Page 31 of Inn To You

He stops and turns to face me. He steps toward me so fast I step back and bump into the counter behind me. He cups my chin and lowers his voice.

“No, no, you’re doing everything right.” He leans forward, gives me a soft, quick kiss, and pulls away. Then he’s gone as if nothing happened. Did I imagine this kiss? Maybe I dreamed the earlier kiss as well.

I certainly imagined I put paper towels behind the bar.

+ + +

About a half hour later, I slam my hand on the front desk countertop, startling Monica. Her head pops up, and she blinks at me behind her glasses.

“I cannot find the paper towels anywhere.”

Monica presses her glasses upward on the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Mr. Weller organized everything. He put all the supplies in the supply room.”

“What supply room?”

“Down by the salon.”

The original salon was once a smoking room with a back room for cards. Now, the space is more like a storage dump of sorts. We don’t keep supplies there because we don’t want stuff out in the open. However, Isaiah did place an old mattress set in the space along with an ancient stationary bike, and I’ve yet to move either item because it takes more than one woman to lift such things.

Stomping across the game room and down the steps to an area we no longer use, I stop short when I see the bed set is gone, the stationary bike removed, and the space is cleared. Spinning in a slow circle, I envision what was once the card room. Smoke filling the air. Green felt tables. Cards flipping. Deep laughter. Men sitting in the outer room, sharing a drink and a cigar, perhaps waiting their turn for a game.

Stepping into the original salon, a word which has a different meaning today, I stare at the rattan couch and a singular chair. A wall with three wood panels is to my right, and one of the panels is actually a door. As I reach for the knob, my waist is encircled, and I’m pushed forward, opening the door with the heat of a solid person at my back.

Soft kisses pepper my neck as I’m forced into the space. A switch flips, a light comes on, and my breath catches. All the supplies are organized on shelves. There are the damn paper towels along with light bulbs and toilet paper.

“What did you do?” I whisper without turning around to face the man kissing me.

“I organized.”

I might be a creative mess, but I know where things were. Or at least, I thought I did. However, I can appreciate this system.

“When did you do all this?”

Noah’s chest heats my back while his arms tighten around my middle. “While you were sick. I had a helper.”

I spin in his arms. “Jonas?”

“He was sworn to secrecy.”

“He’s terrible at keeping secrets.” He always wants to tell me his wishes.

Noah shrugs. “We talked about the difference between wishes and secrets. I told him this was a good secret because it would turn into a surprise.” Noah’s eyes scan my face. “Surprise!” His voice lowers as well as his head. His mouth captures mine, and once again, he’s kissing me like I’m the air he needs to breathe.

“What are we doing?” I giggle against his mouth.

“Making out in the supply closet.”

He has me there. That’s exactly what we do.

+ + +

For nearly a dozen days, we make out all over the inn. In the laundry room. In the old kitchen. In the guest rooms. In the supply closet. I’ve never been kissed so much in my life. Or been left so sexually frustrated. Because Noah only kisses me, yet each kiss is more than the meeting of lips. His hands roam but never close the distance. My breasts ache from pressing against his chest or him cupping them in the curve of his thumb and index finger but never fully covering them. His hardness grinds where I’m soft, throbbing and desperate for his touch, but he doesn’t cross the line. Fingertips nearly bruise my hips, and he rocks against me, but those digits don’t wander lower, between my thighs, where I drip with desire.

Even more confusing is Noah joins Jonas and me every evening. Being respectful of Jonas’s proximity, Noah and I keep our hands to ourselves other than an occasional swipe up my spine or him moving me by my hips as we circle one another in my tight kitchen. We play board games with my son, or one of us reads to him. We share movie nights and take turns taking Jonas to baseball practice. Noah goes to Jonas’s games.

Once Jonas is in bed, Noah brings me to the kitchen where the wall borders Jonas’s room, where we’re out of sight of his slightly open bedroom door. This is our secret corner for good night kisses that need their own bedroom with a bed although I wouldn’t be opposed to Noah spreading me on the countertop or taking me on the tile floor. I just want to be closer to him.

“The things I want to do to you,” he mutters to my neck as I’m pinned to the wall, cheek against the plaster. He’s behind me, and my arms are loosely pulled behind my back. His hips buck forward, and the weight of his arousal hits my backside.