opposite side of the hallway and pushes open a door.
“This room is yours.”
I look from the closed door she indicated as her room to the now open one. We’ll be sleeping just across the hall from each other. I search her expression, which is nothing but serene, then shrug my shoulders before preceding her into my new bedroom. If the proximity doesn’t bother Hadley, it doesn’t bother me.
I survey the room as I walk forward to place my bags on the bed. It’s a wide king, and the pillows look fluffy and inviting. There’s a large oak chest of drawers on one wall and a nightstand with an antique lamp next to the bed. An open door leads to a large closet, a row of empty hangers waiting for my clothes.
I turn around to find Hadley waiting silently, her hands clasped before her and an expectant expression on her face.
“This is great,” I say, and her cupid’s bow mouth curves up. “Thank you so much for letting me stay here with you.”
“Of course,” she says, slowly backing out of the room. “I’ll just let you get settled.”
Her eyes travel down the length of me before popping back up to meet my gaze. Her cheeks darken once again, and she stutters out a goodbye from out in the hallway. She turns first one way, then the other before rushing back the way we’d come.
I stare at the now-empty doorway for several beats as I lift the bag of peas and carrots I’m still holding and press it to my tender cheek. I’ve known Hadley for months, now, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this nervous. She seemed to forget her nerves while giving me the tour, but once she fell silent and met my gaze, her anxiety returned.
Is it because we’re alone here? Maybe her usual lack of nerves is because we’ve always been thrown together in a group setting. Safety in numbers and all that.
I’m a big guy, years of weightlifting and football honing my body into a machine. And all things considered, she doesn’t really know me all that well. Not yet.
I guess I’ll just have to prove I’m not a threat. That she can trust me, even here, all alone in this big house.
I turn and sit on the edge of the bed, my thoughts spiraling. Hadley runs a bed and breakfast. I’m sure I’m not the first person she’s been alone here with. Something unfamiliar washes over me at the thought, a protective instinct I’ve never felt toward a woman before. Is she really safe here by herself with strangers moving in and out on a regular basis?
I heave out a sigh and fall backward, stretching out on the mattress. It’s none of my business, really. Hadley’s been running this business for almost a decade, according to Tessa. She can handle herself just fine.
But if that’s the case, then why did she seem so nervous around me?