Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(45)

“We’d be in my bedroom a hell of a lot sooner if you stopped searching for the closet to Narnia in your bag.”

“I need to make sure I have one more thing.”

“I have extra toothbrushes, so you should be good there.”

“I need to make sure I have my prescription.”

“You can’t skip it for one night?”

I shake my head. “I have to take it at the same time every night, or it throws me off.”

“Right. Okay. We don’t want that,” Aaron says.

I typically carry enough for a couple of days in my purse, in case of unexpected situations like this. I finally snag the little case and give it a shake. It makes a rattling sound, which tells me I’m right: I have what I need. “Yup! Looks like we’re all set. I can stay at your place tonight.”

“Great.” He grins and laces our fingers together, leading me down the next row, where his truck is parked.

He wasn’t lying when he said his place was close. It’s only a short drive from the pub. Aaron turns down a bumpy side road and then down an even narrower driveway. It widens after about fifteen feet, opening up to a circular driveway. A small log cabin sits in the middle of the clearing, and to the right is a garage, or maybe it’s more of a shed. It doesn’t look big enough to house the truck, but I imagine it’s where he keeps his tools. The moon hangs low in the sky, reflecting off the water in the distance.

It’s too dark for me to see where exactly we are on the lake, but we’re a fair distance from Van’s place. Which reminds me: I should send him a message so he doesn’t worry when my car isn’t in the driveway in the morning. I let him know that I won’t be home until tomorrow after work. He gives me a thumbs-up in response and follows with a message:

If Aaron is tired tomorrow I’m blaming it on you. Play safe.

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks as he turns off the engine and pulls the key from the ignition.

“Yup. Just letting Van know I won’t be home until tomorrow.”

Aaron flips his keys around his finger and motions between us. “He cool with this?”

“He’s my brother, not my dad, Aaron. And I’m a grown-ass woman. I can do what I want.”

He chuckles. “I’m aware that you’re a grown-ass woman, and I’m also aware that you can, and do, do what you want. I just mean, he’s not giving you grief or anything? It’s not like he doesn’t know about my reputation around here.”

“Van doesn’t pay much attention to gossip, and if he had a problem with it, he would have said something already. He’s not in the habit of getting involved in my personal life.”

“Just making sure.”

I feel like he wants to say more, but instead he unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door. I do the same, then jump down from the passenger side. I close the door and meet him around the front of the truck, falling into step beside him as we make our way down the stone path and up onto a platform deck that seems to wrap around the entire cottage.

He unlocks the front door and ushers me inside, hitting the light to the right of the door, illuminating the space. It looks a lot bigger on the inside than it does from the outside. The kitchen is to my left; one wall of upper and lower cabinets, a wall oven, a fridge, and a dishwasher take up the space. The other side has a gas cooktop and sink built into an island.

A small table with sides that flip up is tucked against the far wall. Next to that is a set of sliding glass doors leading to the deck. A couch, with its back facing us, is set in front of a wood-burning fireplace. To the right is a TV hung from the wall. Three doors line the right side of the cottage, one of which presumably contains Aaron’s bedroom. Where I’m going to sleep tonight. With him.

“It’s not much, but it’s comfortable,” he mutters.

“I love it. It’s cozy.” I tip my head up and turn to look at him. “And it smells like you.”

He grins. “What do I smell like?”

“Like cedar and cologne.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He heads for the fridge and opens the door. “Can I get you something to drink? I have root beer, milk, chocolate milk, water, and that’s about it. Oh, and”—he picks up a mostly empty container of orange juice—“expired OJ.”

“The root beer is such a surprise.”

He gives me a chagrined smile. “It’s my drink of choice.”

“I sort of figured that. I’ll have water, please.”

“Are you hungry? I don’t have much in the fridge, but I’ve got lots of snacks. Chips, pretzels, granola bars, nuts, that kind of thing. You can check out my stash, see if there’s something you want.” He motions to the pantry cupboard.

“Your cupboards sound like a convenience store.” I take him up on his offer to have a peek inside, not because I’m hungry but because I’m curious.

“That would be a fairly accurate assessment. I’m not home for meals very often.”

“And cooking for one isn’t all that satisfying,” I finish for him.

“Exactly.”

I poke around in his cupboard while he pours us glasses of water. It really does resemble a convenience store shelf. The bags of chips and pretzels are stacked three or four deep, by flavor. “Wow. You weren’t kidding about the nuts.” There are hickory-smoked almonds, sriracha-and-honey almonds, salted almonds, unsalted raw almonds, almond trail mix, and several other cans of nuts to choose from.