Page 27 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Holiday

L ando kissed me.

Kissed me good .

So good I’m wondering how I’m waking up alone.

Twelve hours later and my knees are still weak.

I’ll be amazed if I can stand, and I know without looking, there’s still a smile on my face. It’s been there since he walked me to my front door and kissed me goodnight.

If it’s possible, that kiss was even better than the first. Soft yet firm. Totally delicious. Big, strong hands cupped my cheeks, the calluses on them scratching my skin.

I could relive it all day.

I stretch out of my sleep with a long mmm .

I’ve woken up far earlier than usual. It’s not the crack of dawn, but it’s close. Early enough to hear the rooster crowing from the other side of the fields.

The city might have sirens, but the countryside could easily compete for noise levels with its loud farmyard animals, clip-clopping horses, and tractors.

And that’s not counting the church bells going off right now. Whoever thought nine o’clock on a Friday morning was a good time for bell-ringing practice needs to get laid.

I never thought church bells would be louder than a rock concert, but man, do they give it a go.

Throwing back the covers, I pad into the bathroom and stare myself down.

I stare until I see things I haven’t seen in a very long time.

The whites of my eyes are whiter, the freckles across my forehead—the ones they always cover in makeup—seem to have quadrupled in quantity, and right now, my lips are totally bee-stung, and I freaking love it.

There’s one thing missing. And that’s any sign of mauve.

I’m so busy staring at myself that I don’t immediately notice my phone going off, so I snatch it right as it falls off the edge of the sink.

Ashley’s face fills the screen.

“Hey, boss, sorry it’s early.”

I’m immediately confused. “Early? Where are you?”

“Home. I meant early for you.”

“Why are you awake? Is everything okay? What time is it there?” I fire out because there’s no way Ashley would be calling me at this time, which means something’s wrong.

The confusion gives way to a stab of panic.

“It’s all good, nothing to worry about . . . I’ve had some queries come through?—”

“What kind of queries?”

“After your meeting with Marcy, you were snapped getting into a car with a guy. They just want to know who he is.”

“Oh. Oh .” Immediately, my heart rate returns to its normal pace, and I pick up my toothbrush to squeeze paste onto it and puff out the breath I’d been holding. “I thought it was something serious. Did you respond?”

“Of course not. And I’ve forwarded everything over to Patty to deal with,” she replies, mentioning my publicist .

“Thank you,” I mumble as I begin to brush.

It’s been a while since I got spotted with anyone.

There was a time when it didn’t matter who I was with, they were automatically tagged as someone I could be dating—from Tanner to a random guy who just happened to be standing next to me at the valet.

The only people I saw in London were my friends and . . .

I stop brushing and spit the paste. “Wait. Did you say after my meeting with Marcy?”

“Yeah, yesterday afternoon, London time.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

Cupping my hand under the faucet, I scoop water into my mouth and rinse. “Is there a picture?”

She nods. “Yes, but it’s literally you getting into a car with a guy. It’s cute, actually. Who is he?”

I rub against my temples at the telltale signs of an impending headache. Goddamn it. And I woke up in such a good mood.

“My landlord.”

“ That’s your landlord?”

I nod. “Yeah, I ran into him in Claridge’s, and he gave me a ride home. It’s nothing.”

It was nothing. Now, it’s not nothing.

“ Sure .” She chuckles, adding Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire with her tone. “You never said your landlord was hot.”

I shake my head. I’m not getting into this conversation now. “Okay, time for you to sleep. Can you email me the picture?”

“No problemo, doing it now.”

“Thanks. Night, Ash. Let me know if you get any more queries.”

I sit on the edge of the tub and wait for my email to ding with the picture Ashley sent, opening it the second it does .

There it is plain as day. Evidence that it is definitely not nothing.

There’s no denying it. There I am, staring up at Lando like he’s the jelly in my donut.

I’ve been caught unawares plenty of times, but those pictures have rarely told any more of a story than:

“Holiday Simpson Walks Down The Street Next To Someone.”

This is more in the region of:

“Irrefutable Proof That Holiday Simpson Absolutely Has The Hots For Her Landlord And Wants To Climb Him Like A Tree.”

Lando’s hand is resting on my back, and the other is on the doorframe as he guides me into the car, and we’re both laughing.

I know the exact moment this was taken. It was when I was trying to figure out who this suited and booted version of Lando was. While I want to be mad, I can’t because all I see is how he’s looking at me and how happy I seem.

Would it be inappropriate to use it as my screensaver?

Shooting off an email to Patty telling her exactly what I told Ashley—that it’s nothing and not to be commented on—I finish brushing my teeth.

Then it dawns on me that I’m going to have to tell Lando, and my panic reappears because I have no idea how he’ll react.

Is he going to be mad?

Will he regret kissing me?

Have I blown my chance with him?

I’m working through all possible scenarios when a loud knocking sounds on the front door. Another equally loud and insistent knock follows it.

Why is everyone up so freaking early today? I haven’t even had my coffee.

The third time has me hurrying down the stairs, and because my morning decided to go to shit, I slip on the wonky step. I should have stayed in bed.

If I hadn’t grabbed the banister, I’d have bumped my ass all the way to the bottom.

“Fucking bag of dicks,” I screech, shaking out my elbow, which has lost all feeling. “Ouch, fuck .”

Flinging the door open, Lando has one hand raised, and the other’s holding a huge bouquet of roses.

Black riding pants are hugging his thighs so tightly they should be illegal—the thighs and the pants. The loose black tee isn’t much better because it falls exactly right to emphasize the tightness of his chest and the thick vein running the length of his bicep.

The black baseball cap is a step too far because under the shadow of the peak, his eyes are even more piercing than usual. His scent is like a hit of dopamine straight into my brain.

I still don’t know what time it is, but it’s far too early for this .

My good mood is officially gone.

“Are you okay?” Lando asks, concern all over his face.

“Oh, yeah.” I rub at the pain throbbing through my arm. “The stairs are wonky. I always trip on the step.”

“Wonky?”

“Yeah, there’s a wonky one near the top.” I nod, forcing out a laugh. I’m still rubbing my arm, only now it feels wet and a little sticky.

Lando’s not laughing. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”

Before I can take stock, he’s dropped the flowers and tugged me by my good arm through to the kitchen, where I’m ordered to sit on one of the stools.

I watch in silence as Lando gets to work, pulling a first aid box from the kitchen cabinet I didn’t realize was there. I’m not going to lie, as gross as it is, having a guy clean your own blood off a cut and fix it with a Band-Aid is hella sexy. I kind of hope he might kiss it better too.

“It’s minor, but you’ll have an impressive bruise,” he says, only to walk off.

Without a mirror, it’s impossible to look at your elbow, so I get up and use the reflection of the coffee machine instead, where I remember I still haven’t had one.

I hear the front door close, and Lando returns carrying the roses. I think he’s talking to me, then realize his phone is crooked into his neck.

“Yes . . . Bluebell.” He looks at me. “Holiday, what stair is it?”

I blink. “Um . . . third from the top.”

“Third from the top . . . yes . . . today. Great. Thanks, James.” Lando cuts the call and places his phone down on the counter. “A couple of the guys are coming this morning to fix it, so you need to be out of the place for a little while, but that’s fine since I have plans for us.”

Holy shit, this guy. I don’t know what’s sexier right now, the way he fixed my cut or the way he gets shit done. I know it’s his place, and technically, he should fix it, but I’ve experienced my fair share of crappy landlords to know this service isn’t the norm.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“What are they?”

“A surprise,” he answers as he rounds the counter, steps toward me, and tosses his hat to the side.

Any initial next-morning post-kiss awkwardness was taken care of when I fell down the stairs, so there’s no hesitation when his hands snake around my waist.

Like last night, I place my hands on his chest, enjoying the softness of the tee contrasted with solid muscle.

“Shall we try this again?” he asks, and he’s so close I can smell mint on his breath. “Good morning, Hollywood. Did you sleep well?”

Biting down a giggle—I mean, c’mon —I reply, “Yes, I slept very well, thank you. Did you?”

“Best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. And I woke up thinking of you.” His eyes drop to my mouth as he speaks. Heat flushes over my body, and the urge to kiss him again is overwhelming.

Thank god I brushed my teeth already.

I lift to the tip of my toes and stop a hair’s breadth before our mouths touch. His stubble tickles over my top lip, and he inhales deeply, like he’s breathing me in until that minuscule gap closes.

When I open, his tongue slips inside with a quiet moan.

I didn’t imagine it. This guy can kiss . Soft, firm licks against my tongue, around my mouth, rediscovering everything he left behind twelve hours ago.

This is the reward for waking up early. My hands push up Lando’s neck while his kiss deepens.