Page 19 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

Porter’s breath came in soft pants, and he turned his head so his wide eyes met mine. “This… was not on my disaster bingo card.”

“No,” I agreed, probably looking just as wide-eyed and panicky as he did.

“Mine either.” And fuck had that been close.

Even just a few feet nearer and someone would have been injured.

“Come on,” I growled. “Back inside, immediately. The cabin was built with a reinforced roof.” And now I understood why my grandfather had insisted on that.

But it occurred to me as soon as Porter pushed open the door to the house and we stood shivering on the braided rug in my tiny living area that while we had possibly avoided death-by-tree, we had not fully avoided disaster.

Not by any means.

My grandfather and I had designed this cabin to be his retirement escape.

The place he’d called his “hermitage.” I hadn’t changed much when I inherited the place because as far as I was concerned, the small, square, single-story cabin had everything a person required in a dwelling—a kitchen area in the front right corner with a small table, an area in front of the fireplace just big enough for a comfortable reading chair and hassock, an updated bathroom supplied by an enormous hot water tank, and a sleeping area with a queen-sized bed and armoire.

Best of all, the entire wall around the fireplace and all the way back to the sleeping area was lined with bookshelves—enough to hold my grandfather’s entire collection of scientific tomes and some of my precious first editions.

But, I was realizing way too late, what the cabin did not have was a convenient guest bed.

Or a sofa.

Or any fucking privacy whatsoever.

“S-sorry,” Porter offered. “I’m r-really, really sorry.”

“Me too,” I gritted out.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” He looked at me with those big, green eyes, now shiny with shock instead of tequila, and his huge frame shook.

I was freezing myself, and I wasn’t the one who’d drunk enough alcohol to float a barge. Didn’t alcohol make it harder to regulate body temperature? I sighed. “Look, go take a hot shower, and I’ll make some tea to warm us up while we figure out a way to get you home. Unless… do you even drink tea?”

Of course he doesn’t drink tea, Theo. He’s built like the offspring of Paul Bunyan and the Rock. He probably drinks raw eggs and hot sauce ? —

“Fuck, yeah, I love tea!” he said earnestly. “My uncle Drew makes a blend with star anise and organic dried apples that…” He cleared his throat and hunched his shoulders. “You, ah… you probably don’t care about that right now, I’m guessing?”

I snorted. “Look who’s sobering up.”

I grabbed my largest pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt from the armoire and turned to hand them to him, only to find that he’d followed me to the back of the house and was standing way too close, right between me and the rumpled bed I’d been sleeping in just a little while before.

I stared at him. There was no doubt Porter Sunday was a beautiful man.

Even when he’d been arguing with me in class last semester, that big, capable body, shiny brown hair, cherry-red lips, and ridiculously green eyes sparking with challenge had been temptation incarnate.

And now, all damp and uncertain, he was…

Ugh .

“Shower, Sunday,” I croaked. “And throw your clothes out of the bathroom so I can put them in the dryer. Show me you can follow simple directions.”

Before I lose control entirely.

Porter’s eyes met mine. “I follow directions really well, Dr. Hancock,” the man said softly. “You just have to tell me what you want.”

I was sure he didn’t mean to throw around that fucking sexy voice, to have his words come out in a breathy rumble that vibrated directly through my bones and down to my cock…

But like so many things with Porter Sunday, what he intended didn’t matter when the result was so unavoidably, cataclysmically terrible.

I clenched my hands behind my back and tilted my head expectantly. He gave me a sweet, almost sheepish smile, then turned and went into the bathroom. A second later, his clothes—including my jacket—hit the bedroom floor with a damp plop , and then the bathroom door closed again.

As soon as I heard the water running, I sank onto the edge of the bed and let out a shaky breath.

Right. Okay. I had dealt with lots of unexpected and difficult situations before—my grandfather’s death, the slow implosion of my last relationship, my parents’ perpetual disappointment over my career choice—and I’d managed to handle all of them deftly and responsibly, without losing control.

I would handle this, too.

First things first, I stripped out of my own wet pants and, darting a look at the bathroom door to make sure it stayed closed, quickly changed.

I collected the wet clothes and brought them to the small laundry machine in the kitchen area, then set the kettle on to heat and grabbed my phone to quickly google my options.

Unfortunately, there were none.

The impassible driveway might quickly become an emergency, but according to the town website, it wasn’t yet.

Not when all the emergency crews in the area would be busy dealing with actual life-threatening situations, like cars sliding off roads that hadn’t been treated this early in the season and downed trees snapping power lines.

Non- emergency vehicles were asked to stay off the streets, meaning no Lyft or Uber driver in Vermont would be coming back out this way voluntarily.

And it would be unsafe for Porter to attempt to walk several miles back to town under these conditions, even if he wasn’t still mostly inebriated.

Like it or not, he was stuck here for now.

He could sleep in the chair by the fire, I decided, just as the water shut off in the bathroom. He’d certainly seemed comfortable enough there before.

I heard the bathroom door open and immediately got very busy with tea preparations.

“Your clothes are in the wash, and the tea will be ready in a minute,” I said without turning around.

“Mkay,” he said tiredly.

“The only solution I can figure out right now is that you’ll have to sleep here for the night.

” I waved over my shoulder at the chair and footstool.

“It’s not ideal, but your safety is paramount.

The good news is, you’ll be warm and dry.

And while sleeping upright might have killed my back on multiple occasions, you’re younger than I am, Sunday, and probably bendier—” Jesus Christ, Theo, do not think about Porter being bendy.

“—uh, I mean, much sturdier—” Ditto on thinking about how sturdy he is. “—you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

Porter exhaled deeply, almost a sigh, and I smiled to myself as I added honey to our mugs.

“Yes, well, if you’re unhappy, you only have yourself to blame, Sunday,” I said a trifle smugly.

“It’s only for one night, after all. The storm should break for several hours tomorrow, and you can figure out a way home then.

Tonight, you can deal with the consequences of your actions like an adult.

As the old adage says, beggars who came to hurl angry sonnets at their professors can’t be choosers. ”

Porter didn’t reply, clearly unable to find a flaw with my logic.

“Don’t you agree, Sunday?” I persisted .

When Porter didn’t reply that time, I finally turned my head…

And found the man had pulled back my down duvet, curled up on my bed—wearing nothing but a towel, for fuck’s sake, so that acres and acres of damp, tanned skin were on display against the white cotton—and buried his face in my brand-fucking-new memory foam pillow.

“Porter Sunday!” I exclaimed, bouncing the end of the mattress to wake him because I didn’t quite trust myself to touch him in that moment. “Why is your ass in my bed?”

Definitely, definitely do not think about Porter and asses, Theo, you colossal idiot.

Porter stretched out on his back with a lusty groan and spread his legs like a starfish, leaving nothing but the scrap of white terry cloth—Christ, had my bath towels always been so tiny?—standing between me and… insanity.

I swallowed hard.

“I got Hancocked again,” he whispered.

I sprung away guiltily. “You… what ?” I demanded. “Sunday? Wake up right now, you lummox!”

But Porter’s only response was another sigh, followed by a blissful snore.

Apparently, the only adult who’d be dealing with the consequences of their actions this night would be me .