Page 84 of Words of Love
Chapter 23
Sam took a gulp of whiskey and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The noise and music filling the Mousehole Tavern did nothing to drown out thefeelingsthat had been ricocheting through him since his argument with Brooke last night.
He was mad at himself. He was mad at Brooke. He was really fucking pissed off at thatEmpirejackass. And he was especially angry at whatever goddamned “universal forces” had conspired to put him in the same cabin with Brooke during a freak blizzard.
If she hadn’t been there…
If he hadn’t been there…
He wouldn’t have spent an hour picking out a snowflake pendant for her. He wouldn’t have watched her stand on her tiptoes to reach a box of sugar in the kitchen cabinet and been so caught up in hercutenessthat he’d hauled her close and kissed her like she was the air he needed to breathe.
He wouldn’t have spent almost every night during the past week buried so deep inside her that he never wanted to leave. He wouldn’t have felt as if he were struck in the heart every time she flashed him a quick, private smile. He wouldn’t have learned thatbellis perenniswas a common species of daisies, or that Brooke was ticklish at the base of her spine, or that—
He sure as hell wouldn’t be thinking corny, romantic thoughts.
“I feel like I’m falling in love with you.”
He still couldn’t get his head around it. Her words sat like a glowing ball right inside his chest, so bright he couldn’t even look at them. He didn’t dare think about what would happen if he let himself believe her.
But Brooke didn’t lie. She was the most open and honest person he’d ever known.
Which meant—
“Another whiskey, straight up,” he said.
Grant Taylor, owner and head chef of the tavern, glanced at him with a raised eyebrow but poured the Jack Daniel’s. He set the glass in front of Sam along with a bowl of peanuts.
“You want some dinner?” Grant asked.
Sam shook his head and swallowed half the drink. He didn’t know what the hell to do next. He didn’t know if he should call Brooke or if she even wanted to hear from him again. Messy entanglements like this were the reason he stayed away from people. His own damned fault for breaking the rule.
“Hey, man.” Jake Ryan hitched himself onto an empty barstool. “You know Hunter?”
Sam nodded, extending a hand to the other guy who took a seat at the bar beside Jake. A property developer, Hunter Armstrong had descended on Bliss Cove last spring with the intention of demolishing the historic Mariposa district to make room for a shopping and condo complex. He hadn’t expected to face a determined enemy in the sweet, cat-loving Aria Prescott.
Though Sam had followed the battle from the sidelines, he’d anonymously contributed several sizeable donations to Aria’s renovation fund, which had eventually become a joint venture run by both her and Hunter.
Grant stopped by to deposit Jake’s and Hunter’s usual beers in front of them.
“Haven’t seen you here in a while,” Jake said to Sam, after taking a drink. “We’re playing some pool later, if you want to join us.”
Sam made a noncommittal noise and grabbed a handful of peanuts. A few minutes of polite small talk and he’d get out of here.
“Hey, sorry about the cabin screw-up.” Hunter twisted his mouth ruefully. “I should’ve called about the reservation rather than relying on the website.”
“No problem.”
Jake huffed out a laugh. “Sounds like it was a big problem, if you walked in and found out Brooke Castle was there.”
Sam frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing, man.” Jake held up a placating hand. “Just that we’re all waiting for a personal essay about her snowstorm adventure.”
Sam flexed his fingers. “Brooke wouldn’t do that.”
His tone came out harder than he’d intended. Hunter and Jake exchanged glances.
Hunter shrugged. “She’s a great girl. She can turn anything into a story.”