Chapter Four
Three a.m. was a crazytime to be awake. Owen slipped out of the guest bedroom and wandered into the family kitchen. The motion sensor turned on a single dim light. Just enough to brighten the room without hurting eyes used to the dark. By all accounts, he should be sleeping, but memories of last night’s dinner conversation and of Amaryllis as a teenager kept waking him. She’d had that quirky fashion sense, but she’d also been a member of the debate and chess clubs. Well-rounded as Ophelia would say. She popped up in way too many memories. The hallways at school, the cafeteria, track and field day. It seemed that whatever his mind focused on, she was there. Sometimes in the forefront, sometimes in the background, but always there.
Yesterday, he’d been a bit disappointed by her ordinary jeans and floral t-shirt. It would be a shame if corporate life had toned down her clothing choices.
Rill had matured into a lovely young woman. Funny, confident, pretty. In other circumstances, he’d ask her out. But here, now, under Ophelia’s roof, he didn’t dare. He wouldn’t break Ophelia’s trust that way, not unless he was certain they were both aiming for the same thing, and he was shooting for long term. Otherwise, he was here to do his job as maintenance man and to help Amaryllis if she needed anything. He wasn’t here to date or ogle.
But, dang, was she ogle-worthy. He was impressed at her ability to keep up with a variety of topics at dinner. Current events, movies, books. She had a relevant opinion on most subjects and had kept their guests engaged long after dinner was finished. She was a natural host.
He splashed some milk into a pot and flicked on the gas stove. Hot cocoa would help him sleep. Maybe. If he could get his mind off her. Sitting at the table, he grabbed his notebook and started a list of items to check. The small garage door was sticking. There was a hole in the screen in cabin five. He needed to research snow blowers so he knew what to recommend.
A whisper of sound distracted him from his task. He looked up. Amaryllis leaned against the doorjamb and eyed him sleepily. Her hair was mussed up, her oversized flannel pajamas hung loosely while somehow managing to emphasize every curve. He swallowed hard. She was beautiful. Regret over waking her settled in his chest.
“What are you doing up?” he asked. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I was having trouble sleeping and heard you walking around. Is everything okay?” She rubbed her eyes. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Just a bit of insomnia. I’m making cocoa. Do you want some? I can add extra milk.” He moved toward the fridge.
“That’d be great, thank you. Are there any cookies?”
“Are you kidding? Ophelia made at least ten types already. What’s your choice? Snickerdoodles, gingerbread, sugar cookies, shortbread, chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin?”
She held up a hand. “Stop it already. I get the idea. Auntie O loves her cookies. Anything is fine, but those chocolate no-bake ones are my favorite.”
He poured milk into the pan and added a bit of sugar and cocoa powder. He breathed in the rich aromas and his stomach growled. He might have a couple of those cookies too. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at her again. Yup, still beautiful. “Come in, take a seat. Cocoa will be ready soon.”
“Ever wonder why some people call it cocoa and others call it hot chocolate?”
“That’s easy,” he said. “Technically, I’m making hot cocoa. It’s made with cocoa powder. Hot chocolate is made by melting actual chocolate into milk or water.” He made a tada motion with his hands.
“Seriously? I had no idea. I honestly thought it was a terminology thing, nothing more.”
“I discovered that tidbit when I was serving in Siberia, which was very cold, by the way. Hot chocolate originated in Mexico and included chilis as one of the ingredients. The idea, and the cocoa bean, hit Europe in the 1500s. By the 1700s, hot chocolate was a big deal and available in shops like today’s coffee shops.” He paused and laughed. “I sound like a walking encyclopedia. Just call me Wiki-Owen.”
Her laugh brightened his night. Was it any wonder he wasn’t getting any sleep with her around? She’d visited his dreams in high school, and he’d crushed on her from afar. Now she was back tormenting him again. Funny thing was, he was more interested in her intellect than her body.
With her around, this was going to be the longest December of his life. Longer than the ones he spent freezing his butt off in the army. The only difference was that she was going to make things as bright and sunny as she did uncomfortable.
“You were in Siberia? I didn’t know that. Why? What took you there?” She sat in the chair he’d vacated and watched him work. He fumbled the wooden spoon, dropping it onto the cooktop. Even her gaze was distracting.
“The Canadian Military took me there. Active duty, but not combat. I was blessed to never see combat during my tours. I served where I was sent. I spent six months in Texas at an embassy. I did stints in Siberia, Afghanistan, Cypress, and Germany.”
“No combat, so I guess you were never injured.”
“Technically no. But I slipped on the ice in Siberia and fell down two flights of stone stairs. Broke my thigh in two places.” He felt like an idiot remembering the incident. Ice. A soldier taken out by ice rather than in combat. He rubbed the spot; the memory made it ache worse than usual.
“Is that why you left the military?”
Her questions made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like talking about his career-ending accident. He’d still be serving his country if he could, but that ship had sailed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his job at the inn, he loved it, but part of him wanted to do more, be more. Rather than address her question, he arranged several cookies on a plate and put them on the table.
“You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.” Her voice was soft with understanding. “I was just curious. I don’t need to know.”
“Yes. It ended my career, sort of.”
