Paige forced herself to stay in bed because wasn’t that what people did on vacation? And it wasn’t like she had much on her agenda anyway. Even from her pillow perch, she could see the rain pelting the windows in the turret. So much for long walks on the beach. She straightened the covers, folding the sheet over the top of the duvet before letting her hands come to rest beside her. A minute later, she realized she was tapping what sounded like some sort of marching-band drill against her thighs. This was ridiculous, she thought. There was only so much lying about a person could take, and besides, she had to have been there for at least an hour by now. That was a respectable amount of vacation laziness.
She reached for her phone. Fifteen minutes? She rubbed her eyes and looked at the screen again, but the situation remained the same. After fighting the urge to get up for what had seemed like an eternity, she’d only managed fifteen minutes of lounging, and even that was if she rounded up. Still, for her it was a bit of an achievement. On a normal Monday, she would have been at the office by now, reading through emails with a second cup of coffee in hand. So in a way, she was totally winning at this whole vacation thing.
Sammy’s voice popped into her head as clearly as if he’d been in the room. If you say so, Boss Lady. Turned out imaginary Sammy’s sarcasm was just as impossible to miss as the real-life version. Speaking of her assistant…
She glanced back at her phone. He’d definitely be at the office by now.
She considered calling him for all of two seconds before pressing the button on the phone.
It rang once.
“No” was all he said.
The line went dead.
Paige pulled the phone away from her ear to look at the screen. Still three bars. That little…
She called back, but this time, she spoke before he had the chance to. “What do you mean ‘no’? And before you hang up on me again, remember who signs your paycheck.”
There was a heavy sigh. “No means no. No work. Period. No calling about work. No thinking about work. No, no, no, no, no.”
“I can’t call my friend while I’m on vacation?”
“You’re just calling because I’m your friend?” The way his voice rose at the end of the sentence painted the perfect visual of his eyebrows raising at the same time.
“Don’t be so skeptical. Of course you’re my friend.” And he was. Heck, these days it seemed like he was her only friend. Not that she was without blame in that department. But one long day ran into another, and before she knew it, all those promises to “get together soon” fell to the bottom of her to-do lists.
“And you’re not calling to ask me if I went over the invoices, or if I sent out the two new proposals?”
“No, absolutely not because that would be work and I promised not to work this entire week.” Although she may have had her fingers crossed behind her back when she made that pledge because yeah, that was totally something a normal thirty-year-old woman would do.
“And because you know I’m your outrageously reliable and talented assistant who would never forget to place the order for the Juarez master closet.”
“That too. But since you brought it up…”
“Nice try but no way, Boss Lady. Oh sorry, guess I can’t call you Boss Lady now that we’re friends.” He hummed into the phone. “Lady Friend? No,” he said, answering his own question. “That sounds like something your generation called that ‘time of the month.’”
“I’ll have you know that was my mom’s generation, maybe even my grandmother’s, but certainly not mine. And it’s our generation. Exactly how old do you think I am?” Not really wanting to hear the answer to that question, she quickly added, “And besides, it wasn’t Lady Friend; it was Special Friend.” Paige cringed as she added, “Or Aunt Flo.”
“I know you didn’t call me on the first morning of your vacation to talk about menstrual slang.”
“I told you, I just wanted to chat.”
“As your friend?”
“Right.”
“Out of curiosity, are we Friends friends or Seinfeld friends?”
Paige frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Well, on Friends they were true friends. Like, you just know that after Monica and Chandler moved to the burbs, they all still hung out.”
“I’m pretty sure they said Joey was going to have his own room.” She tried her best to act nonchalant about knowing this nugget of Friends trivia, but truth was, Paige was a bit of an expert when it came to the iconic sitcom, just one more example of the useless knowledge her brain seemed to catalog and store. But hey, if Heads Up! ever became a TV game show, she could probably triple her IRA.
“Exactly. But Jerry and Kramer were friends by situation, in their case geography.”
Most people might have found the turn in their conversation a bit odd, but for Paige and Sammy, a quick tangent to analyze nineties television was just par for the course. Sometimes it amazed her that they ever got any work done at all. Then again, perhaps that’s why they were so successful.
“So, am I your Joey or your Kramer? And for the love of Central Perk, please do not say I’m your Ross.”
Paige laughed. “Samuel, my friend, you are most definitely my Phoebe.”
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I can live with that.”
“Good, now that we have that settled…”
“If you’re about to slip some work in, don’t. You’re there to relax.” There was a pause during which the proverbial light bulb turned on. “Oh my God, it’s killing you, isn’t it?”
“Little bit.”
He laughed. “You just have to get through the detox phase.”
“Detox? I’m on vacation, not in rehab.”
“For you, Boss Lady—I mean, Bestie—they are one and the same. You’re strung so tightly, it’s going to take more than a few in-flight cocktails to bring you down to cruising altitude.”
She sighed. “It’s just so…quiet.”
“Well, you are there to celebrate Singles Day.”
Paige had known she would eventually regret filling him in on that little nugget. But still, enjoying being single didn’t mean she wanted to be alone. Not all the time anyway. “Yes, but not in solitary confinement.”
He laughed again, but this time when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Tell you what, we can chat as friends as long as there’s no mention of work.”
Considering her options were either that or going downstairs for more nonexistent conversation with her host, she decided to take the deal. “Agreed.”
“Oooh, this will be fun.” There was a rustling followed by the unmistakable sound of her office door creaking open. “Let me get a libation,” Sammy said. “It’s a smidge early for a martini, but since the boss is away, what the hell. I’ll even throw in some cranberry juice to make it feel more like breakfast.”
“Samuel.”
“Chill. You know I’ve got shit under control.”
He was right. She never had to worry about the office when she left it in Sammy’s hands. Although until now that had never been for more than a few hours, and even that was when she was so sick she couldn’t stand up.
Bottles clanked. “So how was your first night?”
She waited until he’d finished shaking the ice before giving him all the gory details.
“Dear Lord,” he said between sips. “Sounds like your worst nightmare. And you’re trapped there on an island.” He gasped. “It’s your personal Alcatraz.”
“Very funny,” she said over the laughter that had erupted over his own joke. “Are you almost done?”
“With my drink? Just started.” Somehow she knew he’d made himself at home on her white sofa. Probably had his feet on the coffee table, if she had to guess.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit contrite. “Is there any redemption? Is the view nice at least?”
“More than nice.” She paused for a beat before adding a bit of a tease. “Outside and in.”
“In? I thought you said the place was a pigpen.”
“It is.” She smiled in anticipation of the reaction the next bit of info was going to get. “But the swine looks like one of your calendar men.”
“Whaaat? Which one? Is it a Hemsworth? Please, let it be a Hemsworth.”
“No, it wasn’t Thor or his brother.”
“Real-life brother or movie brother? Because I could totally be down for some Tom Hiddleston action.”
“I think it was Mr. October. Ryan something…”
“Ryan Gosling?”
“Is he the one married to Blake Lively?”
“No, that’s Ryan Reynolds.” There was another gasp, but this one held a completely different meaning. “Holy Green Lantern, Batman. You have a Ryan Reynolds look-alike hosting you in his den of rubbish, and you’re wasting time talking to me? I mean, I know that I’m your new best friend and all, but still…go get you some of that.”
“I’m not here for romance, Sammy. I’m here to celebrate the joy in being single. And to relax.”
“Yeah, and how’d you say that’s going?”
“I have to detox, remember?”
“Forget detoxing. Just let your hunky host turn you inside out. A big ole O will do the trick a lot faster than curling up with a mug of chamomile.”
“Thanks, but I think I will settle for the tea and an hour with a book.”
“Good idea. Nothing like a little swoon reading to get the juices flowing.” He took a loud slurp of his cocktail. “Oh, and I’m definitely going to need a picture of this doppelgänger ASAP. Preferably shirtless.”
Not that she would ever do that, but even if she were the type of woman to snap surreptitious shots of a hot guy working shirtless, say in the rain maybe…
An image of Lucas Croft all slick and bare popped uninvited into her mind, sending a warm flush to her cheeks. “No way,” she said, half to herself and half to her assistant.
“Fine.” He sighed. “With clothes then, but a tight T-shirt would be appreciated.”
“Still no.” Shirtless or not, the last thing Paige needed was to return to her office to find Lucas Croft was next month’s screen saver. What she really needed was the aforementioned cold shower because honestly, that little fantasy came out of nowhere. Sammy. She nodded to herself. It was all his fault, really, and she’d tell him so as soon as she was back in Chicago. But for now, it was time to end the call.
“Goodbye, Samuel.”
She was halfway to the door before she realized she had no idea what the dress code protocol was for the breakfast portion of a bed-and-breakfast. Obviously at a hotel you would get dressed before going down to eat, but wasn’t this sort of establishment meant to be more like a home away from home? Did that mean a robe was sufficient? Her eyes darted to where her suitcase stood open on a luggage stand, and her gaze fell to her powder-blue chenille robe. When she’d packed for the trip, she’d envisioned herself curled up by a fireplace in that ultra-cozy bathrobe. Of course that’s when she also pictured the innkeepers as an elderly couple who rented rooms at their beachfront Victorian home as a way of re-creating the happy times when their kids all lived at home. But now schlepping downstairs in a fuzzy robe covered with bright yellow and white daisies wasn’t quite the image she wanted to project. She had more pride than that.
Maybe Sammy was right. Maybe she really did turn everything into a competition, even breakfast attire. Oh, who was she kidding? Paige’s desire to look better than she did for Mr. Rochester had nothing to do with winning some sort of breakfast beauty pageant and everything to do with Lucas Croft. Because as much as she would have liked to, Paige Parker couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for her host, no matter how unappealing he might have seemed below the surface.
She needed a shower—and definitely a toothbrush—but decided that, given the circumstances, she’d dress for trips to the bathroom. So instead of grabbing her robe and fuzzy slippers, Paige changed into a pair of jeans and her favorite green cashmere sweater, the one she knew darn well was the exact color of her eyes. She looked at herself in the small mirror above the dresser. Not too bad, she thought as she ran her fingers through her hair.
She reached for the knob but caught herself before she threw open the door. What if her handsome host was on his way to the bathroom? And what if he took the more at-home approach since, after all, this was his home? These were all issues she wouldn’t even have to consider at a Marriott. Which is exactly why Paige had never booked a room at a B and B before this one. Even those home rental apps, while all the rage, held little appeal for her. She couldn’t understand why that would be preferable to a nice suite at a hotel where you knew exactly what you were getting before you arrived and your bathroom was in your room. No risk of false advertisements using out-of-date pictures or half-naked innkeepers with killer abs causing you to spend a ridiculous amount of time overthinking a trip to the bathroom.
And just like that, thoughts of him sauntering shirtless down the hall popped into Paige’s mind. She took a deep breath, letting herself enjoy the images from head to toe. He’d no doubt be sporting bedhead, but on him it would probably be that casually disheveled look guys work so hard to achieve, even though they’d like you to believe they don’t try at all. His eyes would be sleepy but in that sexy, come-hither way, and his chest would absolutely be bare. She nearly hummed out loud as she pictured the way his abs would ripple as he sauntered down the hallway, drawing her eyes lower and lower until her gaze found the trail of brown hair that led right beneath the waistband of his…hmm…boxers or briefs? Her host was probably more of a boxer guy, but for this particular fantasy, Paige decided to envision him in a pair of boxer briefs, the kind made out of soft brushed cotton that clung to every hard inch of his…
Paige jolted. Holy moly, Samuel was right. She needed to get laid. But even if she could muster some of that sex-island mojo her assistant had described—which was a big If with a capital I—the odds that Lucas Croft could make it through one night without offending her on about twelve different levels were slim to none. Plus, it would be a tad bit awkward doing the walk of shame down the hallway of his house. Nope, a cold shower would have to suffice. Which shouldn’t be a problem given the likelihood of the Crusty Crab turning off the hot water anyway.
Paige opened the door an inch or so and listened for the sound of running water, or footsteps in the hallway, or even the clang of a pot or two from downstairs. But all she heard was a blissful silence interrupted only by the sound of the raindrops pattering against the leaded-glass windows that ran the length of the staircase.
With the coast clear, she scampered to the bathroom, and after she’d made herself sufficiently presentable for breakfast—and returned the items Lucas had left on the pedestal sink to the medicine cabinet where they belonged—headed downstairs. But instead of finding a continental breakfast, let alone a hot one, all Paige found waiting for her was a note that looked like it had been written by a monkey.
The jagged scrap of paper was stuck to the top of a box of Froot Loops. “Gone to town. Help yourself” was all it said. At least that’s what she thought it said. Could have just as easily read “Game tour. Hop Yahtzee.”
Paige picked up the cereal box and shook it. From the sounds of it, her generous host had left her a box of fruit-flavored dust. Just as well. She hadn’t had Froot Loops since she was a kid and really didn’t have a desire to revisit that culinary experience now. Still, nice of him to abandon her like that, all alone in a strange town with nothing but a raging storm to keep her company.
All alone.
The words practically lit up in her brain like a neon sign. She had no idea how long Lucas would be gone, but she was fairly certain she had enough time to check out the place.
If Sammy had been there, he would no doubt have chimed in with a snarky “Don’t you mean enough time to snoop around?” But he wasn’t there. No one was. Which meant Paige was free to take a self-guided tour of the place that brazenly referred to itself as “the hidden jewel of the Carolina coast.” Yeah, right. If the internet was a library, that website would undoubtedly have been filed under fiction. And not on the romance shelf either. She smiled at her own joke as she began exploring the first floor. She’d seen the kitchen and the living room the night before—and she’d definitely spent enough time lurking in the hallway—which left only the back of the house.
There was a small area off the kitchen that served as a pantry and laundry room, although it seemed to be failing on both fronts as the shelves were mostly bare and the laundry was piled nearly as high as the machine. What food was in stock looked like a cross between what you’d find in a dorm room and a day-care center: six bottles of Gatorade, two boxes of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks, a few bags of pretzels, a case of beer, a box of graham crackers, individual servings of applesauce, and a haphazard pile of ramen.
Without thinking, Paige lined the Gatorade up by color and arranged the dehydrated squares of noodles into an orderly stack. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. Her host’s mess wasn’t her problem, and if she didn’t get out of there soon, she’d end up sorting his laundry into darks and lights.
She turned to leave, but not before moving the Gatorade to the same shelf as the beer. Pigsty or not, it just made sense to keep the beverages together.
As sad as the pantry situation was, she could almost look past it once she saw the true gem of the house: the back porch. Spanning the entire rear of the building, the now-glass-enclosed three-season room was the one thing about the inn that was exactly as advertised: wooden rocking chairs stretched the length of the porch, each accented with a small pillow on the seat and a cozy throw draped over the back. Honestly, it was the only part of the house that looked as though a woman was in charge. She hated how sexist that sounded, but seeing as how her host himself was such a walking, talking stereotype, she felt her assessment of the room was more than a little justified.
Without the glass, Paige was sure the ocean breeze would only serve to make the setting all the more perfect. But since it was February and said ocean breeze carried more than a bit of a nip, not to mention monsoon-level rains, she was grateful that her host had replaced the screens with glass. At least he kept up with some household chores. Then again, for all she knew, the glass had been in place all summer too.
As welcoming as the porch itself was—right down to the potbelly stove in the far corner—it paled in comparison to the main attraction on display through the windows that accounted for three of the four walls. Paige stepped toward the glass for a better view of the Carolina coast that seemed to stretch indefinitely in both directions. Tall seagrass swayed and bowed to the raging storm, but she knew on a sunny day it would stand in welcome to the guests who ventured down the wooden planks that lead to the ocean. At the moment, the water looked gray and daunting, its white-capped waves more like the teeth of an angry growl than the foam of an enticing bath, but somehow it seemed to set just the right tone. All she needed was a hot drink and a good book.
Paige turned toward one of the chairs. When she did, she couldn’t help but smile at the pillow propped on the seat. It was the ideal shape for lumbar support, but its functionality wasn’t what made her smile, despite the gloom of the day. It was the very happy-looking sea turtle woven into the tapestry. Again, not at all what she was expecting. If it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t know how much time she had on her own, Paige would have curled up with the little turtle and enjoyed a much-needed cup of coffee under the cozy throw. But for now, a quick survey of the room would have to do. She still had the second floor to explore.
She took the stairs slowly and methodically, although she had no idea why. No one was going to hear the creak of the treads beneath her feet. No one was around to raise so much as an eyebrow at her blatant disregard for her host’s rules, although truth be told, her conscience wasn’t exactly keeping her mouth shut. Neither was her assistant. Even a thousand miles away, the sound of Sammy’s all-too-familiar tsking was impossible to miss. Not that it stopped her from opening the first closed door she came upon.
It was another guest room, or at least that’s what she assumed. Because unlike the one she was staying in, this one was more of a work in progress, and that was putting it nicely. The only furniture in the room was a mattress, and even that was on the floor. There was a stack of books beside it with a small lamp resting on top and a few piles of haphazardly folded clothing leaning against the far wall. For a moment, Paige wondered if someone else was staying in the house after all, but then she realized that the T-shirt at the bottom of the unmade bed was the one Lucas had been wearing the night before. He slept there? It seemed a bit odd to her that the owner of such a large inn would sleep in such a small room. It had to be less than half the size of the one Paige had rented. Then again, maybe he left the best accommodations for guests since those would fetch the highest rates.
She closed the door and turned to the one on the opposite side of the hall. As surprising as it was to discover that her host slept on the floor as though he lived in a hostel, that was nothing compared to what she saw behind door number two. It was a child’s room—a girl’s, if the pink gingham comforter was any indication—and while it wasn’t as bad as the rest of the house, this room could still have benefited from a few days of her company’s services. There were toys and dolls everywhere. So much so that you could barely see the pink-and-green tufted rug for all the Legos and Barbies. And books. Stacks and stacks of books. Paige followed the trail of picture books that stretched across the hardwood floor to a window seat flanked by bookcases. She remembered the charming nook room from one of the photos on the website, but while the bookcases and cushioned window seat looked the same, the rest of the room was much different and certainly not ready for guests.
For a moment, Paige wondered what would’ve happened had she selected that room for the week. Would the Barbies and Legos have remained? She nearly laughed out loud for even wondering if her host would’ve cleaned up before her arrival. But then a more sobering question popped into her head. Whose room was this?
Paige pulled the door closed and made her way to the far end of the hallway. Judging by the double-door entry, she assumed this was the master bedroom. Who stayed there? Certainly not the master of the house. He was too busy living like a squatter in the smallest room.
She lowered the brass lever and pushed the door open a few inches. From the hallway, she could see a queen-sized bed with wrought-iron posts and a ruffled comforter, a cluster of candles on top of what looked to be an antique dresser, and a vase of dried-up flowers on a small nightstand next to the bed. As she stepped inside, she saw a rocking chair in the far corner and, beside it, a small marble-top table covered with framed photos. As she moved closer, she could see that each silver frame contained a picture of Lucas and the woman from the photo she’d seen in the curio downstairs, but in these there was also a baby. A girl. That would explain the pink, toy-filled room, Paige thought. But where was that child now?
Paige glanced around the room. Unlike the rest of the house, this space was immaculate. Well, aside from the dust, and judging by the amount that covered the furniture, it had been ages since anyone had even been in this room, let alone slept there. She turned back to the arrangement of frames on the table. There’d been a woman in Lucas’s life, and a baby girl, but now there was no sign of either one. What happened to them?
Paige was about to pick up one of the photos when a noise from downstairs stopped her dead in her tracks.