7. Henry

CHAPTER 7

HENRY

I've never had better sex. Keane was fabulous—he's big and powerful, but gentle. He was commanding, but he listened. He gave and took pleasure in equal percentages.

In short, I'm fucked. In all the ways.

Now I'm feeling shy. I want to ask him things. Can we go out again? Can we stay in again? How often can I come over? Do you want to come to my place?

Will you be my boyfriend?

Are we moving too fast? Even though I've known you for two years?

But with all the excitement of the day, I find myself dozing off.

When I wake up, it's early evening.

"What happened?" I mutter.

"You stole the blanket," Keane says, a note of amusement in his voice. He's cuddled up behind me, holding me in his arms, and I'm pretty darn happy. His biceps are so much bigger than mine, and feeling one like an iron claw around my waist makes me feel secure.

I look down. I totally did steal the blanket. It's sort of under me and over my legs … and not over him at all.

"Is that a deal-breaker?" I turn over and study his face.

"Kind of. I'm not fond of blanket hogs."

My heart sinks, and Keane looks immediately worried. "I'm kidding. Well, I'm not kidding about blanket hogs, but I'm immensely fond of you." He stares at me meaningfully. "Immensely. I'd like to see you again."

"I don't want to ever leave," I blurt.

"Good," he whispers. "Don't."

I take that as just him being kind, but when we finally get out of bed and pull on clothes, I find that he's not treating me like someone who needs to get going.

"It feels funny to be waking up at this time," I say.

"I think you're worn out from getting up early and running a bed-and-breakfast."

I nod. "I totally am."

"Need some help?"

"I need so much help."

"Then I'll be over?—"

I hold up a hand. "Wait, I didn't mean you needed to help. I just meant that I need help, you know. In general."

Keane tugs me to him, and the warmth of his arms around me is comforting. "I'd like to help. If you'd allow me."

I give him a kiss. "Okay. Just maybe give me a day or two. Let me figure out what my questions are."

"What if I come over on Saturday night?"

That's in three days. "I could deal with that." I hook a finger in his belt loop. "And maybe spend the night?"

"That's the idea."

I don't really want to leave, but I need a moment to process all that's just happened. I got way more than I bargained for when I signed up for CUPID on a whim. I'm surprised that I'm not worrying about the spell we've cast being broken once I leave.

I guess that's because Keane feels like home.

When I get back to my rooms at the B and B, Zayden calls me on FaceTime. He texted earlier, but I put him off until now.

"Sooo," he says. "How did your CUPID date go?"

I can't keep the grin off my face. "It was awesome ."

"See? I told you. Who is he?"

I chuckle. "Well. Are you sitting down? It's so much better than I could have imagined."

"Sure. Keep me in suspense," he grumbles.

"Keane Fitzpatrick," I blurt. "I got matched up with Keane, as in Kerrigan's dad."

"The one you wanted to sleep with in the first place?"

"Yes."

"Oh, shit," Zayden says. "That's kind of fucked-up and kind of amazing. Both at the same time."

"I know."

"So I take it you guys hit it off?"

"We did." I think about how wonderful it felt to be with Keane. How caring he was, in bed and out of it, and how he offered to help me with the B and B, but not like he wants to boss me around. It's just … support. The kind of support I love. "What's Kerrigan going to think, though?"

Zay shakes his head. "Who cares what Kerrigan thinks. He's a fucking cheater. He had a chance with you, and he lost you, and that's on him. You don't need to live the rest of your life—or even another minute—based on him."

"I suppose," I say slowly. "It's just… I was so pissed at him, but now I don't know how to feel. Bottom line, though, I like Keane a lot."

"Then that's what you should be doing."

"Keane?"

He chuckles. "Yeah. Do what feels right. And if that means you end up with your ex-boyfriend's father"—he shrugs—"then great."

That sounds a bit too easy, but I'd like it to be true.

"You're both adults," he adds. "You don't need to ask anyone's permission to date Keane. Except him. And yourself."

"I'm the one in charge of my life."

"Precisely."

"Still, I worry about Kerrigan. I know I'm supposed to be all ‘Tough, you blew it' and move on. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him. But I know how it feels when someone gets over you in the blink of an eye."

"You're a good person, Henry. This is why I love you. Keane will, too."

Love? I want to scoff.

Keane was amazing, and I do think we have a real connection, but I need to be rational about this. Of course I want to be loved by a man like that, but some things are too good to be true.

While most people just walk into a bed-and-breakfast—that's kind of how public accommodations work—the doorbell rings Saturday evening, and I know it's Keane arriving for our next date.

I welcome him inside, and he whistles. "Wow, this place is so cool."

I take a look around as if I don't know the decor in detail. This is a Victorian mansion, and it's filled with period- appropriate furniture and accessories. It looks like a great-aunt decorated it, though it's not as fussy as it could be—I said hard pass on the doilies and cut down on the fringed lampshades by at least 30 percent. Even still, Aunt Veronica made sure there were lots of books and comfy chairs and couches. It's the kind of place that invites you to stay a while. And I think that saves it.

The door closes behind us, and I go right up to him and kiss him—something I think I've always wanted to do. In turn, his arms snake around me and hold me to him, and he ravages my mouth.

I hear a chuckle as a couple on their honeymoon walk into the foyer, presumably headed out for dinner.

I pull back, clear my throat, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Sorry," I say, not really feeling apologetic at all.

"All good," one of them says as they slip past.

When Keane and I are alone, he says, "Okay, show me around," and I remember why he's here. I mean, yes, we're going on a date, but he also offered to take a look at my newly inherited career.

I give him a tour of the parlors and downstairs breakfast room, the remodeled kitchen, and the large downstairs bedroom with attached bathroom, which is where Aunt Veronica used to live and where I moved in.

He glances around, noting the art tacked up on the walls.

"Is that yours?" He points to a watercolor of the grape-covered hills.

"Yeah."

"It's wonderful. I'd love something like that for our tasting room."

"You can have it," I blurt.

He shakes his head. "Your art is lovely. Don't go giving it away for free. We'll talk to some dealers, and I'll pay you a fair price. What do you say to that?"

"But if I'm your … you know. I mean, if I'm seeing you. Wouldn't you want a bargain?"

He shakes his head. "I'd want to show you how much you were worth. Though the answer to that is: way more than money." Keane tugs me to him. "Okay, back to the B and B: I don't want to run your life. If you want me to take a step back, I will. But it seemed like you were a tad overwhelmed by suddenly running a business you hadn't planned on owning."

"Yeah. I am," I admit. "I'm grateful for any help you can offer."

He kisses me softly, and I really don't know how I got so lucky. "Why don't you show me the rest of the place, and then we can go out to dinner. Sound good?"

I nod.

As we walk around, he points out some additional income opportunities I could consider, like having an afternoon tea hour in the gazebo out back. "Or you could offer wine tastings in the evening." He grins. "I know where you could get some good wine at cost."

"You don't have to do that," I say.

"It's marketing for me."

We continue chatting about wine packages to bundle with the rooms and which other local businesses might be interested in reciprocal arrangements, and I realize how suited he is for this kind of work.

But more importantly, how suited he is for me.

Because this is a tourist town, we're blessed with more nice restaurants than you might expect based on the population, and Keane takes me to one of the best ones—an Italian trattoria. It's the kind of place with white tablecloths, fresh flowers, and sparkling glassware. We get a booth in the back and snuggle up next to each other.

Even though he's a wine expert, he listens to the server, who's younger than me, and doesn't lecture him when even I know the guy gets something wrong. Instead, Keane just orders a quality bottle, and we proceed to have a delicious meal.

After our salads, Keane looks at me intently. "So… when we do this…" He gestures between me and him.

"I note you say when," I say hopefully.

"Right. When." He gives me a sweet but suitable-for-public-consumption kiss. "I'm going to be straightforward with Kerrigan. We're not going to hide as if we've done something wrong. The app put us together. We went on a date and hit it off."

"And we liked each other before then, too, though I suppose we can leave that part out when talking to Kerrigan."

"We did. I suppressed it because you were with him, but once I let myself like you… I really, really like you. It feels selfish because you have your whole life in front of you, and you may regret being with someone so much older?—"

I cut him off with another kiss. "I want to be with you. Period. And the future will take care of itself."

"That sounds good to me." He nods. "When do you want to tell him?"

Biting my lip, I think about it. Part of me wants to tell him right away, even though I know it's reckless, because I feel like this thing with Keane is strong. But I should be smart about it. "Want to give it a month?" I ask. "That way, we can be sure. Or do you think that's too soon? Or too long?"

"A month sounds perfect," Keane says.

And with that resolved, I enjoy dinner with my new boyfriend.