Travis (Pelion Lake) by Mia Sheridan

For several moments our eyes held, breath mingling and a spiral of heat whirled through me. “Maybe,” she conceded, pausing. “But maybe not.” She leaned away, and held out her hand. “In any case, can I consider you a friend?”

The whirling spiral of heat cooled and fizzled.

I gripped her hand. It wasn’t as if I was even very attracted to her. She was pretty, I could see that now. But she was far from my type.

I dated prom queens.

This girl was a plant lady.

A plant lady with a penchant for pushing horrific things called wheat germ on me, an uncontrolled riot of haphazard curls that sometimes likened her to Medusa, and a lone family member—my now sworn enemy—who’d seduced my girlfriend and was apparently the best.

“Friends,” I agreed.

We said goodnight to the room at large, a chorus of farewell greetings rising as we left—some sober, some not so much—parting ways at the top of the stairs, me turning left, Haven turning right.

I got into bed and this time, whether it be from my crazy-ass day or the barely palatable hooch, I did fall right to sleep.





CHAPTER SEVEN




Haven



The sky was streaked in waves of pink and amber, the sun cresting over the lake and scattering it with diamond shards.

Gorgeous. Peaceful.

I was a city girl, born and raised in East LA, and yet, in some peculiar way, it felt as if my heart had always known this place.

I wouldn’t think too hard about it because that felt dangerous. But I would enjoy it while it lasted.

It’s the water. Water calms every human soul.

Perhaps, but interestingly enough, I’d lived within a few miles of the ocean and, though staring out at the Pacific had brought a measure of peace, it’d never felt like this.

Heavenly.

The crystal-clear water, the soft sound of gently lapping waves, the fragrant pines, air so fresh you could drink it, and all that quiet. It spoke to my spirit in the same way caring for living things did.

I turned away from the window on a smile, lifting the watering can and giving the plant nearest the door a drink. “Good morning,” I greeted, moving to the next, and the next.

“Good morning.”

I whirled around on an intake of breath to see Travis leaning in the doorway that led from the kitchen to the sitting room at the front of the house. “God, you scared me.”

He pushed off the wall, walking toward me. He was wearing workout clothes, damp with sweat. “You’re up early.”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, suddenly self-conscious. I was wearing my sleep shorts and a tank top, not exactly risqué, but not something I would have worn had I known anyone would be up this early. Even Betty didn’t rise until seven to get breakfast started. His gaze only flickered over me though before he looked away. I relaxed. Travis Hale was used to seeing girls in thongs and bikinis so skimpy they were barely a notch above nudity at the club. My current outfit was downright puritan in comparison. “I’m an early riser.”

“Me too,” he said, lifting the hem of his shirt and wiping it over his forehead. I got an eyeful of tanned, defined abdominals. I turned, adding a generous amount of water to the next plant. “I don’t meet many female early birds,” he said on a smile. “Most women enjoy their beauty sleep.”

I looked at him sideways. “Well, obviously, I’m full up on that,” I said, tucking one of my ridiculous curls behind my ear. It sprang forward in disobedience.

A meow sounded behind us, and Clawdia the cat came limping forward, her gait slow and staggered.

“You’re off today?” he asked, glancing away from the off-balance creature, lowering his voice as he followed me from the front room to the hallway, open to the floor overhead where the rest of the occupants of The Yellow Trellis Inn still slept.

“Yes. You?” I asked, plucking a leaf, running my hand over another, taking joy in the health of the plants that had looked wan and lifeless when I’d rescued them from outside the local grocery store where they’d been left to sit in the brutal summer heat. These particular types did best in partial sun.

Or in this case, the light streaming in through the hallway window.

“No, I’m working,” he said, sounding almost . . . disappointed? Did he not like his job? He seemed to do it with such gusto. A meow sounded again, the cat staggering in.

Travis’s brow dipped as he looked at the cat wobbling precariously over to where we stood. “Oh for Pete’s sake,” he muttered, scooping the animal up and holding it with one muscled arm. I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.

“What’s on the itinerary?” he asked, following as I moved from the hallway to the kitchen, walking over to the bay window where Betty had been generous enough to allow me to place various herbs and flowers.

“Well, I’m going down to the shore to soak up a little sun, and then I’m making a trip into town to see what’s been moved to the discount aisle at the nursery.” I turned suddenly and Travis’s eyes jolted up as though he’d been staring at something . . . below my eyes, and I’d surprised him. “Do you know that the nursery in Pelion is the only one for miles around?”

“It should make your rescue job easier,” he said with a wry smile. The cat butted at his chest and he raised his other hand, petting her head, and then her jaw when she tilted it upward.