A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,54
exhausting uphill battles to get to the place of “no fucks given” Epic took for granted.
No. That wasn’t right.
Good for him.
Good for him and still good for me. We all stand on the shoulders of giants.
“You’re awfully quiet.” He wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me even closer. “Deep thoughts?”
I shook my head. “Just thoughts. Nothing deep.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, Thinky McOverthinker. All your thoughts are probably deep.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s what I like about you.” He leaned over to give some plum-sweet bearded irises a sniff, taking me with him. “You care about things that matter to me.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice. I like that about you too.”
“What’s next for you?” He broke away and jammed his hands into his pockets. “A few days in St. Nacho’s and then what?”
“I go back to work.”
“Better take it slow. You’ll get decompression sickness after all this frivolity.”
“I’ll be sure to watch my ascent. Descent?” The laptop in my trunk was already calling me. “I’ll probably spend a little time assessing where I stand from St. Nacho’s. I wonder if Dan and Cam have broadband or FIOS?”
“You’re staying with them? Cool. I mean you could stay with me, but it’s barely better than dorm living. We have an actual brick-and-board bookcase, no lie, and Bea’s got a bra perpetually hanging in the bathroom to dry.”
“Not cool. I planned to stay a few more nights at a resort, not in someone’s guest room, but if I must, at least Dan and Cam’s place has a private bath for me.”
“You could stay at the SeaView, but after the Four Seasons it might seem a little depressing. Why don’t you see if there’s an Airbnb? There are a couple of nice ones, probably.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that?
“You’re gen whatever.” I handed him my phone. “Pick me a nice one. My card’s on file.”
“Ooh.” He tackled the task happily while I listened to the thrum of insects and the whisper of a breeze through the leaves of trees. We continued walking, but because he was so absorbed in my phone, I took a turn at keeping us on the path.
What I really wanted was to lie down on the grass and take a nap. I had emotional jetlag—a kind of foggy, brittle exhaustion I could apparently get without going on a trip across time zones. Or maybe I had crossed one, from six years ago to now.
I’d let my emotions hibernate out of some misguided self-preservation instinct. Now they’d woken and nothing was what I thought it was.
I had changed.
"Got one." Epic announced. "You look exhausted. I'll drive. You can sleep the rest of the way.
"Sounds great." I could barely keep my eyes open.
He took my hand. "Let's go."
Chapter Nineteen
Epic woke me after he parked outside the Airbnb. I looked at the time. Three in the afternoon. I’d slept the rest of the way back.
In the driveway, Epic introduced me to Ken Ashton, who owned this place and several others if I understood correctly.
“Here are the keys.” Ken handed them over and I let myself inside. Briefly, he walked us through the house. “You’ll find your breakfast basket on the porch at seven tomorrow morning. Just fill out this form so I know what your drink preferences are.”
He gave me a form and a pencil, and I leaned over the counter in the kitchen and checked off the marked boxes.
“Food allergies?” I asked Epic.
“Nope.”
“Regular coffee? Or do you want something else to drink?”
“Coffee’s great. Cream and sugar.”
“The basket comes with assorted pastries and muffins,” said Ken. “I have it delivered from Café Bêtise. I think you’ll find their pastries are superb.”
Epic nodded enthusiastically. “We serve them at Bistro.”
“Of course. You’re the waiter.” Ken rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I recognized your face. Jeremy, right?”
I snorted.
“Well, that’s one of the name tags I wear, but my name is Epic.”
“Is it?”
“Mmhmm.”
Ken waited.
I’d seen this coming, sooner or later, and sat back to enjoy the show.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” asked Ken. “Or should I guess? Rumpelstiltskin.”
“It really is Epic,” I answered for my fake boyfriend, who looked blank. “Not an epic name, but the name, Epic.”
“Oh.” A sweet blush flooded Ken’s cheeks. “Who’s on first?”
“That’s right.”
“What just happened?” Epic’s face scrunched up adorably.
“Old joke,” I explained.
“Ah. Got it.” He backed away slowly. “I’ll just bring in the bags while you reminisce.”
We watched him go.
“You’ll both be staying with us until Friday?” asked Ken.