Chapter 6
six
WESTON
MARCH 10
An enchanted vacation rental.
It’s the first time I’ve experienced any of the magic I’ve heard about existing here, and it’s been highly entertaining. Bridget doesn’t agree, but to be honest, it feels like the house is semi-trolling her at this point.
Not to boast, but I’ve got exceptional pattern recognition and the more Bridget pulls away from me, the less access she has to anything here. The music system is moody, flip-flopping tracks like an over-excited deejay and appliances won’t even cooperate for her.
It’s clear the house is sending a message: you two need to get along .
I gaze at the ceiling that’s plastered in glow-in-the-dark stars like my old childhood bedroom and grin. The glow is barely visible in the growing morning daylight, but I think it’s pretty cool.
It takes me a few minutes to get going, but I finally get dressed enough to start a pot of coffee. There’s not much I know about Bridget, including her last name, but I figure coffee can solve just about any problem. Even ones with pompous ex-fiancés.
Before long, she trudges into the kitchen in the cutest purple robe, her blonde hair in a neat bun. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup and I feel a little honored she’s letting me see her like this. Based on our few interactions, she’s almost always painfully put together. Like she’s not allowed to have a flaw.
The longer I’m around her, the higher the questions pile up.
I’m not usually interested in the inner workings of people, especially women, but Bridget is a mystery I want every single detail on.
She’s fidgety this morning as she watches me. Wary. “Do we have sugar or creamer?”
“Do you have a preference on a type of creamer?” I ask, pushing off the counter and heading for the fridge.
“No,” she says. Her voice goes a little flat, so I know she’s lying, but after the way the house messed with us yesterday, I can’t blame her for being cautious.
I open the door enough to get a peek inside, and there’s an assortment. Different from what was there when I checked while the coffee was brewing.
Interesting.
“Vanilla, caramel, white chocolate?—”
She lets a tiny whimper escape as she scurries toward me. “Please.”
“White chocolate?” I ask, peering over my shoulder.
Her bun bounces as she nods vigorously.
I pull it out of the fridge and set it on the island, and then pour coffee into a cup for her. It’s taking immense willpower to not pepper her about this house. Her new-to-me single status. Why she’s here.
But I figure—for both our safety—she should caffeinate first.
“This is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got here.” She sighs.
“What about Louie?”
She peers at me over the edge of her cup as she takes another drink. “Louie is steadfast. He’s always there, does his job, looks pretty. No notes.”
“Should I feed you before we chat?”
She fidgets with the edge of the cup, suddenly intent on a spot on the granite counter. “What do we have to chat about?”
I’ve been in this kitchen a lot. Between St. Brigid’s Eve and now, I went home and took care of some business, grabbed a few more of Bailey’s things and came back. But the kitchen looked exactly the same both times I was here.
Now, the countertop is a different color. It was earthy before, shades of brown and beautiful dark veins that ran through the rock. Now it’s a lighter gray.
“Huh.”
“What?” Bridget straightens.
“This counter is different.” I wonder what else is different, shifting and blending to meet both of our desires. My eyes travel the rest of the kitchen, taking mental notes as I go.
“From when?”
“From when I stayed here last time. And what it looked like until yesterday. What else can you tell me about this house?”
She shakes her head. “I told you what I know. Things happened when my sister and her fiancé stayed here around Christmas, but either of them would be much better to ask specifics. Everything from me would be hearsay.”
I really want to know more about this house. Most of the time, answers are more roundabout than direct, but I’ll still get more information than I have now.
“Can we talk to them? Either of them?”
Bridget tucks a hair behind her ear, the color of her nails the same color as her robe. Also new. “We could get breakfast at Holden’s bakery.”
“Which one is that?”
“The Magic Crumb. You’ll love everything he makes. He provides the baked goods for the farm, too.” She flips open her giant planner and hums as she trails her finger down the page. “We can go tomorrow.”
I crane my neck to try and see what’s written in the little color blocks scattered all over the page.
“Why can’t we go today?”
She glances up at me. “Because breakfast is there tomorrow. It’s part of The Shamrock Shuffle schedule.”
“We could still go today. It sounds good.”
And honestly, I’m less curious about how this house works and more curious about the people in her life.
“But, it’s on the schedule for tomorrow.” She straightens, her eyes flicking from me to the planner page and back again.
I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms. “Are you meeting someone there?”
“No.”
“Then we can go today.” I reach over and flip her planner closed.
“Hey!” She stares at me open-mouthed.
I feel like I’ve been enrolled in a crash course on all things Bridget. And this adds a whole new level to the joy I get pushing her buttons.
“We’re going to wing today.”
You’d think I issued her a death sentence with the silence that follows.
“But there’s a whole list?—”
“We’ll be fine. Or are you afraid you might have fun?”
She presses her lips together, her jaw moving as she chews on the inside of her lip. Without saying another word, she crosses the room and rinses her coffee cup out before washing it and setting it on the drying rack.
“Look Goldilocks?—”
“Please stop calling me that.” She faces me, her eyes pleading. “You seem to like nicknames—fine, whatever—but I didn’t break into this house. I didn’t mean to sit on you, I didn’t mean to upset your dog.”
Bailey lazily wags his tail with a couple of thumps from a few feet away.
“Noted,” I reply. “I will try to drop Goldilocks.”
“Thank you.”
We stand there for a couple of long moments, sizing each other up in the quiet. I guess the house doesn’t see this as an opportunity to torture us, because nothing happens.
“And to be clear, I can have fun without my planner.” She tips her head in a way that suggests she’s questioning if that’s true versus telling me it is, but I’m not going to point that out.
“Prove it then.”
“Fine.” She shrugs. “We’ll go to The Magic Crumb today.”
It would probably be inappropriate to do a celebration dance in front of her, so I smile at her instead. “Sounds delicious.”
“It will be. I hope you’re hungry.”
There’s another quiet pause.
I’m not sure what to say because she’s not exactly forthcoming with what's on her mind. Every tidbit of information I get from her seems to be forced by circumstance and while I’ll collect every crumb she drops, I want more. Faster.
There’s one question that I guess we should probably address before we head into town and see her future brother-in-law. I’ve already pushed her this morning, so might as well push a little more.
“Do we need to talk about the video call?”
If I thought she was closed off and defensive before, I was wrong.
“I’d rather not,” she says, gripping the collar of her robe. “I mean, I appreciate what you did.”
“You could’ve handled it without me,” I say.
Surprise flickers in her eyes. “You made it easier.”
That was actually… nice. Sort of a compliment.
“So, why are you here, Goldilocks?” I flinch and grit my teeth. “Sorry. That’s gonna be a tough habit to break.”
She chuckles, her shoulders dropping a little. “Consider that your pass because I think you might actually be genuine right now. I told my sisters I’d come for a visit. And I needed a break. You suggested that part, remember?”
Oh, I remember. And I’m starting to think my subconscious wanted to see her more than I realized. She’s not in a place where she needs to be hit on. I’m not in a place where I can really be what she might need.
But maybe—if my gut is right about her—we can help each other.
“I did.” I grasp the counter behind me and lean back. “But I’m still not hearing the real reason.”
Color creeps up her neck, a lovely little pink that reminds me of Easter when it’s next to the purple of her robe. Not what I should be thinking about, but eggs and bunnies are probably the safer choice.
Not hitting on the pretty girl.
“I don’t know you, Weston. What makes you think I’m going to spill my guts to you?”
“Maybe that’s exactly why. You don’t know me. I’m neutral.”
Lies. I’m far from neutral. No matter how much I’d like to pretend I can be Switzerland for her, I’m not. Not after the way her spunk grabbed me in October, or the sadness that felt adjacent to mine in January. Especially not after seeing how Andrew made her feel.
But I want her to feel safe. So I’ll tuck that all into a box if that’s what it takes to get her to talk to me. Because she’s sure not talking to anyone else.
I’d know because I’m not talking to anyone else, either.
“He’s history,” she says softly. “That’s what you need to know.”
I want to ask if she thinks he’ll be a problem in the future, but I think I’ve hit my limit for now on how much I can push. So I stick with the most basic question left for me to ask.
“Is me pretending to be your boyfriend yesterday going to be a problem?”
She presses her lips together and my lips are drawn to them again, like a bug to a bug zapper.
Lightning bugs.
Ray.
No idea what my newfound fascination is with Disney movies, but it’s a decent distraction.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “People are going to wonder when they see us out and about together.”
“True.”
“So maybe we just don’t correct them if they assume that?”
This could either be the best thing that’s happened to me this trip or the worst.
“I’m sorry, are you saying we should do something spontaneous?”
She rolls her eyes, a hint of a smile playing around her lips. “It’s still a plan.”
“A plan to fake a relationship.”
I really don’t want to rain on this beautiful moment, but I have to point out a very obvious flaw in her logic.
“This will absolutely require going with the flow. You can’t predict what people might say or do.”
“I think you’re forgetting that was literally my job,” she says pointedly. “I had to figure out what my brides wanted, sometimes without them being able to even voice it.”
Forget crumbs. She’s giving me little gold coins.
I get why leprechauns are so protective of their treasures.
“If you think it’s best, I’m on board. Do I get to call you my girlfriend now?”
She sighs. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. I said we just won’t correct people if that’s what they assume.”
I walk around the island slowly, watching her face as I move closer. “But that means we have to act like we like each other, Spitfire.”
Her eyes widen a little, and the color on her cheeks deepens. “I mean, you’re okay, I guess. I can act.”
“You wound me,” I smile, covering my heart with my hands.
Another step closer.
She holds up a finger between us. “No public affection.”
Flustered Bridget is so easy to mess with.
“So private affection is okay?”
A small squeak escapes her as she steps backward. “No!”
“We have to show at least a little affection for this to be believable.”
She takes a deliberate swallow, her eyes round as she gazes up at me. “Hand-holding only. If necessary.”
“There are a lot of ways to show affection that don’t fall on the PDA list Bridget,” I say softly. “You can tell someone they look beautiful. Watch their favorite movie. Make them dinner. Or coffee.”
We’ve stopped this weird movement between us, and everything pauses. I can almost feel the house sigh.
“Oh?” she whispers.
A wisp of hair worked loose from her bun, so I reach up, brushing it out of her eyes. I let my hand hover for just a second after I tuck it behind her ear.
‘Stargazing’ by Miles Smith starts pumping through the speakers and now it’s maybe my turn to feel a little exposed. This house needs some boundaries.
“I’m going to go get dressed,” I say, stepping backward.
She exhales almost like she’s relieved and tugs the belt of her robe tighter, like it’s armor against the world.
Maybe against me.
“I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Take however long you need,” I tell her.
As soon as she's out of the room and around the corner, I lean on the island and shake my head.
I’ve got no clue how I’m supposed to pretend to be what she needs when I’ve got no clue what I need.
But I guess we’re going to figure it out as we go.