No Kissing Allowed (No Kissing Allowed #1)(38)
“I’m glad to be here, Mrs. Paterson.”
“Lorelei.”
“Lorelei.”
“Well, why don’t you show him around, Cammie? Then maybe he could help Eric cut some firewood, while you help me in the kitchen?”
My eyes widened at Aidan. “Um…”
“I’d love to help,” he assured me, then her. “Wherever you need me.”
By some miracle my extended family had not arrived yet, so with Mom off in the kitchen and Eric outside, I led Aidan upstairs to my room and showed him the guest room beside my room, where my parents would expect him to sleep.
“Where’s their room?”
“Downstairs.”
“So,” Aidan asked, pulling me into his arms and gently trailing kisses from my neck to my ear and back, “if I were to sneak into your room, they wouldn’t notice?”
“Naughty.”
He caught my earlobe between his teeth and whispered, “With any luck.”
We came down to the sound of Mom humming in the kitchen and the crackle of a fire from the fireplace in the great room. Contentment settled over me as I opened the back door to our deck, the small lake behind our house glistening in the afternoon sun. The woods surrounding it were all painted in the yellows and oranges and reds of fall, except for the evergreen pines. I smiled fondly at memories out on our dock, my legs hanging over the side as Eric cast from beside me, then when he caught something, I’d jump up and he’d pass me the rod, allowing me to reel it in. Like I’d caught the fish instead of him.
The deck led to a flagstone patio, complete with a stone fire pit and matching stone grill. A glass table with four chairs around it sat untouched.
I pointed to the swing hanging under the deck, just beside the spa. “That’s the swing Eric proposed to my mom on. It was in one of the gardens in town, and he convinced them to let him replace it with a new one, so he could have that one. It was rotting at the time, but he restored it and hung it here. Mom gets goose bumps every time she sits on it, like it takes her right back to that day.”
“Now, you’re going to make him think I’m a romantic,” Eric called from beside the old barn he converted into a work area years ago.
“You are a romantic.”
Eric started to argue, then shrugged. “I have my moments. Chain saw or splitting maul, Aidan?” he asked.
“I can split ‘em,” Aidan said, and I couldn’t help grinning as his accent returned.
“Good.”
Aidan pushed up the sleeves of his waffle shirt and gripped the ax, causing me to dive into fantasies of him getting especially worked up and having to remove that shirt and—
“Cammie!” Mom called from the porch. “Need you!”
I waved apologetically to Aidan. “I’ll bring you some drinks out in a bit.”
Walking away, I heard Eric ask Aidan where he’d graduated, and then a grin spread across my face as Aidan said Tennessee, and they settled into talk of football and the SEC and who might end up in the title game this year.
Once back inside, I found Mom kneading dough, her phone tucked between her chin and shoulder. “No, we’re good today. Yes, I’m sure. Yes, just come tomorrow morning. Yes, eating at one like always. Yes, right. Yes, one. Cammie’s here. No, Eric’s fine. She brought a friend.” She nodded to a bowl of peaches and then the knife and cutting board in front of them. I went to work. “I don’t know. Just a friend. Maybe more.” Her eyebrows rose at me in question, and I shook my head with a laugh.
But then it occurred to me that Aidan and I could never be more. Not really. He would never want a commitment, would never spend another Thanksgiving with me. I knew what I was getting into with him, yet I wanted more.
I focused back on the peaches, telling myself I would talk to him when we returned to New York. The rules became more muddled the more time we spent together, so why not ask about our future? Why not want more? And maybe he would be happy. Maybe he would agree and kiss me and say he didn’t want this to end.
My gaze drifted out into the kitchen, my nerves coiling tighter with each disillusioned thought. Because despite all the maybes, deep down I knew he was far more likely to kiss my cheek and leave.
Chapter Nineteen
I came outside an hour later to check on Aidan and Eric to find them laughing, both men covered in sweat despite the November chill. Aidan had shed his waffle shirt to just a fitted white undershirt and low-hanging jeans, and suddenly that fantasy from before came roaring back to life.
“Water?” I asked, holding out two cold bottles.
Eric grabbed his. “Thanks.” He took a long sip, then clapped Aidan on the back. “I need to go make a call. Be back in a bit.” He winked over at me before disappearing through the basement door into their finished basement—aka Eric’s man cave.
I gripped the ax and spread my legs out. “All right. Tell me what to hit.”
Aidan laughed. “Settle down there before you hurt somebody.”
“Hey, now. I can do it.”
He unscrewed his water and took a long pull, then set a log up for me. “All right, then, Ms. Mighty. Go right ahead. Just let me step back a few yards.”
“Funny thing, aren’t you?” I said with a glare, then gripping the handle, I lifted it high and brought it down on the log, but it lodged into the wood instead of actually splitting it. Struggling to free the ax, I put my foot on the log and tugged and pulled and yanked, all to no avail, only to glance over to find Aidan in near hysterics.