40-Love (There's Something About Marysburg Book 2)

by Olivia Dade

  And piped in through hidden speakers, almost too low to hear, was that…?

  Yes. Yes, indeed. It was.

  Although no one would call him an expert identifier of musical instruments, he remembered the commercials of his early youth. This particular sound he associated quite strongly with Swiss herbal cough drops and lederhosen-clad men on mountaintops, rather than tropical beaches.

  The resort’s island only possessed one hill, but apparently that hill was alive with the sound of music. Alphorn music, to be precise. Also yodeling.

  Weird. Oddly charming, but weird.

  Behind the counter stood two of his dirndl-clad colleagues, one of them a familiar sight. Heather, a woman roughly his age who often attended gatherings at Brendan’s mainland apartment, was stationed behind the computer. Standing beside her was an unfamiliar woman, slightly older than Heather, her pale skin poreless, her tawny hair tucked into a braided crown, frowning in concentration as she ticked items off a printed list. Fiona, the spa manager, according to the engraved name badge pinned to her bodice.

  “Lucas.” Heather looked up from her computer with a bright, professional smile, her warm brown skin smooth and glowing and impeccably accented by discreet makeup. “How may I help you today? Are you here to book a peel?”

  A peel? Like a banana peel? Did this have something to do with the apple-scented oil for sale on the counter?

  “Or an Extreme Edelweiss Microdermabrasion session?” Her arched eyebrows rose in query. “You can reserve a series of sessions at a slight savings, which can be used along with your employee discount. We actually have a last-minute cancellation for this evening, if you’d like.”

  Ah. That kind of peel.

  “Uh, no.” He scrubbed a hand over his bristly, sun-damaged cheek. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  She appeared to be staring at his nose and forehead, her own brow creased. “We also have a line of Cocoa Corrective repair masks with exclusive Toblerone—”

  “Thank you, Heather,” he interrupted. “But I don’t need anything for my face. I asked Brendan and Pat whether the resort sold heating pads or hot water bottles anywhere, and they thought the spa might have something I could use.”

  “Oh.” After one last glance at his forehead, Heather heaved an almost imperceptible sigh and let it go. “We don’t have heating pads or hot water bottles, but we do offer heatable aromatherapy booties that could work. Our microwaveable Alpine Aromatherapy eye masks might suffice too, depending on how much area you want to cover.”

  “Perfect.” He smiled at her, pleased. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  “They’re in the far left corner. Second shelf from the top. Do you want me to show you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “If you have any trouble finding them, just let me know.” Another entirely professional smile, almost blinding in its shine. “And if you change your mind, I’d be delighted to help you book an appointment. We have a variety of special packages available this week.”

  Fiona left for the other end of the spa’s welcome area, her list still clutched in her hand, and disappeared through a semi-hidden doorway.

  They both watched her leave and waited several seconds.

  Then Heather leaned in close and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “So what do you think? Was I right?”

  He nodded. “Like a Swiss chalet vomited over a Pottery Barn showroom.”

  “Exactly.” She glanced around before continuing. “The café donated a bottle of génépy liqueur so I could get Fiona drunk last week and find out what the hell happened to this place. Turns out, the resort owner’s then-wife found out he was cheating a couple years ago. After pretending to forgive him, she asked to be in charge of the latest spa renovation and said she wanted it to be a surprise. He agreed.”

  A mistake, that. And not the resort owner’s first or most grievous, clearly.

  “The day after the reno ended, she invited him inside the new spa, where she served him divorce papers in an alphorn and told him to go blow himself.” Her brown eyes dancing with glee, Heather kissed her fingertips in homage to that particular choice.

  “Ingenious.” He considered the matter further. “But now the spa is essentially one big advertisement for an Alpine ski resort, rather than an island getaway. Wasn’t she sabotaging her own alimony?”

  “Airtight prenup. No alimony.”

  “Ah.” That explained it.

  Heather indulged in a subtle eyeroll. “At our last staff meeting, I tried to suggest a different, less chilly theme for the next renovation, but Fiona’s gotten into the cosplay aspect. Apparently that dirndl is getting her a lot of fraulein-on-fraulein action. LaTanya agreed we should choose another theme, but then she started discussing the northern lights and fjords, and I gave up.”

  He gave her a fist-bump. “Keep fighting the good fight.”

  “When I manage this place, it’ll be different,” she vowed, her voice firm. “The spa won’t serve raclette and rösti potatoes and Toblerone fondue in the café anymore. Or sell decorative cowbells.”

  “You want to manage the spa?” He’d had no idea. Then again, Brendan’s gatherings weren’t always conducive to serious discussions of professional aspirations. More to beer pong, really.

  “Not just the spa.” She grinned at him. “I plan to manage the entire resort.”

  For that, he gave her another fist-bump. “Nice.”

  Then he headed for the booties and eye masks, almost immediately spotting the best option for his purposes. The fluffy white booties, whose microwaveable inserts were filled with various grains, along with thyme and—of course—“natural edelweiss scent,” would cover more of poor Tess’s lower belly than a standard eye mask.

  He held the sample pair up to his own belly, considering the surface area issue. After a moment of thought, he repositioned the booties, arranging them like puzzle pieces, with the feet at opposite ends. Better, although he supposed he could always visit the first aid station to see whether it stocked—

  “I think you may have misunderstood the purpose of the product.” A familiar, amused voice came from behind him. “Unless you’ve sprouted abdominal growths I didn’t notice during my last visit, those booties go about three feet lower.”

  When he swung around, Karolina was standing there in her robe and matching slippers, her blond hair piled into a loose knot on top of her head, her ivory skin glowing from whatever treatment she’d just experienced. Something involving Gruyère cheese, probably.

  He didn’t have much time to chat, but he also didn’t intend to treat her like a hindrance or a nuisance or anything but what she was: a woman he liked and with whom he’d once had a casual relationship.

  Still, this was a bit of a tricky conversation, given the context. “They’re, uh, not for me.”

  At that, her husky laugh rippled through the spa. “Yes, I somehow thought that might be the case.” Her gaze lowered to the booties pressed against his belly, and she gave a little nod of understanding. “If your Tess is dealing with discomfort in that area, those should help. Or if you’d like, when I make a trip to the mainland tomorrow, I can pick up something better.”

  It was a kind offer. Surprisingly kind, under the circumstances.

  And he liked the sound of your Tess. Maybe more than he should.

  “I think the booties will work for now. Thank you for the offer, though.” He tucked an unopened package beneath his arm. Then, upon further thought, added a second package, in hopes of covering more surface area. “When I was on the Tour, we had basic medical supplies around us at all times, including heating pads and cold packs. Now I basically only have bandages and ibuprofen in my apartment. Which is probably a good sign, considering the reason I retired, but rather inconvenient at the moment.”

  Karo’s lips parted, and she didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Her study of him sharpened.

  “You know,” she said slowly, “that may be the most personal i
nformation I’ve ever gotten from you. It’s definitely the first time you’ve talked about your past on the Tour.”

  That couldn’t be true. Could it?

  When he thought back, though, he couldn’t remember a conversation with Karo about anything of actual import. Just interludes of flirting and innuendo and small talk as a prelude to sex.

  “I’m sorry.” What else could he say, really? At the time, he hadn’t had more to offer, and she’d never given any indication she actually wanted more. And now there was no room in his head or his bed—maybe not even in his heart—for anyone but Tess.

  Oddly enough, it hadn’t hurt to talk about his past. Hadn’t left him uncomfortably exposed or tempted to deploy flirtation as a distraction.

  Huh.

  “No need to be sorry.” Karo smiled at him, the expression seemingly sincere. “I’m just…startled, I guess. If I’d met the man who talked to me on that overlook, or the man who’s currently shopping for cramp-relief supplies in booty form, before this trip—”

  When she gave a little shake of her head, loose tendrils of hair danced around her face. “Well, I might have played things a bit differently. That’s all.” Her bright smile dimmed a bit. “But that never would have happened, right? No matter how long you and I were involved. Because she’s the reason you’ve finally opened up.”

  The conversation had turned from ill-timed to uncomfortable. “I don’t know what to say, Karo.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Lucas. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced toward the treatment rooms. “I’m due for a Kirsch-cherry blossom scrub, so I’d better go. Take care of yourself and your Tess.”

  “I will. Thank you again, Karo.” He pressed his lips together, holding his hands awkwardly at his sides. Under normal circumstances, he’d hug her before she left, but…

  Before he could make up his mind, she was already gliding away, graceful as ever despite the oversized slippers.

  “One more thing, Lucas,” she tossed over her shoulder, her smile restored to its normal wattage. “In Tess’s position, I live by one simple motto: When in doubt, eat chocolate.”

  He saluted her with a package of booties, and then she was gone.

  Beside the register, there was a basket of giant Toblerone bars. He bought two. One for Tess. One to hold behind the counter for Karo as an additional silent apology, even though she’d said apologies weren’t necessary.

  Admitting it, even in his own thoughts, made him wince.

  It was harsh. It was also true.

  Karo was right. One hundred percent correct.

  Even if the two of them had conducted their idle, monthly affair for another decade, he would never have let down his guard for her. Because she wasn’t Tess. And Tess, as he was beginning to discover, was at the center of everything for him.

  Absolutely everything. Which was, to be frank, absolutely terrifying.

  When in doubt, eat chocolate.

  Before he left the spa, he bought one of those Toblerone bars for himself too.

  Eighteen

  Tess stared down at the booties in her lap. “So these are, uh, supposed to keep my feet warm?”

  In her peripheral vision, she could have sworn Lucas’s dimples appeared for a fleeting moment. But when she looked directly at him, he was staring at her solemnly.

  He inclined his head. “Yes. Just like it says on the package.”

  “And you got me two sets?”

  “Evidently.”

  Don’t say what the fuck. Don’t say what the fuck.

  She offered him a weak smile. “Um, thank you so much.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” he told her graciously.

  Another smile, this one hopefully more convincing. “They’re very pretty. Very fuzzy. Very…warm-looking.”

  As soon as she and Belle had returned to the hotel from a day spent outdoors, they’d lowered their room temperature to sixty degrees and turned the fan on full blast. Then they’d decided to flip a coin to determine who got first shower.

  Poor Belle. She’d never suspected treachery, although she should have. Once she’d turned away to find a coin in her wallet, Tess had dashed into the bathroom, locked the door, and flipped on the shower.

  Belle might never forgive her—even through a closed door and over the sound of water, Tess had distinctly heard the words dracarys and queen of the ashes—but so be it. She had her period, and thus deserved first crack at the bathroom. That was just basic justice, or maybe an unquestionable scientific fact.

  Either way, she’d shamelessly reveled in every moment of that shower, her second of the day, this one ice-cold and meant to sluice away the sweat of hours and hours spent in Satan’s jockstrap. Otherwise known as the Gulf Coast of Florida in August.

  Somehow, though, she was still sweating. She figured it was carryover heat at work, like when the temperature of her Thanksgiving turkey kept rising for a while even after it emerged from the oven. Or maybe it was simply Belle’s curse in effect already. Hard to say, really.

  Which was why, once again, she was only barely restraining herself from asking Lucas what unholy impulse had made him look at heated booties and think, “Yes, if there’s one thing Tess needs right now, it’s hot feet.”

  Still, the booties were a sweet—if decidedly odd—gift. One she might be able to use in, say, three or four months. Assuming she ever cooled off again.

  “I’m sure these will be very effective at keeping my feet toasty.” She reread the label. What exactly did edelweiss smell like, anyway? “Thank you again.”

  He blinked innocently at her. “Why don’t you try them on?”

  Fuck, no.

  “Uh…” She hesitated, searching for a courteous way to refuse.

  Which was when he started laughing. Loudly.

  “Th-the look on your face,” he choked out. “Oh, God, Tess, it’s amazing.”

  He was fucking with her. Again. But how?

  “Are these…” She poked the booties with her forefinger. “Are these not a gift?”

  “They are.” He managed to pull himself together after one last snort. “But they’re not for your feet.”

  She glanced down at herself. There were four booties. Was she supposed to have one on each boob and the others on her hands? Or—

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease you when you’re not feeling well.” His arm circled her shoulders, and he gently tugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “Wow, you’re kind of sweaty.”

  “Which is only one of many reasons you’re not getting another hug or kiss from me anytime soon.” She pulled away and narrowed her eyes at him. “Explain my sudden bounty of fuzzy booties, Karlsson.”

  His smile was soft. Affectionate. “You asked me if I had a heating pad, älskling. This was the closest thing I could find on short notice.”

  All at once, the Mystery of the Unseasonable Booties was solved, and in the sweetest way she could have imagined.

  Yeah, he’d been fucking with her. But only after venturing into that weird Alpine spa and locating the nearest equivalent to a heating pad on the island. And he’d done all that sometime during a full day of lessons. Because she had her period and was hurting, and he wanted to help.

  All was forgiven.

  More than forgiven, actually. So much more than forgiven, she turned her face away from him for a moment.

  “Thank you,” she told the back cushion on his couch, swallowing past the thickness in her throat. “This time, I really mean it.”

  His knuckles stroked her cheek, but he didn’t urge her to look at him. Instead, he gave her time to regain her composure in semi-privacy. “You’re welcome.”

  This surge of emotion in her chest hurt her. Frightened her. But maybe it was her hormones rioting, another transient inconvenience imposed by her menstrual cycle, rather than something meaningful enough to last beyond this hiatus from daily reality. Maybe the barriers around her heart weren’t eroding beneath the steady tide of his att
ention.

  Maybe she could still escape this interlude unscathed.

  As a former teacher and current assistant principal, she knew bullshit when she heard it. Even in her own thoughts. She might as well be a student explaining how word-for-word transcriptions from Wikipedia weren’t really plagiarism.

  Unlike with her students, however, she was letting the bullshit stand. At least for now.

  A few deep breaths, and she’d gotten herself somewhat together. When she finally faced Lucas again, she offered a wobbly curve of her lips. “So what are our revised plans for tonight?”

  “Well…” The pad of his thumb lightly skimmed her cheek. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “A lot of things.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Did you have dessert with dinner? If you didn’t, I might or might not have convinced the pastry chef at The Sands to let me have a lemon chess meringue pie today. Or if you’d prefer dessert in mountain-shaped-chocolate-bar form instead, I have that too.”

  He’d remembered the pie. Not only remembered, but taken action to get her what she wanted. Interrupted an already very-busy day in yet another way, all on her behalf. Considered the likelihood that she might want chocolate, given her hormonal state. Further indicated his total disinclination to police her eating without having to say more on the subject.

  He was trying. He was trying so hard, and she wasn’t sure she remembered that sort of effort from Jeremy. Not even in the beginning, and definitely not by the end of their engagement.

  With her ex, if something needed remembering, she remembered. If errands needed to be run, she ran them. If someone needed care, she cared for them.

  Even when the person who needed caring was herself.

  More near-tears, and this time she didn’t turn away.

  “Tess, no. Please don’t—” He gently swiped away a renegade tear, one that had survived her most committed blinking attempts.

  “I’m not crying about pie and chocolate,” she told him.

  He inspected his wet thumb, then looked at her through his lashes with a sweet smile. “That seems, uh, less than accurate, älskling.”