Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SAM
S am had never been so relieved to see a normal reservation desk in his life.
The entire lobby was a welcome respite from the insanity of this morning. The Maple Inn had a large fireplace crackling in the center and a wooden chandelier hanging over the cozy entrance. Cobblestones surrounded the fireplace, and masculine, hunting-themed portraits in reds and deep forest greens hung on the walls. Plush chairs sat in conversation throughout the cozy lobby and old oak beams lined the space.
The cheerful attendant at the front desk waved, and thankfully she had on a normal outfit and sported a name tag that said Amanda. “Hello! Welcome to the Maple Inn,” she said with a wave.
“Hi,” Iris said warily.
I know how she feels. “We’re a day early. Our other travel plans fell through,” Sam added.
Amanda dove to her keyboard. “Let’s see if we can find something for you.”
“Just to be sure,” Iris added, “your bathrooms, are they see-through?”
“Uh—” Amanda looked confused.
“Any cult-like vows we need to take?” Sam asked.
“Or ferrets?” Iris asked with panic in her voice.
Amanda counted on her fingers. “Uh…no, definitely no, and I’ve never seen a ferret,” she mused, pausing, “so I’m pretty sure that’s a no, too. We do have a continental breakfast. That’s about as crazy as it gets.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”
“It looks like”—she peered closer at the screen—“the only available room we have for today is the Presidential Suite in the VIP Kissing Bridge Fall Festival package. You’d need to book it for three days.”
“The what in the what now?” Sam said, not understanding how a room related to a kiss or a bridge.
“The Kissing Bridge Fall Festival. It starts today.” Amanda pointed outside where traffic barriers were being placed and vendors set up their tables.
“I read up about everything on the festival,” Iris said, her face bursting with excitement to tell him. “It started two hundred years ago when a farmer wouldn’t let his daughter get married because he didn’t think her fiancé was strong enough to provide for her. If he won the race against the men in the town, he was allowed to marry her.”
Amanda clapped her hands with excitement. “And it’s evolved into this huge family-friendly festival with activities, and the best food.”
Sam was completely out of his element, playing catch-up. “But what’s a kissing bridge?” And where can I get one? he thought absentmindedly, thinking back to the night before. He’d thought about kissing Iris about ten different times before finally falling asleep.
“They used to call covered bridges kissing bridges because people could drive through them in a carriage and sneak a kiss,” Iris said with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“So romantic,” Amanda said, swooning. “So, I’ll book you in the presidential suite then. It has one king-sized bed…”
King? Maybe he wouldn’t be tempted to put his arms around Iris while he slept while they were here.
“...with a lovely seating area, fireplace, wet bar, and includes our continental breakfast, which”—she handed the keys over to them—“does not include any religious vows or wildlife,” she said with a wink. “Here are your two VIP Kissing Bridge Festival passes. It includes an entrance into the main race.”
They spent the rest of their day exploring Benning Falls. They perused the general store, found Benning Falls gifts at Benning Books (Iris got the One Hundred Year Of Kissing book about the festival, Sam had opted for Vermont-shaped gummies). They grabbed lunch at Two Dog Coffee, and even watched the opening pumpkin smashing ceremony that kicked off the Kissing Bridge Fall Festival.
Their room in the Maple Inn was warm and comfortable, if dated in style. The maroon walls were lined with dark oak trim, and the enormous king-size bed had a sleigh-style bed frame. Their presidential suite had extra chairs, a remote gas fireplace, and all the amenities a modern hotel would have. A nice upgrade from the last two inns.
“You excited to have extra space for a couple nights?” Sam asked as they got ready for bed.
“It’ll feels like you’re in New Hampshire with how big the bed is,” Iris said through a mouthful of toothbrush as they brushed their teeth.
They got ready for bed much the same way they’d done the last few nights. Iris was pretty tidy, and it turned out she was one of his more compatible roommates.
They sat down on the bed at the same time, and it felt like there was an acre of bed between them.
As he got under the covers though, Sam felt like he’d been pulled to the center of the mattress, as if it was dipping.
Iris flopped and flipped and flipped and flopped on her side of the bed. Not unusual for her; she was a bad sleeper, but one extra flop had her in the center of the bed.
“What are you doing?” Iris said as she landed against his chest with an umph .
“What are you doing?” he replied, her body pressing against him from his knees to his neck.
“I’m trying to fall asleep,” she said, pushing against his chest.
“No, you were moving around, and I rolled into the center of the bed from all your flopping.” He grabbed her hands to keep her from pushing against him uselessly.
“No, you rolled me into the center of the bed with your giant man body.”
“I think there’s a dip in the mattress or box springs or something.”
They both got out, and sure enough, there was some crater in the center of the mattress that made them both roll toward the middle.
“We can call the front desk,” Sam offered. It was 11:30, though.
Iris scratched her head, looking at it. “Then move all of our stuff to a different room? Or you think they’ll wheel in the backup mattress they have for all their suites?” she asked dryly.
“Let’s just go to sleep.” He didn’t sleep well last night since the mattress in the VW bus was practically child-sized, and he’d had visions of being recruited into a marshmallow cult.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to roll against each other,” she said as they tentatively edged into bed but then found themselves rolling toward the center again, nose to nose.
He scooted back. “This is ridiculous. This mattress is the size of Montana.” It was like the universe was literally pushing them together.
“Then you’re welcome to find your own small cowboy ranch somewhere around the bottom corner.”
“But then I’ll be sleeping by your icicle feet, no thanks,” he said with a snort.
They tried sleeping diagonally, that was worse. They tried lying horizontally on the bed—also somehow still worse. Sleeping the normal way, rolling toward each other, was the least of all evils.
“I don’t think two people have ever had worse luck than us,” Iris said. She lay on her back with her arm pressed into his.
Could have been worse, Sam thought. He could have missed this assignment entirely.
“This is not comfortable,” Iris yelled in frustration, flipping again on her side, but losing her balance as she had been trying to stay on her side of the bed and flopped onto half of his chest.
“Sorry,” she said, pressing up off him.
“Why don’t we do this?” he said, raising his arm and putting it around her. “Half the time when I wake up in the middle of the night, we’ve somehow wound up in this position anyway,” he said, settling his arm down over her back and onto her waist. “Is this okay?”
Her cheek was lying against his bare chest. “It’s, um… fine,” she said, settling in. “My hip feels a little weird like this. Okay if I move my leg?”
She moved her leg so it lay over his thigh. “My lower back is always so tight and this helps.” As she moved her thigh up to resettle, she grazed his cock.
He sucked in a breath. This was going to be dangerous. He could feel she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her leg in pajama shorts was nearly stroking him as she moved her leg up and down. He put a hand on it.
“You’re going to need to stop that.”
“Why?” she said, pulling back to look at him with earnest confusion.
“Just go to sleep,” he said, closing his eyes and thinking of the least sexy subjects he could. Her hair smelled so good against his nose, though. All he had to do was just draw his head to the right and he could bury it into her waves.
She settled against him, and as he fell asleep, he actively debated with himself whether to ask the front desk for a new bed so he wouldn’t have this torture for two more nights or to take advantage of something he never thought he’d look forward to—snuggling.
* * *
“Is it weird I want another caramel apple?” Iris said as they walked idly through a bustling fall festival. They’d gotten a large container of caramel popcorn to share.
“Live your best life, but don’t be surprised if your dentist materializes out of thin air to smack it out of your hand,” he said, throwing a piece of caramel popcorn up in the air and catching it with his mouth.
They’d spent the previous day taking photos of the room, the inn, and taking in everything the Maple Inn had to offer. There was a spa service package included in their presidential suite, which they’d both enjoyed. Breakfast each morning was full of maple cinnamon scones, and Iris had dragged him to at least two different historical tours: one about the town and a bus tour covering the kissing bridges for the Fall Festival.He would have died from boredom, if not for Iris’s adorable geeky questions during the tours.
They’d also snuggled as they had the night before, falling asleep in each other’s arms. He’d stopped himself from stroking her arm as they talked before bed.
She’d put on her “autumn AF” outfit today (her words). She wore an oversized cardigan slouched around her, a crop top that showed a tantalizing hint of her stomach, a plaid skirt that hugged her curves, and tights with low little booties. He’d wanted to stare at every inch of her so badly the whole day they’d been together.
Kids ran around the festival with painted faces, and each booth had pumpkins decorating it on either side. Families took photos on decorative hay bales covered in fall leaves. A local cidery’s tent was set up and couples stood drinking their adult beverages, enjoying the cool breeze of the afternoon.
“Do you want to grab a cider?” he said, pointing to the beer tent.
“No, it’s time for the Syrup Race,” Iris said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Oh, we’re not doing that, are we?” Sam had a good guess who would be running the race since Iris was more than a little accident-prone.
“It’s important. It’s part of our VIP package. They’re expecting us.”
“But I can’t take photos if I’m in it—” He almost called her Buns again but stopped himself.
Why? He wasn’t quite sure. Maybe because I want to move past who we used to be.
The snarling competitors who put distance between themselves so they didn’t have to address their feelings.
“Oh, come on. It’s an important part of the article. This is the culmination of the entire fall festival before we leave tomorrow.” She tugged his hand toward the race stage with a pleading smile.
“Fine, but if I win, you’re buying me unlimited ciders.”
Ten minutes later, a fully registered Sam and Iris stood with the other entrants as the emcee shouted the rules into the microphone. As part of the entry, Iris had to make a fall flower crown and place it on one of the posts at the finish line.
“Welcome to this year’s Kissing Bridge Syrup Race, sponsored by Miller Family Syrup Farms.” Applause came from the sidelines where hundreds of people watched. “Remember, you’ll run a wheelbarrow full of pumpkins from here to the covered bridge. Then, you’ll take a shot of bourbon and maple syrup, and pick up two full pails of maple syrup and run back without spilling any.”
Sam looked at the table lined with shots and pails underneath. He looked at the other contestants. A couple of young guys about his age, a woman who was pretty fit, and an older guy who was currently chugging a cider. Maybe I’ll jog it. It’s just a friendly race.
“Now,” the emcee continued. “When you get to the finish line, grab a fall crown and claim your prize.”
“What’s the prize?” he asked Iris, thinking about how hard he wanted to work at this.
“Your prize,” said the emcee, “is a two-hundred-dollar book shopping spree at Benning Books. And, of course, the most important prize of all, a kiss from the person whose flower crown you pick up at the finish line.”
Sam’s head whipped up to the emcee on the podium and then to Iris.
A kiss?
The stakes for this race just got a lot higher.
“I probably won’t win,” he said, shrugging at Iris, even though a fire was lit inside of him. He couldn’t take his eyes away as she bit back a smile.
Those lips that’ve smiled at everyone but you.
The smirk when she teases and you can’t help but laugh back.
The tongue that licked her finger covered in marshmallow.
That was the best fucking prize he could think of.
“On your mark, get set...”
And at the sound of a cowbell, Sam ran as hard as he could to the cheers of the crowd.
He engaged his core, dodging a pothole in the road as he balanced the heavy, wobbly wheelbarrow. He was second place and he kicked it into high gear, thinking he might lose.
He tossed the wheelbarrow aside, slammed the shot of bourbon and maple syrup as fast as he could, not even swallowing as he picked up the pails of syrup, jogging back.
Jesus fucking Christ . He could kill a man with one of these if he needed to, they were so heavy. The woman was still ahead of him but slipped on the hay in front of her, and her syrup pails crashed to the ground, spilling slow-moving amber liquid everywhere.
“Disqualified!” the emcee shouted.
He thought of those lips he’d been staring at for the last fifteen years, and goddamnit, he was going to kiss them today, come hell or high water.
He pushed into overdrive. I can breathe when I cross the finish line. The pails pulled at his arms, and he was cautious not to spill a drop. His arms burned as he held the pails away from him.
His heart pounding and his lungs burning, he dropped the pails at the finish line and grabbed the fall leaf crown Iris had made when they registered. It had orange and yellow sparkly leaves intertwined with tiny sunflowers and chrysanthemums. He leaned over, catching his breath as the remaining competitors finished behind him.
He’d won. He’d sprinted the length of a covered bridge all so he didn’t have to admit to his biggest rival that he so desperately wanted to kiss her.
God, I’m pathetic . He wiped a hand down his face as the sweat cooled.
“All right, young man, come up here and claim your prize!” the emcee shouted. “Here is your check for two hundred dollars for Benning Books.” Sam panted as he shook the man’s hand, grabbing the comically large cardboard check.
The partners of the competitors slowly walked off the stage after Sam had won.
“You have one more prize to claim,” the older man said with a sparkling smile. Iris slowly walked to him on the stage.
She was perfection, he thought, panting at her as he placed the flower crown on her head. It sparkled against her chestnut hair in the fading sunlight.
Iris dropped her eyes. Sam cleared his throat. “You don’t have to,” Iris said, looking embarrassed.
He could make a joke, laugh it off for the article.
But he was done with that.
He focused on her lips, willing her to look back up at him. “Don’t you think we should?”