I woke up early the next day with a massive headache.

I blamed it on half the bottle of red wine I nursed myself with after getting home. I had locked my doors and windows, drew close all the curtains, grabbed the liquor I’ve been saving for dinner guests from the cupboard and without a thought to dinner, slipped into my pajamas and drank straight from the bottle until I passed out on my bed.

I am not a drinker at all but it was the only thing I could think of that would knock me out.

I would never advise it on anyone. My head felt like splitting into two. Sure, I couldn’t remember any dream I may have possibly had, which was good, but I didn’t want a hangover for the entire day.

I took an Advil and hopped into the shower and took my time with it.

It was Sunday and we were going to be busy. I needed to get rid of the headache.

Wrapped in a towel, I looked at my reflection on the bathroom mirror as the fog on it started to clear up.

My wet hair was darker than its usual honey-brown color and it draped over my bare shoulder. My eyes were a little puffy and had dark circles under them. With a little make up, I think I could look like I usually do and no one would ask questions why I looked like death warmed over.

I dropped the towel to the floor and stared at my naked body.

I had a pretty light frame, full breasts, a small waist and slightly rounded hips. No one’s ever seen me naked and it fascinated me to remember every vivid detail of Tristan’s body that just seemed larger than life in every way possible.

My cheeks burned at my wicked thoughts. I quickly picked up the towel and tucked it around me.

I dried my hair, patted on some lotion and rummaged in the drawer for little pot of concealer I haven’t used in a while. 

I have always preferred dresses but it was a must for Sundays especially during the warmer months.

Today, it was a rose-colored cotton dress with a cut-out under the chest and thin straps. I wore it with a pair of white, flat sandals.

I put a white cardigan over as it was still chilly this late spring morning. By six thirty, I was making coffee downstairs and toasting a sliced bagel. I normally eat at the bakeshop for breakfast but my stomach was growling. My headache had dulled a bit but I think some greasy hash browns and bacon strips are necessary.

I downed what I could of my coffee before driving out to the bakeshop. I lived on the side of the lake opposite from the Mansion and I would usually drive south across Haystack River which is what opens up to the lake. I pass the public park and the beach and it’s usually about twenty minutes to half an hour at the most to get to the bakeshop.

Patrick looked at me when I came in and winced.

“Bad night?” he asked, pouring me a cup of coffee.

I took the cup gratefully. “Guess the concealer didn’t do it for me then. I’m just tired and I have a headache.”

Patrick was tall, about six feet, and just slightly chubby. He was also quite unconventional and was wearing jeans and a bright pink shirt today which really hurt my eyes.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Mary Anne will be here any minute and Hailey is also coming in today so we’ll have an extra person.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Just be a sweetheart and make me some bacon and hash browns and I’ll be good to go.”

Patrick flicked the stove on and turned to me, his eyes thoughtful. “Is there anything going on that we should know about?”

I forced out my brightest smile for Patrick.

He’s a dear friend and has always looked after me especially after my mother died but I didn’t want to put him at risk worrying about me. 

“I just miss Mom and Dad, that’s all,” I said, partly lying but also partly meaning it.

If they were here, they’d know what to do.

“Oh, honey,” Patrick said, collecting me in a hug and I relaxed in his arms.

Patrick is gay by the way, in case you’re wondering. He has a boyfriend, Will, who owns a convenience store next town.

After Patrick’s hug and some greasy breakfast, I felt better.

The usual customers came in at eight and the bakeshop was buzzing with conversation and activity.

I temporarily forgot what was troubling me.

Until he walked in through the door.

“Holy cow,” Patrick muttered under his breath before doing a low whistle. “Who is this beautiful creature that just walked in?”

Patrick says that quite a bit about any cute tourist who walks in but when a hush fell over the entire bakeshop, I looked up from filling the pastry display and froze.

“Ollie.”

Tristan smiled that sardonic smile of his at me and did a little wave as he stood by the doorway, nearly filling it completely. The bakeshop suddenly felt cramped.

So he’s definitely not a vampire. He was in dark jeans and a snug, light blue sweater, highlighting his golden hair, sharp blue eyes and muscular body.

I looked around at everyone who had turned to me in interest.

I slowly straightened and forced my mouth to smile at him. “Hey. Tristan. What… What are you doing here this Sunday morning?”

“You know him?” Patrick whispered behind me just as Tristan started making his way to the counter, ignoring the curious stares and whispers that blossomed at my greeting.

“I heard this is where the best breakfast in town is and I came to see if it was really true,” Tristan answered, sliding on a stool by the breakfast bar. “What would you recommend?”

I stared at him stupidly. “You’re eating? Like real food?”

He smiled at me just as Patrick stepped in and beamed at Tristan. “Of course, he’s eating real food because that’s all that we serve here at Belle’s. Welcome. My name is Patrick. Forgive Ollie here, she’s just feeling a little stressed today. I’d suggest the grilled sausage and huevos rancheros.”

“Sounds good,” Tristan answered, nodding at Patrick who turned to head for the kitchen.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked when it was just the two of us there. 

“I’m fine,” I answered stiffly, trying to resume my task but I was very distracted. “What are you doing here, Tristan?”

“Just thought I’d go into town today and look around,” he answered casually, leaning back against his seat in a manner that made the old-fashioned plastic stool look like a part of a sexy magazine ad. “I’ll be here for a little while after all.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to warn him not to do anything stupid.

Relax. I’m just here to see you and make sure things are as we’ve agreed them to be, he answered in my head and I nearly flinched at the surprise.

So you’re telepathic, I answered mentally, fixing him a glare. Perhaps you can just read my mind and know the answer to your question.

He smiled. You don’t look happy to see me. I spared your life.

Yes, but now you’ve saddled me with your secrets, I retorted just as Patrick came out with a plate heaping full with food.

Tristan held my eye. You look much more beautiful in the light.

He just smiled a little.

I raised a brow at him, moving aside as Patrick served up the food and accompanying utensils in front of him. And you are just as arrogant no matter what time of day.

“What would you like to drink?” Patrick asked, still with a big, charming smile. If he only knew. “We have coffee, orange juice, milk, smoothies...”

“Orange juice, please. Thanks.”

“What’s going on?” I heard Mary Anne ask as she came out behind me but I could also hear Patrick pull her aside and murmur something to her.

Tristan picked up a fork and dug into his food. I watched him take a couple of bites, his smile widening.

“This is really good,” he said, looking up at me. “This is a neat bakeshop you have.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure it’s nowhere near the standards of some of your swanky Las Vegas hotspots.”

“Excuse me,” Walter Newman, a retired school teacher who was sitting a couple of stools away from Tristan, said as he leaned over to extend a hand. “Did she say Las Vegas? Are you the new owner of Ruddard Mansion? We heard he’s from Las Vegas.”

I bit my lip, realizing my slip, but Tristan just shook Walter’s hand and smiled at him politely. 

“That would be correct. My name is Tristan Black,” Tristan said, glancing over his shoulder as well to acknowledge everyone else who was listening in. “My staff and I have just moved into town late yesterday afternoon. I just happened upon Miss Vance here who was driving out. She helped us with the directions.”

I smiled stiffly at those who looked to me for confirmation.

“When are you going to open it to the public?” Sally, one of the other older patrons of the bakeshop, asked from her corner table.

“In two weeks’ time,” Tristan answered in a confident manner that commanded everyone’s attention, as if he didn’t have it already having just shown up at the door.

“We will have a cocktail party for the formal opening and everyone in Willow is welcome to come,” he said, gracing everyone with one of his heart-stopping smiles. I could already hear some giggles from some of the younger women. “It’s a real privilege for me to be investing in a town as nice and beautiful as its people.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me just as he said beautiful and for the life of me, I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. Dammit, the man was as smooth as silk.

“You’re going to hurt some of us who run small lodging businesses by the lake,” I heard Kirk say from the back.

Tristan took that well and gently shook his head. “I’m here to help the town’s economy and give my own clients an option for a country escape, that’s all. I’ll be bringing my own kind of clientele into town, so please, don’t be worried.”

“Are you staying here for good?” a girl, Abby or Allie, asked in a hopeful voice as she and a group of her friends strained to hear his answer.

Tristan flashed them another smile. “Only as long as the Mansion needs me to. I do have businesses to manage in other places but I’ll be in and out to keep an eye on things.”

People started talking excitedly among themselves and Tristan stood up, slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the counter, cocked his head to one side and smiled at me.

“That was an amazing breakfast. Thank you,” he said charmingly, also nodding at Patrick and Mary Anne who were both grinning from ear to ear like lovestruck fools.

That dress looks lovely on you, he told me mentally, his eyes openly taking in my appearance in appreciation. But I’d rather see it on a heap on the floor with you standing naked next to it.

My cheeks burned and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from snapping at him.

He just laughed softly and saluted everyone goodbye before heading out the door.

“Oh, my God, Ollie,” Mary Anne said with a giggle as she and Patrick sandwiched me between them. “That man was eye-fucking you like no one else was in the room.”

“Language!” Walter, who apparently has excellent hearing for an old man, chided and glared at Mary Anne.

Mary Anne is known to be unapologetic and she just waved a dismissive hand at Walter.

“You didn’t mention anything about meeting a hunk!” Patrick gushed, trying to keep the high pitch off his voice. “Can you imagine what else is big on that guy?”

“Hey, quit it,” I hissed at them in mortification, trying to bury my face behind a curtain of hair. “I just met him, okay? Be nice.”

“Ollie!” that girl, Abby or Allie, and her two other friends, ran up to the counter, their faces eager. 

“Tell us. Is that Tristan guy single or married?”

“Did he bring a girlfriend?” 

“What’s he like?”

“How tall do you think he is?”

“Does he really own five casinos in Las Vegas?”

“Do you think he’s on Facebook?”

“Whoa!” I snapped, raising a hand up to stop them before they threw in thirty more questions. “I don’t know how you imagine I know all these things about the guy but I don’t believe you’re at an age to be interested in that kind of information anyway.”

Abby or Allie, straightened up and flipped her straight blond hair over her shoulder. “I’m sixteen. I heard city guys appreciate the innocence of country girls.”

Her two other friends nodded.

I glanced at Patrick and Mary Anne who both looked appalled.

“Well, from the sound of it, you don’t seem that innocent so cross him off your list,” I told her. “He’s not interested.”

One of the other girls narrowed her eyes at me. “Why? Because you think you got first dibs on him?”

“You wicked girl!” Patrick finally snapped. “What are you mothers’ names so I can all give them a call.”

You’re funny, Tristan’s voice came through my head. 

I stilled. Why are you still talking to me? Didn’t you go?

I’m outside. Come walk with me, he said in a tone that wasn’t asking. I’m sure you can be spared.

What do you want? I demanded, walking away from the scene with the girls and Patrick as if I was talking on a phone and didn’t want them to overhear—which was kind of ridiculous.

I want you to come outside and walk with me, he answered, sounding a bit impatient. Don’t make me come and get you.

Aware that there was no argument to be made to my advantage anymore, I turned to Mary Anne and said, “Do you mind if I step out for a bit and get some air? I’ll just walk the block.”

She looked at me uncertainly. “Everything okay?”

I nodded and grabbed my small gray purse, slinging it around me. “Yup. I’ll be quick.”

I slipped out quickly before anyone could ask me anything else and the moment I stepped out, Tristan grabbed me by the hand and led me down the sidewalk along Carter Avenue.

He didn’t let go of my hand and he walked as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the people gawking at us.

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“To my car,” he answered. “I couldn’t find a spot in front of your bakeshop. It was packed full. You’re surely a town favorite.”

“I thought we’re going to go for a walk.” But I learned last night that nothing is ever what it seems with Tristan. He was easily disarming with his good looks and charismatic smile but I had to remember he was... different.

“I thought about it but there are too many eager gossips around,” he said as he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. We turned at the end of the block and stopped in front of a stunning Range Rover in a deep burgundy color parked right outside of Benny’s liquor store.

A couple of teenage boys were gawking at it but they easily scampered away with one look from Tristan.

“This thing looks spanking new,” I commented as he went to open the passenger door for me.

“It is,” he answered as he waited for me to slide into the seat. I spent a few seconds gazing at automative beauty in fascination. He didn’t seem impatient. “I figured a sleek, little sports car isn’t going to cut it here. I thought this would be more appropriate for the, um, rougher terrain.”

I eyed him in disbelief. “This car is probably the price of a nice, cozy house. You could’ve just gotten a pick up truck.”

He looked at me, his mouth turning up on one corner just a bit. “You’re a delight, Ollie Vance. Your simplicity is—how do I put it?—refreshing.”

“And your extravagance is unnecessary,” I answered with a little scoff before getting inside the car.

As I watched him back out of the spot, I grew wary of my situation.

“You’re not planning on driving off somewhere remote so you could kill me and dump my body, are you?” I blurted out before realizing that I didn’t have to offer the suggestion.

He glanced at me, his blue eyes laughing even though his smile was still close-mouthed. “Why would I bother now? It would’ve been easier doing it last night.”

“Exactly,” I affirmed, glad I wasn’t going to have to worry about my life today. “So where are we going?”

“Somewhere to talk,” was all he said before we headed towards Ruddard Mansion. 

He turned off just right after the bridge across Keeping River but instead of driving straight through to his property, he turned left and parked at a private clearing just under the bridge.

He rolled the windows down and turned off the car.

The sound of the gushing river filled my ears.

“I want you to work for me,” he finally said.

I turned to him with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

“We’ll have a restaurant as part of the bed and breakfast and I need a really good chef,” he explained casually as if something should already be obvious to me.

I raised a brow. “Okay. I’m sure you already have a list of highly-recommended chefs who can do the job.”

He shrugged. “I do but I want someone who knows the local favor. It’s part of the appeal. Also, some of them don’t look forward to the idea of leaving the big city and moving to the country.”

“I have my own business to run, Tristan,” I told him gently, “It’s small and modest but it’s my Mom’s and I can’t give it up. Besides, I’ve never worked for anyone in my entire life. I don’t know how that’ll sit with me.”

He smiled. “I’ll be totally hands off. The kitchen is your kingdom; you can do anything you want there. I’ll pay you a ridiculous amount of money so you can still employ enough people to run your bakeshop. And you can supply the Mansion’s bakeshop section with your own brand and that helps market your business.”

I paused, deciding whether asking him was going to open a can of worms or not.

“Wait a second,” I started, making my choice. “I’m not going to be cooking for vampires and demons, am I?”

He looked confused for a second and then laughed. “No, no. I will have regular customers but the business will have another side to it. I make some of my money providing all kinds of services for otherworldlies needing to conduct business in the human realm and despite previous appearances, a lot of them are civil and peaceful.”

“Otherworldlies?” I echoed.

He nodded. “They’re usually what you call anything and everything that’s not human in the human realm. Or you can also call them supernaturals. As you may have realized, we coexist with you but we have to do it under very strict rules so that it stays secret—“

“Then you shouldn’t be telling me!” I exclaimed, shutting my eyes close and pressing my hands against both my ears. “The last thing I need is more secrets to keep for you.”

He pulled my hands down and the size and warmth of his own gave my skin a slight tingle. I thought about his naked body again, dammit.

“You need to know enough so you don’t do anything stupid,” he said with a smile. “I’ve been in your brain, Ollie, and I know you’re not going to tell.”

“You shouldn’t be strolling in and out of my brain, Tristan,” I chided. “That’s invasion of privacy.”

“I don’t do it often at all and definitely not with otherworldlies except ones I trust explicitly,” he answered. “The problem with being able to read minds is that to get in, I have to let them in as well and that’s dangerous because some creatures have the ability to influence or control your mind. I know too many things that I don’t risk it.”

“But you read my mind because you thought it was safe,” I grumbled, crossing my arms in front of me. “That’s just great. Marvelous.”

“Hey, it saved your life, didn’t it?” He leaned back in his seat, unperturbed. “I rarely do it for my own sake. I also have excellent hearing so your conversation with those girls earlier was just something I overheard from outside. Mind-reading isn’t always necessary.”

My cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry for taking the liberty of telling them they’re not your type. I just thought they were too young to be interested in this kind of thing but that’s none of my business.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re right,” he said.

“I know, right? They were only like, sixteen or something. They’re too young—“

“No, you’re right. They’re not my type,” he interrupted with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know what I want. I’ve made it very clear.”

Realizing his meaning, my cheeks got hotter and I turned away. “Go on. What else do you want to talk to me about?”

He leaned forward, his grin deeper now. “I want to talk about why I think you’re going to like what I want.”

“Hey, stop it!” I reprimanded, looking at him sternly and moving away a bit. “I have a job to get back to so stop going off-topic.”

He laughed as if clearly enjoying his teasing but he backed off.

“Well, I’ve already told you what I want,” he continued on. “Don’t worry about the otherworldlies. I’ve provisioned for their coming and going that humans won’t notice them at all.”

I bit my lip and stared at the river for a moment.

It was a tempting idea from the perspective of trying something new for the first time in my life. The bakeshop was something I’ve grown up with as if it was and will always be part of who I am.  I was a great pastry chef but I wanted to do more.

I glanced at Tristan, at his beautiful, deep blue eyes and sun-kissed hair.

I thought about his beautiful and bare physique, about his startling, rakish smile and the devil in him that was dangerous and enthralling at the same time.

I couldn’t do it.

Not because of the bakeshop or any of the preliminary reasons that came to mind.

I couldn’t do it because I was perilously attracted to a mysterious otherworldly who could either break my heart or kill me or both.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” I answered quietly, peeking at him from under my lashes. I didn’t think he was used to being told no and I couldn’t be sure how he was going to take it. 

A visual of me being drowned in the river was becoming more unnerving with every second of silence that passed.

“That’s okay,” he finally said, his voice calm. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t do it.”

I frowned. “If you knew I was going to say no, why did you bother to ask?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Who’s going to cook for your restaurant now?”

“Oh. I already have a chef flying down next week.”

My eyes widened and I couldn’t help myself from swatting him on the arm. “If you already had a chef flying down next week, then why the hell did you even bring it up? What if I said yes?”

He shrugged. “Then I’d fire him and hire you.”

My jaw dropped in disbelief. “You are so.... you’re so... callous!”

I scoffed and scrambled out of the car, walking down to the river bank—anywhere, really—just to get away from him.

I heard the car door slam behind him but I didn’t move.

I looked at the patch of dirt, grass and weeds on my feet. 

“What is it about you, Ollie?” he asked quietly.

“What do you mean what is it about me?” I asked, turning around only to find him practically in front of me, swooping down as he cupped my chin and pressed a hand against my back, urging me closer against him.

“What is it about you that makes me want to do this?” he murmured in a husky voice before pressing his lips against mine.

I went perfectly still, alarmed and stunned at first.

Then the warmth of his mouth registered. The steadiness and strength of his arms that now wrapped around me offered support for my melting bones. The taste of his coaxing lips started a fire inside me.

I kissed him back.

I couldn’t recall a single reason why I should absolutely be not doing this.

I haven’t kissed many boys in my life so I remember most of them—not right now though. This kiss, heightening to something beyond a simple, intimate joining of mouths, ingrained itself in my memory, never to be forgotten. And I don’t think I’d want to.

I wouldn’t have pulled away, and from the urgency of Tristan’s embrace as if he wanted me to get under his skin, he didn’t seem like he wanted to either, but I was out of breath.

I pushed him away, gasping.

He held me by the arm to steady me and when I looked up, I saw that his face had emotion written all over it—I just couldn’t tell what kind.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cupping my chin. “I’m sorry. I got… carried away.”

I couldn’t help a silly smile. “No kidding. Where in the world did that come from?”

I thought he was going to be funny about it but his expression darkened and he backed away. “I don’t know. We better get you back.”

My defenses immediately erected themselves back up at his cold and sudden withdrawal.

I started getting a little angry as I followed him back into the car but I caught myself. After all, I did respond and that was my own doing as an adult.

The rest of the drive back was filled with thick silence. I didn’t even bother with small talk.

“Ollie,” he started as he pulled to a stop in front of the bakeshop that now had some parking spots freed up.

I didn’t say anything as I grabbed my purse, slipped out of the car and slammed the door behind me.

Tears started to burn in the back of my eyes as I walked into the bakeshop and noticed everyone looking at me and the car I just came out of which still seemed to be sitting outside.

I was so humiliated.

I ignored everyone, including Patrick and Mary Anne who both looked concerned, and just marched straight into the washroom at the back of the bakeshop.

Ollie, I heard his voice say softly in my mind as I leaned against the door.

Get out of my head, I told him furiously as I bit my lower lip to hold myself together. I didn’t want to cry—especially not because of some manipulative, world-class jerk like Tristan.

Ollie.

Get the hell out of my head!

There. I’ve done it. I’ve just confirmed how affected I was by his stupid little prank.

Only silence followed.