Page 7

Royal

By the weekend, Royal couldn’t believe he’d only been in Windeville a week. He still took his hypertension medication, but he hadn’t had to take Tylenol for the last couple of days. He no longer checked his phone out of habit, wondering why it hadn’t rang or pinged with a message, and the anxiousness that would flutter in his chest when he ventured into town had gone, along with the headaches.

He realized the people here weren’t putting on an act, they were genuinely glad to see him when he strolled through the town, or shopped in the general store, or the bookstore, or when he went in the post office to mail his parents a postcard.

Royal turned off the television with the remote. He’d been binging some of the shows Google said were the best-rated series that year. He couldn’t believe how long it’d been since he’d sat and watched something that wasn’t on CNBC.

Damn, CGI has really come a long way.

He’d been so engrossed in the fourth season of Outlander he was about to miss dinner. Since he was the only lodger, the cooks went out of their way to impress him. But when Myra—the evening cook—said she’d stayed up all night to learn how to make beef wellington and truffle risotto so he’d feel like he was dining in a fancy Manhattan restaurants, he’d gave her a considerate but stern warning to never do that again.

Royal liked her down-home cooking that she made with all of her heart and soul, and he promised her that there wasn’t a damn thing he missed about New York. Not the traffic, the people, and especially not the food.

She’d kissed him on the cheek, and from then on, she’d made her own specialties.

Dinner was served early, from five o’clock to eight, and Royal had made it to his favorite table by the window overlooking the mountains just in the nick of time.

It was dark out and the glow of the moon illuminating the tops of the pine trees, coupled with the warm glow of light from the nearby homes was breathtaking. The snow had begun to fall again, gentle flurries that kept his new world blanketed in peaceful shades of white.

“Hey you, I thought maybe you’d ditched me and accepted one of many dinner invitations you’ve gotten.”

Royal still hid his smile behind his hand when anyone made hm laugh, unsure how he looked when he showed his teeth.

“Maybe one day I will, but for now, I like eating here.” Royal removed the folded napkin from the table and slid it into his lap. “So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

Myra shook her head, her bright hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m not telling…it’s a surprise.”

Her pale, ivory skin was flushed with red splotches like always, probably from the heat of standing over a stove for hours. She had a round frame and big arms she loved to wrap around his waist and bear hug him to near suffocation.

Royal rolled his eyes. “It better not be anything with caviar on it.”

Her laugh was loud and infectious, and Royal found his hand back up to his lips again.

“You want a glass of merlot, and water, yeah?”

Royal nodded.

When Myra disappeared back through the kitchen’s double doors, Royal turned to stare out of the window, feeling as if he’d never get bored of the view.

He had his new romance thriller he’d purchased from the bookstore beside him and figured he’d delve in while he ate.

Myra came back with his glass of wine, a basket of freshly baked bread, and a dish of her homemade butter that made Royal want to praise her every time he slathered a generous amount on the warm bread and took a bite.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she hollered. “Oh, Stone. Hey sweetness. I have your order all ready.”

Royal whipped his head around, and sure enough, there he was, standing at the entrance of the dining room, shaking the snow off his black beanie.

He hadn’t seen Stone in a couple of days, but that was because Royal had been on a binge-bender, and he’d needed a little break from the constant flow of invites and offers from the people in town.

When he’d come down to read in the warm lobby or eat his lunch, he’d hear Jojo fending people off who’d wanted to find him and chat about everything from New York’s main attractions to the wonders of cold-water lobsters that were only found in southern Maine.

Big Hank swore to him that he could catch the ones that were as big as his head.

“You should stay and eat, Stone, instead of taking it all the way up the mountain to your cabin. The sandwich will be cold.” Myra fussed in front of Stone with her hands on her hips.

“I have a microwave,” he retorted.

Myra scoffed and slapped him on the chest with the dish towel that stayed on her shoulder like a loyal parrot.

“I wouldn’t mind the company,” Royal piped up before he could think better of it.

Stone found Royal in the corner, and though the reaction was subtle, he was almost positive he saw interest flash across Stone’s face.

“That’s a lovely idea, thank you Royal.” Myra beamed, not giving Stone a chance to object. “I’ll bring your dinners out together.”

Stone’s eyes were fixed on his as he closed the distance between them, his heavy boots making the floor creak under his bulk. He stopped at the table, silhouetted against the amber light of the fireplace.

Royal watched Stone as he seemed to battle with what he should do. When their eyes met, Royal felt that something stir inside of him again. It became a constant any time he stared into Stone’s pale blue eyes.

“Evening,” Stone grumbled.

He looked so tired and worn, Royal had an urge to help ease his weariness.

“Hi,” he answered quietly.

He gave a warm tentative smile since Stone had yet to take him up on his offer. If Stone declined and chose to eat a cold sandwich alone in his house instead of with him, Royal knew his pride would slink under the table and hide.

Slowly, Stone removed his coat and hung it on a nearby peg. He ran his hand through his thick, silver and black hair before he pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

The chair groaned beneath his weight, and a stirring of desire sizzled in Royal’s groin when he thought of how it would feel to have so much man on top of him.

He sat taller, hoping he wasn’t giving anything away. He wasn’t used to such visceral feelings. Attraction was new to him. He’d been so consumed with work, spreadsheets, meetings, making tons of money for not only himself but for selfish, greedy people, he’d forgotten there were other things in life besides finances.

“I’m afraid I might not be much company,” Stone started, his voice sounding heavy with weariness. “Never been good at small talk.”

Royal felt a pang of understanding. He’d also spent years pushing people away. If they weren’t about business, he wanted nothing to do with them.

“Well, I’m not sure how good I’ll be at it either.” Royal took a sip of his wine. “That is unless you can work in topics of maximizing profitability or cash forecasting. Otherwise I’ll probably be pretty bad at it myself.”

Stone’s lips twitched as if they wanted to curve upwards but had forgotten how.

“Well, unless you can work heavy machinery into the conversation, or the best time to harvest pine, then…”

Royal chuckled, the sound foreign to his ears. He enjoyed the feeling that rose in his chest when he did. He was glad his laugh didn’t make him sound like a dolphin.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, as they stared at one another until Myra came back with a cup of hot tea and a bottle of honey for Stone, and a glass of water with no ice.

“Your dinners are almost ready, you two,” she said, glancing between them. “And Stone, I’m taking your sandwich home to my son, you can eat what Royal’s having.”

Stone focused on stirring the honey into his tea while Royal watched him openly. His boldness grew a fraction more every time they saw each other. The couple of days he’d stayed inside, he’d thought of Stone a lot, what he was doing, and if he was wondering where he’d been.

Stone drank his tea, and Royal’s gaze went to his lips. They were full and framed by a thick mustache and beard he wondered was soft or bristly.

When he looked up, Stone was staring him, his brows knitted together, those blue eyes darkening like the clouds before a storm.

He couldn’t get a read on Stone. The small gestures, the almost imperceptible flickers of emotion behind his glare all felt like a slow dance waiting on the right song before it officially began.