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“Normal for rotting garbage, maybe. Could be the last person here left some trash?”
The lights are off in the cottage, so I reach just inside the front door to turn them on, only to have a rather large squirrel scurry out the door right over Colin’s foot. He jerks his foot upward just as the animal makes a beeline for a bush. We stare as the sound of rustling leaves proves it’s long gone.
“Um…is that just a perk that comes with staying at Buttercup Hill? Squirrel as roommate?” Colin asks, holding the side of his face with one hand. I’m surprised he hasn’t run for the hills by now, except that it’s the direction the squirrel went.
I’m about to close the door to the cottage when I hear a squeak, and two smaller squirrels waddle out the door. When they reach the lighted patio, their eyes squint, and they too head for the underside of the bush.
There’s more squeaking and scurrying and rustling in the bushes. Then, from beside me, I hear it again—a low chuckle of laughter.
“You’re…laughing?” It’s not what I expect from a captain of industry who’s probably never seen a wild animal before, let alone had one jump over his foot. I’m not sure why he hasn’t launched into a diatribe about cleanliness or orderliness or whatever else most powerful people say when they find a family of squirrels in their fancy winery digs.
“You better believe I am.”
“But…why?” I wish I didn’t sound so completely baffled, but I am completely baffled by him. “You can’t stay here.”
He shrugs. “Probably not, but let’s check out the place anyway.” He nudges open the door and takes a step into the entryway, then another step farther. Turning around, he cocks his head. “Coming?”
“Hell no,” I say. “This make-your-own-adventure is all yours.”
He extends a hand to me. “Come on, Junebug. What’s the worst that can happen?”
And there it is—for the first time in our several interactions today, Colin gives me a smile. It’s magnificent, all straight teeth, plump lips with just a hint of a sexy smirk, and even a dimple in one cheek. Holy crap, Colin Hathaway can smile.
You know…if the astrophysics ever falls through, you could make good money just smiling at people all day. Or just do it as a public service.These are my inside thoughts, and I’m oh-so glad he can’t hear them.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” His smile dims as he regards me like I’m slightly strange and interesting. And I realize I said the words out loud.
Well, it doesn’t matter because, yet again, I’m convinced this is the last I will see of him. If making a dumb chess mistake, berating him, and exposing him to large rodents wasn’t enough, my lack of filter should seal the deal.
Buh-bye, Colin Hathaway. Nice not really knowing you.
“Come,” he insists, still extending his hand.
I stand there, mouth agape, trying to piece together the logic of what I see in front of me. There’s none. This man is poised to put the first human on Mars and revolutionize space travel. And now he seems downright giddy over the prospect of entering a squirrel den and searching for rotten potatoes or vermin or, for all I know, crocodiles.
When I make no move to come closer, Colin walks back toward me, wraps his hand around mine, and gently tugs me inside the cottage. My legs move, but I don’t feel anything besides the warmth of his hand, which is like a silken security blanket, the kind I’d want to keep in my grasp all night long.
I am not expecting it, but maybe it’s good that I’m distracted because the cottage is a downright mess.
The kitchen looks tidy enough, with its butcher block island sitting beneath a pot rack with copper pans and spotless granite counters. But the living room is a mess. One of the couches is missing all its cushions, which are scattered on the floor, some ripped in places with stuffing hanging out.
“I think we know where our squirrel family slept,” Colin says, voice calm, walking me through the room.
Then there’s the trash—orange rinds, Styrofoam takeout containers with the dregs of noodles stuck to them, plastic salsa cups. Foil burrito wrappers are strewn everywhere, ripped to shreds, along with a paper bag from one of my favorite takeout places. At least the squirrels ate well before they trashed the place.
We head toward the bedroom, where the bed is unmade beneath a casement window that has been left wide open. “And I think this is how they got in,” Colin says.
“You think so, Sherlock?” I don’t mean to be salty. “Sorry. I just can’t believe no one came to make up this room after the last guests were here.”
“Arch said it doesn’t get used much.”
“Not by humans, anyway. Why are you so understanding and not more…freaked out?”
He’s still holding my hand, and I’m still enjoying how his touch sends a calming flood over my skin and along my arm. I should let go because it’s obviously not necessary for him to lead me around, but I don’t.
Colin blows out a breath and shakes his head. “Guess it takes a lot more than this to freak me out these days.”
For the first time, I remember the media shitstorm and feel a little sorry for him. So wrapped up in my own stresses with Trevor Stagwood, I completely forgot that Colin might not be so happy.
