Auld Lang Mine (Holiday Hunk Book 3)

by Sarah Spade

  “Hold on there, bud. You don’t really think I’m going to sell her out to you, do you?”

  Desperate times call for desperate measures. “You’re the one who tricked her into going out with me last week.”

  Sheila laughs, a short laugh, and I take it as a good sign. At least she doesn’t hang up on me. “Okay. So I did. But that’s only because I know Lindy and I know what’s good for her. She liked you on Christmas Eve and I thought you would be good for her. Of course, that was before she called me this morning. One and done, is that how it is, Mr. Bloom?”

  Mr. Bloom. Ugh. Being called by that name is almost as bad as what Sheila is implying. One and done? Yeah, right. More like one and only.

  To think I gave Max shit for insisting that he knew Allison was the one for him after only one night together. I get it now. I really do.

  Maybe there is such thing as Cupid or love at first sight or soul mates, I don’t know, but I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want Lindy Walsh. I’ve had my taste and that’s all that was. A small sample that only whet my appetite. I want more.

  I need more.

  And I’ll do whatever I have to do to get it.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Oh? Then how is it? Hmm?”

  I sigh. She’s going to make this difficult, isn’t she? That’s okay. I probably deserve it. “Sheila, please. I need your help.”

  “Really? And why should I help you?”

  “Because I really like your cousin. Shit, I might even be falling for her. And I’ll never forgive myself if I let her slip away without ever getting the chance to tell her.”

  Sheila is quiet for a second. When she finally says, “Okay, Mr. Bloom. Go on. I’m listening,” I unclench the death grip I have on my phone.

  Relax, Trist. Don’t blow it.

  “It was my fault. I know it. I overreacted when Lindy found my ticket—”

  “Just so you know,” interrupts Sheila, “Lindy wasn’t snooping like you accused her of. All she wanted was to make sure you had another condom in your drawer. She was ready to rock your world with the greatest bj ever when you got out of the shower and wanted to be prepared for when you were done. That’s all.”

  I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that Lindy shared that detail with her cousin, or ashamed that her mind was on my cock right before I bellowed like a wounded rhino and had her running for her life.

  “And I overreacted. I’m… it shouldn’t have happened like that. I’m so fucking sorry it did, but I can’t tell Lindy that because she won’t return my calls.”

  “You should be sorry. Because of the way you upset her, you had Lindy going to her mom’s for the night. Do you know what that means?”

  I wince. Oh, shit. If there’s one thing I learned this last week, it’s that while Lindy loves her folks, her relationship with them is almost as strained as the one I have with my dad. Only difference is that my dad was barely there for me growing up—and, even now, it’s more about what I can do for him. Lindy’s folks? They’re always there for her. And, according to Lindy, that isn’t a good thing.

  Of course, her mom would make her feel better about how I snapped at her… if she didn’t smother her with affection or pester her with questions first.

  She’s never going to forgive me, is she?

  Just when I’m about to give up hope, I sense a change in Sheila. She goes quiet again, but this quiet doesn’t come with a sharp edge like the other times.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I love Lindy and, well, I’m willing to bet that she might love you. Look, you remember where she lives?”

  Is this a trap? I feel like it might be a trap. ‘I… I do.”

  “My Aunt Missy is a sweetheart, but that’s mainly because I only see her on holidays and for Sunday suppers every other month when she hosts it. Lindy stayed with her and Uncle Sherm last night but she hit her limit a couple of hours ago. She’s home now.”

  That’s all I need to hear. Jerking my car keys from my front pocket, I jam them into the ignition and start the car.

  She must have heard the engine’s hum through my phone’s speaker.

  “Ah, jeez. That doesn’t mean go there right away!”

  Though it’s the last thing I want to do, I keep the car in park. “What does it mean?”

  It’s Sheila’s turn to sigh. “Okay. Listen to me. This is what we’re going to do…”

  12

  Lindy

  I’m so stupid.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Way to go, Lindy. I guess I was going for a new record because I managed to screw up whatever was happening between me and Tristan in days. It took months for me to flunk out of school. Years before I realized that Karl wasn’t the man I thought he was. Hell, I worked at my store for almost a decade before I lost that, too.

  It was gonna happen eventually. It always does. Am I surprised that I managed to fit in one final screw-up this year? Nope. Especially since I snuck in two. Ruining the last of the time I had with Tristan by pissing him off by going through his stuff and accusing him of lying to me? Check. Turning tail and going home to my mother only to have to listen to her lectures all night?

  Oh, yeah.

  I don’t know what I was thinking. Even after Karl finally moved out, I never let it affect me so badly that I ran to my childhood home to hide from the reality of my life. Probably because, by the time it was over, I was more relieved than anything.

  With Tristan, I wanted more. Even knowing I couldn’t have it—not for long, anyway—I wanted it anyway. And then I messed it up.

  Still, I really, really shouldn’t have gone home. If the time I spent with Tristan in his hotel was a dream, then that was a friggin’ nightmare. I had to leave as soon as I could, promising Mom I’d see her the next time she hosted the family. So what if I’m lying through my teeth? I just want to go back to my home and spend New Year’s Eve the same way I wanted to spend Christmas Eve.

  Alone.

  Of course, I should’ve known better. It’s barely four in the afternoon before I hear someone knocking softly at my front door.

  Only one person I know chooses to knock when there’s a perfectly good doorbell right there. I pointedly don’t answer her.

  This time, the gentle knocks turn into irritated bangs a second before I hear Sheila’s muffled voice shout through the wood: “Belinda Louise Walsh, I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

  Oof. She pulled out the big guns. My whole name?

  I walk across the room and open the friggin’ door.

  “What?” I demand.

  My cousin has the nerve to smile. In one hand, she has a box of microwaveable popcorn. Tucked under the other arm, she’s got a stack of movies. I see she brought her copies of Chicago, Rent, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and Calamity Jane before she wiggles and pushes the pile into my arms. There’s got to be at least seven cases here. It’s more movies than we can watch before midnight but I can tell from the set of her shoulders that it won’t be for a lack of trying.

  With a shake of her head and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Sheila says, “Oh, come on, Lindy. You didn’t think I’d actually let you spend New Year’s Eve alone, did you?”

  I sigh. “Guess not.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  It’s quarter to midnight on New Year’s Eve. The two of us have been sitting on my couch for hours, watching some of our favorite musical films. Right now, we’re watching Phantom of the Opera, and I’m so focused on Gerard Butler’s Phantom that I haven’t noticed much of anything else.

  Sheila shoves her blanket away and sets the bowl of popcorn she’s hogging to the side before reaching for the remote. A press of a button and the movie pauses. “I think there’s someone at your door. You should answer it.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because it’s your door.”

  I wait a beat, listening for some sign that there’s really someone outsi
de. I didn’t hear anything, so maybe Sheila—

  Ding dong.

  “Who do you think it could be?”

  “Probably one of your neighbors coming to check up on you again, make sure you’re still okay. Get the door, Lind? I’m going to get some more salt.”

  “You and your salt,” I mumble as I climb up off of the couch. As amazing as Sheila is in the kitchen, when it comes to her personal tastes, the woman does love her some salt. “Get a second bowl while you’re in there.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  She’s not wrong. Mrs. Abernathy stopped by when I slunk home earlier and told me that there was a weird car lingering in the neighborhood all night. She wanted to warn me to be careful since she knows I live alone. Her husband’s a retired cop and she long ago decided it made her the honorary guard of the cul de sac. I think it’s harmless.

  She’s never stopped by this late before. Then again, since it’s New Year’s Eve and most people are waiting for the ball to drop, she probably thinks I’m still up.

  Might as well see what she wants.

  Shuffling my bare feet across the floor, I pause to make sure that my pajamas are acceptable—hey, it’s the holiday and I’m relaxing—before pulling open the door.

  A second later, my jaw drops.

  Tristan Bloom is standing on my porch, anxiously running his hand through his thick sandy hair. His dark eyes seem to come alive when he sees me, the porchlight reflecting in his gaze. I grip the edge of the door, torn between slamming it shut and launching myself at him.

  What is he doing here?

  I glance back at the couch. The empty couch.

  And I know.

  I take a deep breath and shout for my cousin. “Sheila!”

  No response. I’m not even a little surprised.

  I slump my shoulders and let go of the door. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

  “‘Fraid so.”

  I back up slowly, crossing my arms over my chest. Under his scrutinizing look, I’m all too aware that I slipped my bra off and tossed it in the hamper hours ago right before I changed into my sleep clothes. “Let me guess. The two of you were in cahoots again?”

  I’ll give him credit. Tristan manages to lift his gaze from my boobs and actually meets my eyes. His brow furrows, his lips a thin line. “You wouldn’t answer my calls, Lindy. I was desperate to see you again—”

  “Before you leave in two days?” I throw back at him.

  He has the decency to look unnerved by my accusation. “Lindy, I—”

  “Come inside,” I snap, backing up so that he can enter my home. “If my neighbor’s see a strange man on my porch, they might call the cops. You’d never be able to make your flight if you’re in jail.”

  I hear my tone and I feel like a grade A bitch. I’m taking my frustrations out on Tristan and he doesn’t deserve it. I knew—I knew—all along that this was a fling. He never shied away from saying that his home is on the other side of the country. If I was the moron who fell in love with him anyway, that’s on me. And, okay, maybe he shouldn’t have freaked the way he did yesterday, but he was right. I never should’ve snooped, either.

  Before he can reply to my snotty comment, I’m already taking it back. “I’m sorry, Tristan. You didn’t deserve that. I—”

  “No, Lindy. Please. Don’t apologize. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I need to apologize.”

  I blink over at him. That’s the last thing I’m expecting. “What for?”

  He gives me a look like he thinks I’m being an idiot which would be kind of offensive if I wasn’t so sure that I’m giving him the same look. Way I see it, he was right to be upset at the way I went through his stuff without asking first. I could lie, claim his prowess and my orgasms went to my head, but that’s making excuses.

  Just when I’m about to apologize regardless, Tristan opens his mouth.

  “Thing is, we’re just starting out. I feel like I know enough about you to know that I’m interested in learning so much more. Thing is, that means there are things we don’t know about each other.”

  Is this supposed to be his apology? It seems more like he’s breaking up with me. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not making me feel all that better. I mean, I know he’s leaving the day after tomorrow. This so isn’t necessary.

  “Yeah, Tristan. I got that.”

  He lets out a rush of air, more a frustrated exhale than an irritated sigh. “Shit, okay, I know I’m not doing this right. Let me see if I can explain better. So yesterday? My flip out about you finding the ticket? I’ve got a bit of a hang up when it comes to people looking through my shit. I thought you were doing it on purpose, and I lost my head for a minute. I’m so sorry about that.”

  I still don’t see what he’s apologizing for since, if the same thing happened but to me, I might’ve reacted exactly as he did. Tristan came all the way to my place to tell me this, though, and I don’t want to leave any hard feelings between us.

  “Don’t worry about. We had fun while it lasted. I don’t regret any of it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it because I meant what I said, Lindy. We’re just starting out. I can’t expect you to learn everything about me in a week, just like I won’t know everything about you in such a little bit of time. But,” he says, pausing as he reaches inside of his suit jacket and pulls out a thin blue envelope, “I really want to.”

  I wince a little when I recognize the blue envelope. That stupid thing is what caused our fallout in the first place.

  “Wait,” he says, and I realize he caught my reaction. He clears his throat and offers the envelope out to me. “I want you to look inside. I… maybe I’m being a little presumptive, I don’t know, but it seemed like something I should do if I want to prove I’m serious. And I am. So fucking serious.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. But I open the envelope because this time he’s giving me permission to, and I want to put what happened behind us. If he’s willing to apologize, I’m willing to forgive him, and—holy shit.

  There are two tickets in this folder now.

  The one on top?

  It’s got my friggin’ name on it.

  I close the lid as if that’ll make it disappear. I shove it back at Tristan. “I don’t understand.”

  He refuses to take it.

  I press it against him. “There’s two tickets in here. I know… I know that there was only one yesterday. What’s going on?”

  “It’s like I was saying—”

  “What? What exactly are you saying?”

  He swallows and, I swear, I see the lump as it goes down his throat. Tristan straightens, pulling himself up to his full height, towering over me in my bare feet. “No pussyfooting around. Okay. What I’m saying is that I’d really like it if you’d come home with me. I might’ve jumped the gun a little buying the ticket, but I needed to show you I mean it.”

  “Tristan, I—”

  “I know we just met. But my buddy Max has a saying, and it’s when it’s right, it’s right. This… what we have between us? It’s right. I know it is. I might’ve almost fucked it up… No, Lindy,” he says when it’s clear I’m about to interrupt, “that was all me. And I’m sorry. I want to make it up to you. Today, tomorrow… for as long as you let me.”

  “In California.”

  Tristan nods slowly.

  I wait for the realization that this is an insane idea to crash down over my head. We’ve already had one major miscommunication—and he’s right. I’ve known him for a week. Then again, what I do know, I like and, well, it’s not like he’s asking me to marry him.

  Besides, I’ve always wanted to see what it is like outside of Salem.

  Am I doing this? I look up at Tristan, at his gorgeous face, at the way he looks down at me like he’s pleading for me to say yes.

  I… think I want to.

  Is this crazy? Yeah. But Sheila was right, as usual. She told me so right after K
arl and when the bookstore closed up shop, and even earlier this evening, damn it. I can’t spend my life moping, regretting all of the ways it’s gone wrong. I have a chance at a good thing and maybe I will screw it up. Maybe Tristan will again. Who knows?

  But I owe it to us to find out.

  “Yes.”

  Poor man looks like I suckerpunched him. His dark eyes widen as he takes in a deep breath, sucking it in so quickly, I’m surprised he doesn’t choke on it.

  “What did you say?”

  I fight the urge to stifle my laugh. Tristan Bloom came all the way here, bringing me an airplane ticket with my name on it as if I was already a done deal, and, despite his cocky confidence, I’d bet he didn’t think there was anyway I was going to agree.

  “I said okay. If… if you still want me to go with you.”

  Grabbing me abruptly, his hands back on my waist, tugging me up against his hard body, Tristan murmurs, “I’ve never wanted anything more, Lindy. I just thought I’d have to work a lot more than that to make you see things my way.”

  And since he gives me a little thrust, showing me just how happy he is that I’ve said yes, I kind of wish I stalled a little. Considering how abruptly our rendezvous ended last night, I’m down for a little “convincing”.

  Still, if I want to make something of this relationship, I’ve got to be clear on where I stand.

  “I’ve got nothing for me here. Not really. Well, maybe Sheila,” I admit. Because, hell, I’m gonna miss Sheila. But she’ll understand. “But you… I want to see where this goes. If that means California, it means California. I don’t want to lose you. I always figured I would, and now I don’t have to.”

  And if the rest of the Walshes get to be too much for Sheila to handle on her own, I’m sure there’s always a need for a good caterer in California.

  Tristan’s answer to my honesty is exhilarating. Now that he has me right where he wants me, he dips his head and claims my lips in as fierce a kiss as any of the ones he’s give me before. But there’s something different about it.

  There’s no hesitation, just pure want and need.

  And, God, I need this man.