Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection

by Nikki Bolvair

  “You might want to skip that one. They’ve been known to bite.” His hand drops away, and I skim the rest of the board. “Most of these are out of date, or they’re still here because no one in town will take them.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders drooping in disappointment, and he shoves his hands into his back pockets. “That’s too bad.”

  Sucking my cheeks in, I glance from the man back to the board, then straighten. “There’s a classified section in Lapton Weekly.”

  He perks up in an instant. “Do you have a copy? I stopped at the newspaper office near the docks before coming here, but they were closed.”

  “No, sorry.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “Mrs. Flanagan uses our copy to reline her cat box every week.”

  “When does the next issues come out?”

  “Sunday.” As his shoulders droop with disappointment, I hasten to add, “But Lapton Weekly’s office is open tomorrow. They usually have extra copies.”

  He un-wilts in an instant. “Yes, I’ll do that. I’m sure to find something.”

  Doubtful, I glance down at his odd attire. He might get more suspicious looks than job offers. Especially for temporary work. I consider calling my dad to see if he might be willing to offer Hamilton a place at the hardware store. “Are you good with numbers?”

  “Not at all.” Sheepish, he shakes his head.

  There goes that idea. “How long are you planning to stay in town?”

  “Just a few more weeks.” He straightens with determination. “The next paper comes out on Sunday, right? If nothing pans out with last week’s issue, maybe there will be something new by then. That’s not too long to wait.”

  “Are you staying at the inn? I can give you a ring if I hear about any openings between now and then.”

  “Oh, no. I’m staying with a friend. Near the docks.”

  My brow crinkles in confusion. Most of the houses near the docks have been converted to businesses.

  “Time to lock the door, dear.” Mrs. Flanagan announces as she enters the front room. As her footsteps pause, Hamilton and I turn to find her frozen in place, her eyes wide as her gaze travels over his vibrant outfit.

  I glance at the clock over the door, surprised to find it’s already six o’clock. Hamilton sweeps forward, sandals slapping against his bare heels as he joins Mrs. Flanagan at the counter. He lifts her left hand to cup in both of his.

  Voice soft, he gazes down at the elderly woman. “Hello, I’m Hamilton.”

  Pink tints her cheeks. “Mrs. Flanagan. A pleasure to meet you. What brings you to our modest community centre, Hamilton?”

  He releases her hand and takes a step back. “Mr. McArthur at Lapton Steam directed me here. Said I might find a job opening on the board.”

  Eyes bright with interest, the blush in her cheeks darkens to red. “Oh, was Doolin there visiting his son, Peter?”

  “Yes. Such a nice gentleman.” Hamilton’s fingers lace behind his back. “He was stocking the pastry case with the most delicious looking cookies.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Hmm.” Hamilton nods, his expression serious. “Looked to be powdered lemon cookies.”

  Her eyes dart to find me forgotten next to the announcement board. “I’ll just leave you to close up the shop, dear.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I watch in amazement as she hurriedly collects her coat and zips out the front door, the bell over the door chiming happily at her departure. When she disappears from my line of sight, I turn to Hamilton in bemusement. “I’m not sure if she’s excited to meet up with Mr. McArthur or the cookies.”

  “Maybe both?” Eyes on the window that overlooks the street, Hamilton hums an out of tune melody that reminds me of childhood. After a moment, he shakes himself. “Well, I should get out of your hair so you can close up for the night.”

  “Give me a second to write down your friend’s number, in case I hear of a job opening.” I walk behind the counter to open the narrow stationary drawer and lift out a pen and notepad.

  “Oh, it looks like you have another visitor.”

  I glance up just as Davin pushes through the front door, expression hesitant as he searches the front room. When my heart trips with happiness, I squash the feeling and narrow my eyes at him. “What are you doing back?”

  Eyes darting to Hamilton, he pulls the autumn colored, knit hat from his head to twist it between his hands. My stupid heart accelerates. He didn’t have the hat this morning, which means he visited Mom’s craft store just to buy it.

  His jaw stiffens with determination. “I said I’d come back to walk you home.”

  “And I said I had a date tonight.” I drop the pencil and notepad back into the drawer.

  Davin’s eyebrows arch as he takes another step inside. “Vonnie, come on. We both know that was a lie.”

  Cheeks hot, I glance at Hamilton, embarrassed to have this discussion in front of a complete stranger. Expression filled with interest, the man’s attention skips between Davin and me. When he catches my eye, he lifts one translucent brow.

  Hoping I read Hamilton right, my heart pounds a mile a minute as I step out from behind the counter to slide an arm through his. When he doesn’t leap back in confusion, I face Davin. “My date’s right here, O’Brien. Your wishful thinking can’t make him disappear.”

  A Night Out on the Town

  I wait until we round the corner off of Main Street before I release Hamilton’s arm and shove my hands into the deep pockets of my winter jacket. “Thanks for playing along.” I pull my knit hat lower on my forehead and peek at him through my fingers. “I feel like such a fool. It’s high school all over again.”

  He laughs with appreciation. “Ah, high school. So many angsty emotions.” His hands rise, fists opening and closing in front of his chest as if searching for something invisible to hold onto. “I never felt so alive.”

  I snort with derision. “Sounds like you had a lot more fun than I did.”

  “The happy and the sad”—his arms push out, fingers unfurling—”they balance each other, making the bitter and sweet that much more meaningful.”

  I glance away, shoes scuffing over the uneven cobblestones. “I would have liked less bitter.”

  “Why?” His arms drop to his sides, and the weight of his gaze lands on the top of my head. “Wishes like that…It means you had a lot of happiness first.”

  My shoulders hunch as I mutter, “It just made it hurt worse when the happy ended.”

  “But if life is always even…” His hand draws a straight line in the air in front of us. “Such consistency leads to complacency, which in turn leads to stagnant waters.” His hand curves up and down in front of us. “We must have waves to truly revel in life.”

  I stare at his hand. The straight line he drew is the last nine years of my life. Can I say I’ve felt alive? No. I’ve simply been following a steady path. Graduate high school, graduate college, get a job outside of the family businesses, eventually move out of my family’s house. A steady plan that pulls me forward. But if the alternative is huddled on my bed in tears, my heart broken…I don’t ever want to experience that again.

  “Well, thank you for playing along.” I check over my shoulder to make sure Davin didn’t follow us from the Town Hall. “That could have gotten messy.”

  “He’s a wave maker.” Hamilton’s face turns toward me, eyes wide, and I notice they’re a beautiful hazel, with a bright ring of gold around the iris. Unusual, just like the man himself. “Might he be part of your bitter high school past?”

  I chuckle. “Good guess.”

  “Well, his interest in you is obvious.” He joins me with a quiet laugh of his own. “When you said I was your date, I thought he might punch me.”

  “Naw, not Davin.” I wave the ridiculous idea away. An image of the O’Brien triplets fills the forefront of my mind. “Hughe on the other hand…”

  “Oh, that sounds interesting.” His lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Dare I hope you’re talki
ng about twins?”

  Heat creeps up my neck, and I bury my chin in the collar of my jacket. “Triplets, actually. Identical.”

  “Oh, my.” He gives a low whistle. “Your high school life must have been exciting.”

  My mood plummets in an instant. “Yeah, until they bailed.”

  “Ah, the bitterness.” He flicks his fingers, lime green nails bright pops of color against the stone of the sidewalk and surrounding buildings. “Well, I did you a favor, so I do believe turnaround is fair play.”

  I shoot him a glance from the corner of my eye. From anyone else, I might be suspicious, but I just can’t bring myself to view Hamilton with suspicion. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Booze.” He nods decisively. “I feel the need for the best beer Port Lapton has to offer.”

  “Then we should go to McArthur’s Pub.” I rub my stomach. Between the book club and setting up the hall, I’d only managed to eat a couple of molasses cookies today. “They have wonderful garlic breadsticks, too.”

  “That sounds delightful.” His steps become bouncy. “It’s been awhile since I had a night out on the town.”

  I turn us in the right direction, heading down the hill toward the pub. “They have a public phone there, if you want to call your friend to join us?”

  “Oh, no.” He shakes his head, the platinum-blond bun on the back of his head slipping lower as the tie unwinds. “I’m avoiding him right now.”

  My eyebrows arch in surprise. “Why?”

  “Well…” Hamilton stuffs his hands into his pockets as his shoulders hunch. “I kind of stole his car last night.”

  “What?” My startled shout draws the attention of a young couple across the street. The man pauses in concern, and I wave to let them know I’m fine. I stare up at Hamilton, voice lower. “What do you mean you stole his car?”

  His shoulders hunch higher as the tips of his ears turn pink. “In fairness to myself, I did ask him to go with me.”

  “So when he refused, the next logical step was to take his car?”

  “I really wanted to see the fairy rings,” he mumbles.

  “The ones up in the foothills?” The fairy rings around Port Lapton are famous, the circles of flowers reappearing every year at the first hint of spring. Hikers come from miles around to venture up the footpaths in the hopes of meeting the wee folk.

  “Yes.” He nods with enthusiasm, and his bun slips fully free of the tie, silky hair pooling around his shoulders. “I read about them while I was at school. They’re supposed to bring luck if you view them under the light of a full moon.”

  “But they don’t appear until spring. That’s still over a month away.”

  “I might have been overeager,” he admits. “But I’m not sure I’ll be back this way before the summer.”

  Curious, my steps slow as we near the pub. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Many things.” His shoulders roll in a shrug, then his lips purse with distaste. “Possibly walking dogs that like to bite.”

  I snicker. “I’m sure something better will pop up.”

  “I hope so.”

  “This is it.” I stop in front of the wooden door of McArthur’s Pub, and Hamilton’s gaze travels over the building in confusion.

  From the outside, the pub looks more like a house. Mr. McArthur only puts the clapboard sign out on the sidewalk during tourist season. The locals know the location without the need for a sign, since it’s one of only two pubs that stay open late in the off season. The Blue Heron on the docks pulls in a crowd at dinner time with their larger menu. But McArthur’s wins when it comes to custom brews.

  I grab the gold handle and heave the door open, the bitter smell of hops wafting out. Pulling in a deep breath, I catch the savory tang of garlic and yeasty bread, and my stomach lets out a loud rumble.

  “Evening, Siobhan!” Mr. McArthur calls from behind the bar as we enter. “Your brother just stepped out.”

  My older brother, Bradan, currently apprentices under Mr. McArthur. If he does well, he might take over the pub when the older man retires.

  “Evening, Mr. McArthur.” I unbutton my jacket as we walk inside, the warmth of the pub making me hot in an instant. “I’m here for dinner, tonight. Brought a friend along.”

  “Have a seat. I’ll bring a couple steins over in a minute.” Mr. McArthur lifts two heavy handled glasses from behind the counter and tilts one under a tap in the back wall, frothy golden liquid pouring out in a steady stream.

  The open booths, their warm golden wood freshly polished, gleam in invitation beneath the low, overhead lights. We arrived ahead of the usual crowd who comes in after eating dinner at home, and only two of the tables are occupied.

  Overhearing our conversation, a familiar blond head pops up from behind one of the high backed booths to the side of the main bar. “Siobhan, over here!”

  “Oh, hey Caira!” I touch Hamilton’s arm. “Do you mind?”

  “The more the merrier!” He bounces forward, his expression eager as he beelines for my friend’s booth. Without waiting for me to introduce him, he sticks out his hand. “Hello, I’m Hamilton.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Caira stutters, her gaze fluttering over the man as if unsure what to take in first as she shakes his hand. “I’m Siobhan’s best friend.”

  He smiles broadly. “I’m Siobhan’s date!”

  “Really?” She straightens into full alert, pushing her basket of fish and chips to the side. “And where did you meet?”

  “It’s a long story.” Guilty that he feels the need to continue the charade, I hang my jacket from the hook on the outside of the booth and slide in across from her. “And I kind of forced him into it.”

  “Nonsense.” He settles beside me and slips a fry from Caira’s basket into his mouth with a hum of appreciation. “Anything to help a damsel in distress.”

  “Distress?” Caira pushes the basket closer to Hamilton as he reaches for another fry, her concerned gaze now glued to me. “Why were you in distress?”

  “Davin came by the community center.”

  Her lips part in surprise. “Davin O’Brien?”

  “The very same.”

  “He’s hot,” Hamilton pipes up. He darts a glance at me and teases, “Hot for Siobhan.”

  “Mr. McArthur,” Caira hollers, face angled in the direction of the bar. “Add one more stein to the order!” She reaches across the table to grab my hand. “Tell me everything.”

  ~

  “And then”—I wave my breadstick in the air for emphasis—“he dared to say I’d let him kiss me! Not even thirty minutes after meeting back up!”

  Caira moves the pitcher of beer out of the way of my arm. “Hughe’s always been confident.”

  Beside me, Hamilton munches on a new order of french fries, glassy eyes wide with delight. Pink covers his cheeks, brought on by one too many steins of beer. “So, what happened next?”

  I drop the breadstick onto my empty pasta bowl and grab the pitcher from Caira to refill my own glass as I mumble, “Tomas came out and punched him.”

  “He didn’t!” Caira tips over in her booth, cackling with glee.

  Hamilton nudges his own glass closer for a refill. “What if he hadn’t?”

  “Hadn’t what?” From under the table, I kick my friend to get her to calm down. With two hands, I lift the pitcher and slosh the remaining contents into Hamilton’s glass, then stare down into it glumly. “We need a refill.”

  Caira rights herself and stumbles to her feet to wave at the bar where my brother, back from his break, wipes down glasses behind the counter. “Bradan! Bring us another round!”

  Around the bar, the other patrons laugh good-naturedly. Since we arrived, a few more diners trickled in to fill the other tables and booths. Nowhere near the crowd the bar gets on the weekend. Most folks spend their weeknights at home, though McArthur’s has dedicated diners.

  “You’re cut off!” my brother calls. “I’ll not carry you home, tonight.” />
  “But it’s for Siobhan,” she wheedles.

  “I’m not carrying her home, tonight, either.”

  “Stingy!”

  Hamilton’s knee bumps against mine. “So, what would have happened if Tomas hadn’t interrupted you last night?”

  It takes a moment for my intoxicated brain to catch up. Then, I straighten, shoulders square, and hold up two fists. “I’d have punched him myself!”

  Hamilton’s eyebrow arches. “Really?”

  “I’m certain of it!” I nod with enthusiasm, and the room wobbles around me.

  “After you let him kiss you?” Hamilton lifts his stein and drains half the contents, watching me from the corner of his eye.

  Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I grab my own beer, taking a hefty gulp to avoid answering.

  “You need to have a talk with that brother of yours.” Caira collapses back into the booth with a huff. She stares at the two of us. “Hey, what were you talking about just now?”

  Hamilton leans across the table, voice loud in a conspiratorial whisper. “About how Siobhan would have punched Hughe after she let him kiss her, if Tomas hadn’t interrupted.”

  I choke on my beer and slam the glass back down on the table. “I didn’t say that!”

  Caira’s face turns serious as she focuses on me. “Be careful, Siobhan.”

  “I am.” I slouch low in my booth, spinning the tall stein between my palms. “I already rejected Davin and Hughe, both.”

  She reaches across the table to pat my hand. “If that’s what you think is best.”

  Hamilton’s head tilts, his fine hair sliding around his shoulders. “What happened to make you hate them so much?”

  “I don’t hate them. But they’re not good for me, either.” When Hamilton’s gaze turns doubtful, I point at him. “This isn’t about not taking risks. I already did that once with them.”

  “They’re the end of her thread,” Caira blurts. “But they rejected her.”

  To Libation

  “Caira!” I stare at my friend, horrified by the betrayal of my secret.