Chapter 1
?
This is not an appointment. This is playful disregard for boundaries…
Morana
I’m going to kill him.
Why did I tell Kyran that I was saving points to go to Brew Tea? How could I be so stupid?
Despite the lavish elegance oozing out of every inch of Sunset, West Virginia, the fact stands that it is a small town.
People know people. And people know the schedules of the local shops off the top of their heads.
That is to say, this lovely little cottage tea place is only open for lunch, and a little before lunch is when I normally get to the Bachelor mansion and start work.
I don’t usually take any days off because my job is amazing, so any change in my schedule—like not showing up before lunch today—makes it clear I’m up to something.
Kyran might be an idiot, but even he can put two and two together.
Dang it.
I should have thrown a red herring day off in the mix… Except then I would have been taking even more time off from work, and—again—my job? A-Ma-Zing.
All I do is clean the Bachelor palace.
Which translates, quite completely, into hanging out, tidying up, making my own hours, picking my own chores, and having homemade meals with my twin sister and the family she married us into.
Ever since Lukas, the second eldest of the five Bachelor brothers, kidnapped then married this girl named Clara, the meals have been even better than Michelin-star level, too.
Basically: viva la nepotism.
I am living the dream.
Except right now.
When I am stuck in a nightmare.
Knowing it won’t help, I hide my face behind my menu so the youngest and most annoying Bachelor brother who just walked into my happy-go-lucky tea time won’t see me…even though he absolutely already has.
Lunatic. He’s such a lunatic.
Footsteps head toward where I’m sitting, and my heart rate picks up before the chair at the single table directly behind me pulls out.
“Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Bachelor!” our chipper waitress says before checking in with another customer.
We are precisely a foot apart, seated back to back, at two separate two-seaters.
There has to be a clinically diagnosable illness for this behavior of his.
I bet he thinks he’s being real funny taking up a free spot in what will be a crowded restaurant before noon.
People like him should be admitted.
Asylums couldn’t have been that unethical if they kept people like him from running around, loose and dangerous.
When our waitress returns, she stops at his table before mine, kissing up to the Bachelor brother, even though I was here first, so I sit, patiently scowling, while he orders a pot of rose black tea and every sandwich on the menu.
That’s what he says, too.
I’ll have one of every sandwich on the menu, no sides, surprise me with a variety of the bread options, thanks.
The man has issues, and his issues have issues, and—
“Sorry for the wait! Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
I smile cheerfully, using my best customer service voice. “That’s no problem! I’d like cream tea with a pot of hot chocolate and a side of mac and cheese.”
Kyran exhales the idea of a laugh behind me, and I refrain from stabbing him. Because, unlike him, I am a saint.
“Is that all?” my sweet waitress asks.
I keep my smile in place. “I’ll have dessert after, possibly two.”
She laughs. “Very good! I’ll be back soon with your hot chocolate.”
Once she’s disappeared into the back room, Kyran murmurs, “How are you going to have cream tea with a pot of hot chocolate?”
“It’s a perfectly regular female experience to wish to sip hot chocolate out of a teacup while eating scones with lemon curd, Kyran.” I huff. “What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch. Also known as: a perfectly regular male experience.”
My eyes roll. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“I’ll leave if it bothers you so much that I’m here. I’m sure they can pack up my order to go.”
“Yeah, or you could stop being a horrible person and merge tables with me before the rush gets here.”
“Morana.”
My face heats, but I ignore the sensation. My body doesn’t yet understand that Kyran saying my actual name—instead of mistress or some other teasing un-endearment—doesn’t matter at all. “What?” I snap.
“I ordered seven sandwiches. We will likely need a third table.”
“How are you going to eat seven sandwiches?” I turn to look at him. He is sitting backward in his chair, arms crossed atop the backrest, watching me.
Like some kind of creep.
He yawns and lifts a shoulder. “I’ll believe in myself.”
Oh, well excuse me, then. Faith gets everything done. “They can stagger your order. Get over here.”
His electric blue eyes peer through me, long lashes lowering to kiss his cheeks as he sighs.
“If you insist…” He drags himself out of the chair.
“If you’re really so desperate to eat lunch with me…
” He stalks around to the chair across from me.
“If you like me that much…” He sits, leaning back, one long leg stretched beneath the table, threateningly close to mine.
Once settled, he lifts his brows and looks at me, all surprise.
“Oh, wow. Morana? I hardly saw you there. What a coincidence we’d both run into each other here.
No one can accuse this of being an appointment now. Just a wee coinky-dink.”
If I don’t coinky-dink this man in the skull before I’ve finished my first dessert, that will be a miracle.
It’s this kind of humor and quick wit that has millions on YouTube and Leopard and Twitch falling over themselves for this man’s alter ego FrostPlays. He’s so constantly dry. And cool. And attractive. And when he likes you? When he approves of you?
Gracious.
That feels like an award.
He’s got brooding and endearingly detached down to a science. But you know the part that makes it mean everything?
It’s not an act.
Kyran Bachelor is naturally conscientious and kind and funny. He’s not putting on a show for the public on his channels, so the public easily resonates with who he is, his authentic character. He’s real, and interesting, and safe.
In contrast, I’m not much of anything.
I clean for a living. That’s it. I’m background noise at best. My big sister scooped up all the talent cells in the womb, leaving the dregs of a decent work ethic for me, and yet I still have to con my brain into abiding by that work ethic by providing it with reward-based systems and real-life games.
I’m an ambitionless ball of executive dysfunction while Kyran rules the internet with his organic charisma.
There is no reason for him to shower me with near-constant mention of romantic suggestions. There is no reason for him to plan to show up at the place I’m eating lunch so we can eat together. There is no reason for him to bother spending any time with me at all.
…and I’m terrified for when the day comes that he realizes that.