Maybelle gazed up at her ceiling, twirling the elevator key card end on end as the sun crept over the horizon. By the time Garreth and her had gone back up to the mansion—and stopped talking long enough to go to their separate rooms—it was four in the morning, well past any chance she had at heading to the third floor.
She’d been so caught up with Garreth that the thought of Michael hadn’t interrupted until she tucked her hands into her jacket pocket and a lump grew in her throat. Had she made her choice, then, simply by forgetting?
Will’s snores filtered through the suite, and she grabbed one of the many pillows and slammed it over her face. She’d been stood up three times, and each incident was gut-wrenching even to remember. How could she be that person? Ditching one man for another; it was as if Frostville was a different dimension, one where she was the desirable woman, breaking hearts and coming up with excuses for why she did.
She screamed into her pillow, the feathers muffling the noise. She hated herself for basking in the sweetness of last night, of dreaming of Garreth’s lips and soft touch, his laugh and his geekdom. She pictured kids with his eyes and her hair, no matter how many times she told herself not to. A kiss hardly meant a future together, but the way he’d talked to her, the way he got nervous around her… it was farther than she’d ever gotten before with a man. What else could she do but fantasize?
But at the expense of Michael’s feelings? Ugh, it ripped her apart into two halves—half guilt and half elation. They were a deadly combo.
She pulled the pillow away and turned to her side, hiding her eyes from the sun. She could only pray that Michael wouldn’t be too upset. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. Though the thought of that was incredibly—and selfishly—painful.
Oy, I’m a terrible person, she thought, then rolled out of bed and headed for the tub. Sleep was overrated anyhow.
Maybelle had to admit for how craptacular she felt, she certainly didn’t look it. She pulled out all the stops after a bubbly, lavender scented bath, doing her hair in a long side braid that took her about ten seconds with her practiced hands. She swapped her Wednesday outfit for her backup—a flowy, sheer white number with a royal blue slip underneath. The compliments she’d gotten on this dress was enough to strengthen her confidence, and not only that, but it was a fun piece, one that was as equally comfortable as it was cute. Maybelle shined in the dress, even when she was crumbling to pieces underneath it.
Breakfast was a sit down meal, the performance a big part in the conversation. Winter stood at the head of the table, wearing a stunning light blue dress and crying on cue. “Morning, everyone. It’s my great displeasure to announce that we lost someone last night.”
Only a few surprised glances were shared; others seemed already informed, and Maybelle turned to Garreth sitting across from her. By the time she’d ventured downstairs, most of the seats at the table had been taken, including the ones on either side of Garreth. He’d given her a one-shouldered shrug and apologetic eyes when she’d walked in, but it was no matter. Sitting across from him may have hindered conversation with all the food and centerpieces blocking them, but the view wasn’t too shabby.
Garreth leaned to the side, peeking from around a pitcher of orange juice. “Edward,” he mouthed with wide, excited eyes. Maybelle suppressed a giggle at his enthusiasm and cute face.
Fantasies and anticipation of more kissing and hand holding took hold of her, and she missed most of what Winter said next. It wasn’t until Winter gestured to the woman on Maybelle’s left.
“This is Detective Stacey. She’ll be investigating the deaths of my dear friend, Joshua, and my mentor and instructor, Edward. If anyone has any information that could help, please let her know.”
The tall and professional woman next to her stood and took the floor, and Maybelle started making faces behind the orange juice at Garreth. He snorted into his water, spraying Alexis who sat next to him. She gave him a dirty look as he awkwardly dried her off with a napkin, sputtering apologies while Maybelle cracked up. Alexis waved him off and went back to her arduous note-taking, undeterred from her research. Garreth turned back to Maybelle, red all along his neck, his face contorted in a hilarious and crazy handsome boy-in-trouble expression. If her legs had been longer and she wasn’t afraid of accidentally kicking someone, she’d instigate an innocent game of footsies.
The detective sat down and the servers came out with trays upon trays of breakfast choices. Will practically put his face into the biscuits and gravy, and Maybelle grinned at Winter’s equally enthusiastic dive into breakfast. She’d pointed out the night before that they were synchronized eaters—both unafraid of showing just how much they loved food.
Her brother did seem to be enjoying himself a bit more, which was a relief. Maybelle spotted him occasionally chatting with new people, slowly becoming, if not comfortable than at least tolerant of the Michigan weather and the spoils of the high life. He sure was getting attached to Winter…
A few seats down from Will’s trough was the hulking presence of the man Maybelle had stood up, and her heart sank a few inches, thudding thick as Michael avoided her eyes. Oh had she been on the other end of this, too many times. Her bottom wriggled in her seat as she fought the urge to walk to him, ask him for some privacy to explain herself, but not knowing him well enough kept her planted. Would he make a scene? Simply ignore her? If any of the men who had stood her up tried to speak with her the next morning she probably would’ve tried humiliating them to match the embarrassment she’d felt at sitting alone for hours on end.
How long had he waited on the third floor, watching the elevator? Had he been waiting at all? Was she worth that? Her past record made her think there was a good chance he wouldn’t give two licks if she’d shown or not. But his avid avoidance and frown told her differently.
She turned slowly back to her food, frowning at the strawberries and pineapple covering her plate.
A loud fake cough grabbed her attention. Garreth’s brow was deeply furrowed, his head tilted to the side. “You okay?” he mouthed.
A small smile touched her heart. “No bacon,” she mouthed back, feigning a reason for her blues. He put a playful hand to his chest, gasping. She giggled as he held a finger up and rose a couple of inches from his seat, scanning the table. His beautiful eyes lit up and he waved at a tray resting about two people away from Will.
“Excuse me, sugar,” Ms. Vancouver said, backing away from Garreth’s elbow. “Did you need something?”
Maybelle burst into a fit of laughter, Garreth’s signature blush rising up his neck as he stammered, “Uh… b-bacon,” and the large tray was passed his way. Her whole body was smiling now, and she mouthed, “My hero,” at him when he slid the bacon toward her. He grinned at his plate, in shock almost that he’d been so bold in a full room. Maybelle couldn’t think of a single thing that was more attractive.
A loud scrape vibrated the floor under her feet, and she watched Michael shove from his chair and take three long strides from the room. Her smile faded some, try as she might to keep it in place. After being stood up by Vince Cutherford at twenty-five, she’d seen him the next day with Nancy Voss, laughing and flirting, much like Garreth and her had just done. She still remembered the hole he’d shot through her, the ache in the emptiness and the feeling of rejection. She never would’ve stood long enough for an explanation, but an apology? If someone had only apologized, would that have been better?
She resolved for an apology, not only because she was deeply sorry, but because she wasn’t exactly sure she had an explanation.
“Michael?” Maybelle called out as soon as the dining hall door had shut behind her. She’d excused herself as politely as she could and tried not to rush from the room. Her eyes scanned the wide entryway full of hallways jutting from every direction, clinking from the kitchens filling the air. Her shoulders slumped when she found no sign of where he’d gone, and she set her hand on the door handle to head back in to breakfast.
“You got my key card?” Michael’s deep voice sent a wave of shock through her, which she awkwardly laughed away. He came out of the shadows, ducking under a sconce and making slow, concentrated moves toward her. She patted her chest, feeling around for the card she’d slipped inside her brazier.
“I’m so sorry, Michael,” she said. “I lost track ‘o time last night, and I…” She gulped, words escaping her. “I should’ve let ya know I wasn’t comin’.”
He lifted a nonchalant shoulder, taking the key card from her fingers. “Well, I did give you two choices, I guess. I didn’t realize solving the mystery was so important to you.”
His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying bitterness there that ate at her stomach.
She decided to play along. “Whole reason I’m here, ain’t it?”
He laughed, but it was hollow and unfeeling and had her reaching for his impressive arm.
“I really am sorry. I planned on headin’ upstairs as soon as I spied in the gardens a bit, but…”
As her voice drifted into oblivion, Michael smirked and finished for her. “Garreth?”
She nodded. “Garreth.”
His gaze fell to the dining hall doors, curiously studying them. “I get it,” he said after a minute. “Kind of stinks, but I get it.”
She wanted to scramble, wanted to tell him that she’d only known Garreth as long as she’d known him. A day was hardly enough time to decide if Garreth’s kiss was the beginning of something that could last or just another one for the books. She’d never had two viable choices pulling her attention two different directions. She was completely out of her element and didn’t want to make the wrong pick. If Eros was trying to create options for her, well, he’d overdone it.
Michael bent, his lips near her ear. She loved when men did that, swooned when she’d read it or watched in movies, and it seemed to be his signature move. Even with half her mind on Garreth, she couldn’t help but salivate at Michael’s body warmth.
“If you don’t mind, Maybelle,” he said, his voice silky smooth and going straight to her knees, “I’d like to keep my hat in the ring.”
Her brows rose, and her skin ran hot as he planted a chaste kiss to her cheek. He laughed at her expression, whatever that might’ve been, and then left her standing in a puddle of confusion.
Darn that Eros.