Covetousness: A Havenwood Falls Novella Read online

  He places the spare down and leans it against my car as he takes in the ruined tire.

  “You must have done more damage to it when you skidded.”

  “I guess. It looks like something clawed at it.”

  “What were you avoiding? A bunny?” he teases.

  My eyes slide to the area where the animal was. “A large, reddish wolf. Is that even possible?”

  “Rusty,” he whispers, with an annoyed huff.

  “What?”

  He stills, before speaking slowly. “Your rims look a little rusty,” he points out. “And, yes, a wolf is possible. You’re in the mountains now, city girl. Wild animals are abundant up here.”

  I shiver as the wind lifts again. “Right.”

  He falls silent before he bends down and begins to remove the old tire.

  “We don’t have a lot of wildlife in Newport, Rhode Island. I mean, other than the ocean life.”

  “I saw your license plate. Newport is home?”

  “Yeah. All my life. You?”

  “I live in Havenwood Falls, by way of Spain.” His voice is tight. Not unfriendly, just guarded.

  “Really?” I brighten at his confession. “What’s it like?”

  “Barcelona? Beautiful. Great food, people, and markets.”

  “I meant Havenwood Falls.”

  “Charming. Lots of festivals. Good coffee. Interesting characters. That sort of thing.”

  I hold the flashlight higher as he begins to put on the full-size spare. “This is my first visit.”

  He squints up at me, and a smug grin spreads over his perfect mouth, like he already knew.

  “I’m staying at the Whisper Falls Inn while in town. I rented a cottage,” I ramble.

  The stranger falls silent as he goes back to replacing the tire. I stop speaking as I watch his every move, taking in his rugged good looks. A familiar sensation crosses over me as I focus on his broad shoulders. Every so often, the corded muscles make an appearance under his shirt.

  “Hey, could you lower the light a bit? I’ve almost got this.”

  I squat next to him, and his gaze finds mine, prowling over me, causing my breath to catch. My chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as I try to pull air into my lungs, but it’s not working.

  “Easy.” He leans closer. “You’re at a higher altitude now. Slow down your breathing.”

  I inhale slowly through my nose, trying to push off a slight headache beginning to form.

  “You need to be careful up here. If you aren’t used to the high altitude, you’ll get sick.”

  “Just another life change I’ll have to get acclimated to, I guess.”

  After a few more intense moments pass between us, he finishes changing out the tire.

  Once my breathing evens out, he stands and holds out his hand to help me up. Without a second thought, I slide my fingers across his palm and allow him to guide me to stretch to my full height.

  “You okay?”

  I nod.

  “You should be all set now. I’ll throw the damaged tire in your trunk. Once you’re settled in town, swing by the Havenwood Falls Garage. Tell Joshua I sent you. He’ll take good care of you.” His accented voice is silky, calming.

  I nod again, suddenly feeling shy and vulnerable. Averting from his, my gaze lands on our entangled hands, and I realize I’m still holding on to him. An unexpected blush rises on my cheeks, and I quickly remove my palm from his. My body shamelessly protests the action.

  “S-sorry,” I blurt out quickly, and wrap my arms around my stomach to avoid reaching out for him again. “Thanks. For fixing it. And stopping. And helping me breathe. You know,” I babble, unable to stop. “All of it. Undressing and redressing me—it. The tire. Anyway . . . thanks.”

  He leans back on his heels, a haughty grin curling on his lips.

  “No problem. You’re lucky I couldn’t sleep and was out for a late-night drive.”

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Not even air. Did I mention I’m socially awkward?

  “All right then,” he slowly draws out, in reply to my lack of response.

  I watch as he picks up the tire, throws it into my trunk, and closes the hatch before I come to my senses. Shaking off my gawking, I quickly make my way to the driver’s side, but he’s faster and grabs the door for me, holding it open, waiting for me to slide in.

  Once I do, he leans in closer.

  So close that his mouth is only a breath from mine, and warm, mint-flavored air brushes over my lips. “Start her up. I’ll follow you into town.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his statement.

  “It’s easy to get lost out here. I’ll make sure you get to the inn safely.”

  “O-okay,” is all I manage, as his spicy scent wraps around me, stupefying me.

  His green eyes drill into me, searching my own.

  “W-what did you say your name was?”

  “Everett.” His voice is husky.

  “Graysin,” I reply.

  “Well, Graysin . . . welcome, to Havenwood Falls.”

  Chapter 2

  Havenwood Falls

  It’s long after midnight when I enter the driveway along the side of the old Victorian manor. I turn off my engine and seek out the headlight attached to Everett’s motorcycle. A second later, it appears behind my car, and I hop out of my SUV, watching him remove himself from his Harley with an effortless grace. His movements are fluid, unnatural almost.

  Our eyes meet as he walks toward me with a predatory stalk and a knowing grin, which excites and unnerves me at the same time. Holy shit. I need to get myself into check.

  Hot guys with great hair isn’t why I’m here in town.

  A loud cawing noise breaks through our moment, and my focus shifts to the sky, where a large black crow circles us. Everett throws an annoyed look toward the bird, and I swear it laughs at him as it flies off. What is with the weird wildlife here?

  “Friend of yours?” I tease.

  His gaze snaps to mine in question before it roams over my body.

  Uncomfortable with his reaction, I shift. “I was kidding.”

  “Were you?” he accuses in a defensive tone.

  Okay, he isn’t a bird lover. Instead of answering him, I turn my attention toward the quaint, large wrap-around porch. The arid flower beds are bathed in the moon’s bluish glow.

  Even in the darkness of night, the old estate looks like it’s seen better days. I follow the paint-chipped siding around the three-story inn, complete with turrets and gingerbread trim, and frown. The interior designer in me twitches with the need to restore it to its former glory.

  “What’s the matter, city girl? Afraid of an old, haunted inn?”

  My chin jerks up, and I widen my eyes. “It’s haunted?”

  Everett chuckles softly. “By the ghost of Mammie.”

  “The ghost of Mammie?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t do well with ghosts, so you might want to keep that one to yourself.”

  “I can do that.”

  “It must have been an extremely beautiful piece of architecture once,” I mutter.

  Everett’s focus slides from the inn to me, and back. “Want help with your luggage?”

  “No, thanks. I can manage.” I bite my lower lip and wait for him to leave.

  He doesn’t.

  Instead, he studies the inn with me in a comfortable silence. After a moment, I pull my gaze from the plaque by the manor’s front door that reads, “Whisper Falls Inn, Est. 1854,” and allow it to focus on his lean, muscular frame as he moves with careless grace, stepping in front of me.

  Everett’s closeness causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end in a combination of delight and uncertainty. It’s official—my growing crush on him is both unhealthy and distracting.

  “You good if I leave you here for the night?” he asks.

  I clear my throat to compose myself. “Yes, of course. I just hope it’s not too late to check in, or a
nything. You know, I got lost driving here, and now it’s way past when I was expected.”

  A brilliant grin lights his face. “I wouldn’t worry. Michaela prefers late check-ins.”

  “Michaela?” I question. For some absurd reason, it annoys me to think she might be his girlfriend.

  “The inn’s new owner.”

  I dip my chin and nod in response, trying to hide my relief that he didn’t say “my girlfriend.”

  “This is a small town. Fair warning, everyone knows everyone else—and their business.”

  “Noted.” I meet his eyes. “So, I guess I should go. Check in. Find my cottage. And . . . stuff.”

  The amusement falls from his face, and a frown creases his brow. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was afraid to leave me here. But that would be insane, right? He’s a stranger.

  “Okay, well,” he begins. “It was nice to meet you, Graysin.”

  “You, too, Everett.”

  “Oh, hey, can you give something to Michaela for me after you’ve checked in?”

  I smother a sigh as my heart sinks. She is his girlfriend. “Sure.”

  He gazes down at me, apparently pleased with my answer before he turns and walks back to his bike. A few moments later, he steps closer and hands me a large envelope.

  Damn, he’s beautiful.

  “Drugs?” I jest.

  He scowls. “Paperwork. A signed contract. Kaela hired my firm to help restore the inn.”

  “Firm?”

  “Weston Designs,” he offers.

  Oh shit! I shut my eyes tight.

  “Hey, your cheeks are all pinkish-red. You okay?”

  “Yeah, just . . . ah . . . lack of oxygen.” I open my eyes and stare at him.

  “I normally handle the architecture side of projects, but I contracted an interior designer, which will allow me to help Kaela out with the inn’s renovations,” he shares.

  After a moment of composing myself, I hold out my hand awkwardly. His gaze slides to it before meeting mine in question.

  “Graysin Ravenal. I’m the new interior designer.”

  “Ravenal,” he repeats in a soft voice, and I withdraw my hand.

  “I believe a Miss Mary Beth Fairchild in human resources confirmed my hiring details.”

  “Human . . . Miss Mary . . .” He looks confused. “Miss Mary Beth is my office manager.”

  “Your office manager,” I parrot. “Not human resources?”

  “No. We don’t have human resources. There’s only myself and her at the firm.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “That makes two of us,” he replies. “You were supposed to be a Scott O’Brien. From Ireland.”

  “I was?”

  “You were.”

  “Oh. But . . . you did contract an interior designer, right?” I confirm.

  “I did,” he recovers quickly.

  I wave the envelope at him. “I thought it was a six-month contract for the town library only?”

  Everett studies me for a moment, as if I’m a foreign object, before his expression changes into one of understanding. After what feels like an eternity, a lazy, appreciative grin presents itself.

  “The inn is an unexpected project and something we can discuss on Monday.” He pauses. “At work.”

  “Right.” I hold his gaze. “Work.”

  Everett looks around and swallows. “It will be good that you’re staying here. Maybe it will give you inspiration for how we can help Michaela make things better here for her guests.”

  “Is she your girlfriend or something?”

  “Michaela?” He laughs lightly. “No.”

  I cringe. “Sorry, it’s just . . . you seem really anxious to help her out, so I just assumed.”

  An unease hangs in the air between us. After a few moments, he tips his chin to the inn.

  “The sun will be up soon. I should go and let you get settled in.”

  “Right. Yeah, of course,” I ramble. “Thanks again . . . you know, for all your help tonight.”

  Everything around us becomes quiet as the slowest of smiles curls on his perfect lips.

  “Night, Graysin.”

  There is a look in his eyes, one I can’t decipher, and I certainly don’t trust, as he gives me his back.

  “Night, Everett,” I manage, and watch him saunter toward his motorcycle.

  For a few moments, I stand there, staring at the empty space he’s put between us with each measured step he takes, even after the roar of his Harley disappears.

  Shaking my head in silence at what I’m doing, I go to my car and grab the luggage I brought, while reminding myself to focus on the real reason I’m in Havenwood Falls.

  I woke up early this morning, still groggy from days of traveling, but refreshed. As odd as it sounds, it turns out Michaela did like that I checked in to the inn super late. It also turns out that she’s nice, which made my unmerited anxiety about her and Everett’s nonexistent relationship seem even more ridiculous. After I gave her the signed contract, she upgraded me to a premium cottage, which I have been holed up in for the past twenty-four hours, sleeping off my travel exhaustion. I finally decide I need a good cup of coffee, and venture out into town in search of one.

  The smell emanating from the freshly brewing coffee makes my mouth water as I anxiously wait for my name to be called by the young girl behind the long marble counter, adorably named Paisley. To distract myself from my lack of caffeine, I study the local artwork proudly displayed on the walls of Coffee Haven. The coffee shop, which boasts “voted best blueberry scone,” is in a historical building and reminds me of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. I take in its hardwood floors and large picture window, decorated with spring flower boxes.

  A small smile creeps onto my lips as I peer out at the town square, where a group of people are participating in a Sunday morning yoga class. Or at least they are attempting to.

  Quaint.

  Havenwood Falls is certainly full of historical, small-town charm.

  I can see why she loved it here.

  At the thought of her, the sadness descends again, and I barely hear my name being called.

  Walking toward the pickup counter, I grab my award-winning scone and coffee before inhaling the blissful scent of roasted beans. I practically force myself not to moan in delight.

  “The secret is using water from the springs,” a warm breath whispers in my ear, startling me.

  I jump and spin quickly—too quickly.

  The entire contents of my cup fly out and all over the guy invading my personal space.

  “Oh, shit!” I squeal, panicking.

  And there it goes—my rich, full-bodied coffee all over Everett’s rich, full-bodied, well, body.

  Embarrassment flashes through me before I come to my senses and grab a ton of napkins from the dispenser. I try to make quick work of wiping away my humiliation, mixed in with the dark liquid now staining his jeans and light gray thermal as I inappropriately rub my boss—in public—while making a huge spectacle of myself in a busy café.

  An adorable half-smile appears on Everett’s face as he watches me awkwardly try to clean him up. He seems to be finding a great deal of humor in my reaction. It also doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest that I’m making a scene by rubbing his hard body, and crotch, in public.

  “Ugh, you’re hot—” I mutter. “I mean . . .” My eyes widen in realization of what just fell out of my mouth. “I meant, it’s hot. The liquid is hot.” I say each word slowly so he understands. “The coffee . . . is . . . hot . . .” I trail off. “Sorry. It must be burning. Good lord, I am such a klutz.”

  “Graysin,” his deep, husky voice says.

  “The inn is going through renovations, and well, I needed a strong cup of coffee,” I explain.

  “Graysin.”

  “Hence the reason for the coffee run. And blueberry scone.” I shake the bag holding the baked good at him, proudly. “Apparently, they’re award-winning. A must-try . .
. or something.”

  His eyes, an even more impossible deep shade of green this morning, sparkle at me as he cocks his head to the side in a distractingly charming way. “You done rambling, city girl?”

  “God, I really hope so,” I mumble.

  He nods in amused acknowledgment, still watching me closely.

  “What I’m trying to say is, I am sorry for spilling hot coffee all over you this morning.”

  “Apology accepted. It’s my fault for startling you.”

  “True.”

  “How about I purchase you another—as a peace offering?”

  “Um, okay,” I reply, and he steps around me and orders.

  Looking around, I mentally chastise myself for my reaction to him whenever he’s near.

  “Well, that was mortifying to watch. I guess it could have been worse,” a girl around my age teases. “Actually, I take that back. Seeing you rub the crotch of the town’s newest and most eligible bachelor, in front of children, on a Sunday morning, in the Haven, was painfully awkward to witness.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I defend, with little effort behind it.

  “Didn’t you?” Her hazel eyes shine brightly.

  “Ah, no. Believe it or not, I am actually this socially awkward.”

  The girl assesses me for a moment. Her heavily bangled wrist jingles as she lifts a hand covered in rings to her wavy, waist-length, dark brown hair. It’s parted in the center of her full, heart-shaped face. Immediately, I fall in love with her off-the-shoulder half shirt and peasant skirt. She looks like she just walked off the pages of a Free People catalog.

  “I believe you.”

  I frown. I can’t tell if her agreement was a compliment or not. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Callie Montgomery.” She offers her hand, which I take.

  “Graysin Ravenal.”

  At the sound of my name, Callie’s perfectly manicured brows dart up. “Ravenal?”

  Keeping my emotions even, I nod. I need to remember this town is small, and some here might have known her by her maiden name. She smiles a little, but her expression has changed.

  It’s become more curious.

  “Here you go.” Everett reappears, along with my new coffee, which I take gratefully.