The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(96)

The woman behind the desk types away.

We stayed in a hideous hotel last night, and Jameson refuses to stay there again. He said we can only stay the full weekend if I find somewhere half-decent for the next two nights. He’s chasing coffee outside for us.

The rain is gone, and at some stage we have to go back and pick up the camping stuff from the Armageddon storm last night. We just got our things and left. There was nothing we could do in the middle of the night in those conditions anyway.

“I only have a farmhouse.” She types and then reads. “Arndell is the property.”

I frown as I listen.

“It’s available for two nights, and you can have that at a discounted rate if you want.”

I smile. I love that she thinks we need a discount. “Okay, that sounds good. Thank you.” I slide over Jameson’s credit card, and she does the paperwork.

“Here are the keys.” She hands me a map. “Go down to Falls Road, and then the property has its own road in on the right.”

“Oh, how big is it?”

“The house is on three hundred acres. The land is gorgeous. The house is a little tired, but the location is stunning.”

I smile. “Cool, okay.”

I bounce out to the pickup to see my poor disheveled man. He looks like he’s been to hell and back, and funnily enough, I think it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. It’s as if that sanity rubber band that broke in him last night released some of his tension.

“Okay, we got a farmhouse.”

He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh and hands me my coffee. He shifts the gears on the steering wheel and pulls out.

I smile out the window as I ride in the bumpy truck.

“Do you know we haven’t passed a car?” he says as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

He shrugs. “Different.”

We follow the directions, and ten minutes later we get to a big stone entryway with the sign.

ARNDELL

“This is it.”

We turn up the driveway, and I smile. The road is lined with huge trees that create a canopy. Rolling green hills are as far as you can see.

“Oh, look at this place.” I smile in wonder. “She said the land was beautiful.” For five minutes, we drive through until we get to the top of a hill and find a big old house. It’s white with a sweeping veranda around the edge. The roof is made of shingles, and it must be a hundred years old.

Jameson’s eyes find me.

“Don’t say anything.” I smirk.

He holds his hands up in the air as if crying defeat.

We climb out and open the front door and peer in. I smile broadly. Wide-timber floors, a huge fireplace, and great big windows with views out over the property. You can see for miles from up here. The furniture is dated, but that doesn’t matter to us.

I take Jay’s hand as we walk through and look around. A large living area, a formal dining room, a big kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom are downstairs. There’s an old timber staircase, and we go up to find five bedrooms and another bathroom.

I turn to Jameson and wrap my arms around his neck. “Is this better, Mr. Miles?”

He smiles as he bends to kiss me. “This will do.”

We lie on a blanket in the grass, and the sun is warm on our faces. It’s Sunday afternoon, and we are in a sleepy haze.

Last night was heaven. We lit the fire, and Jay humored me and helped me carry the mattress out so that we could sleep next to it.

Today we have explored the property and went into town to grab some groceries in our light-blue pickup truck.

Jameson is relaxed for the first time since we met.

I’m happy . . . so happy.

I roll to face him. “Tell me about your relationship with Claudia.”

He frowns and rolls to his side toward me. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He reaches up and brushes his finger over my bottom lip. “It wasn’t like what we have.”

“How so?”

“Well, we were friends for a long time. There was never this instant attraction or . . .” His voice trails off.

“No, go on,” I urge. “I want to know.”

“She did some stories for us, and we got to know each other. Then . . . over time we built a friendship.”

I watch him.

“I thought . . .” He hesitates and plays with the blanket underneath him as he thinks for a moment.

“You thought what?”

“I thought she was the love of my life. She was like me. Driven.” He shrugs. “She got me.”

My stomach twists in jealousy.

“We were together for three years. Engaged.”

I frown. “You were engaged?” I didn’t know this. It was on her bio but not his, and I was hoping it was wrong.

“Yes.”

My eyes hold his. “What happened?”

He exhales heavily. “She was offered the job as editor in chief for British Vogue. It was a huge thing, and she had worked so hard to get it.”

I watch him as he speaks.

“She moved and . . .” His voice trails off.

“What?”

“We tried the long-distance thing, and I struggled with no sex. It’s not who I am.”