Oh, hell. Either the matchmaking bug is contagious or my mother and grandmother have put their heads together and are deliberately scheming to get me close to Donovan. I’m not sure which option is worse.
I glare at Nana Jo, shaking my head. She ignores me, smiling at our guest instead of moving. “How did you sleep last night, Donovan?”
He pauses, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I had one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. I was very comfortable, thank you.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” my dad says from the head of the table. “Not that I’m surprised. Our Natalie always exceeds our expectations.”
And my dad’s in on it, too. Naturally, Donovan looks over at me, which keeps me from rolling my eyes, but my family’s ridiculous. They don’t even know our guest is totally loaded. They just see an attractive man in a nice suit and they’re ready to offer me up like I’m a complimentary gift.
They should rethink that strategy because if I run off with a billionaire, my parents either have to take the day-to-day running of the inn back on, or leave Lyla to run it. I love my sister—and my nieces—but they’re a little chaotic for the hospitality business.
Thankfully, there’s a lot on the family to-do list for the day, so there’s more eating than talking. I notice Donovan doesn’t seem to mind the over-done bacon and under-done English muffins served with the scrambled eggs, but he definitely likes the coffee. He’s on his third cup—with no cream or sugar, which makes me shudder—when my father pushes back from the table.
“Guess I should start the storm clean-up,” he says. “It’s going to take me a while.”
His exit starts a chain reaction of family members having something pressing they have to do. To be fair, the day before the town Christmas fair is always hectic, but the fact they’ve left me alone in the dining room with Donovan doesn’t escape me.
“Should I put another pot on?” I ask when I see him pouring the last coffee from both carafes into his cup.
“Not yet,” he says, picking up the cup. “I think I’m still under-caffeinated from yesterday. And I’m not a big breakfast eater, but I go through more coffee than I should.”
“There’s a Keurig in the kitchen. You’re welcome to use it.” I stand, preparing to clear the table since that job’s obviously been left to me. I’m surprised when Donovan stands and picks up his plate. “You can leave that. Just drink your coffee and I’ll take care of this.”
“I can help.” I’m about to remind him he’s a guest when he shakes his head. “Customer’s always right, you know.”
I snort. “I think that’s for paying customers.”
He just laughs and starts gathering dirty dishes. It takes several trips, and on the last trip to the kitchen, he brings his coffee cup, which is still half full. “So, I have a little problem.”
I straighten from the dishwasher rack I’m loading, arching an eyebrow at him. “Thread count not to your satisfaction?”
“The sheets are fine. Better than fine, actually. It’s a comfortable bed, and I didn’t want to get out of it this morning.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem? Do you need a doctor?” I lower my voice and lean close. “Is it a rash?”
“I do not have a rash,” he says, and then he must realize he said it loudly because he looks around to see if anybody was nearby. “My mother and her wife are in Stowe celebrating their wedding anniversary and there are no available rooms. All she could come up with was the sofa in the living room of their suite.”
“That’s no fun for them.”
He snorts. “Not exactly a good time for me, either. But my mom suggested that I just stay here and relax, and they’ll swing by and pick me up on their way to the airport on Sunday.”
I’ve worked in hospitality for too long to let the smile slip, but Sunday? It’s Friday. That’s a lot of time to be around this man. When I can forget that he lives some high-powered billionaire life somewhere and probably does nothing but bark orders at people around the clock, he’s irresistible.
“Is that a problem?” he asks, probably because I’ve been silently thinking about how much I want to run my fingers through that hair. And of course my imagination didn’t stop there, so I don’t know how long the awkward silence has stretched on. “I can figure something out if it’s not okay.”
I’m not sure what kind of options a man with no car, no wallet and no phone thinks he’s going to do in a small town in the middle of nowhere with the roads still a mess. His mom could help him, though. She could make arrangements with her own credit cards from Stowe, including sending a car service to pick him up. Hell, she could send a car to take him back to the airport or to drive him back to New York.
But she’s celebrating her anniversary, so he probably doesn’t want to take up her time. And even though I know it’s a bad idea because I’m not great at resisting temptation, I want him to stay.
“Of course it’s okay,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. “On one condition.”
His slow smile suggests his mind has gone to a place I wouldn’t mind exploring. You can stay, but only if you stay in my bed. Or maybe you can stay, but only if you’re naked.
As if I’d have the nerve to say either of those things, even though I’d like to.
“What’s the condition?” he prompts.
“You can’t hide in your room. This is the weekend Charming Lake celebrates Christmas, and you have to embrace it.”
