Chapter 14

F or the second time this week I wake up with absolutely no idea of where I am.

Today, thank god, the hangover is missing, so it takes me much less time than before to figure it out.

Haven. I’m at Haven’s.

Shifting onto my side, I turn my head and there’s nothing but an empty expanse of sheets and a thick, bunched-up comforter, when I’d prefer there to be a person. Haven, to be precise.

There’s also intense silence. No sound of footsteps, no shower running or tap dripping. The scent of fresh morning coffee is missing.

I ease up to sitting, my eyes darting around the room until they land on something that puts an instant frown on my face. My clothes, folded and placed on the ottoman in the corner.

“Haven?” I call, though I already know there’s going to be no answer.

She’s not here, and somehow I’ve slept through a girl leaving me in her bed.

This is new .

Even from the various women I’ve dated over the years, including Grace, my most recent ex, I’ve never been in their house while they weren’t there. I’ve never been left in bed. Never not woken up.

Usually when sleepovers happen, they’re at my place, because I’m a creature of habit. I like my things. My bed. My space.

Being in someone else’s bed without them? I didn’t think I’d like that.

It’s too intimate. Too familiar.

And yet, lying here, on a mattress that could be made of clouds based on how comfortable it is, I could quite easily fall back to sleep for the rest of the day.

I don’t get that opportunity however, as a buzzing cuts through the silence. I realize it’s my phone, which I find in the pocket of my jeans and only just manage to answer with a grunt before it rings out.

“Al, where the fuck are you?”

I recover from the daze I’m in at the speed with which I hurled myself out of bed, and scrub a hand down my face.

“I’m at Haven’s,” I tell Miles and ignore the sly chuckle he lets out.

“Interesting. I’m calling to let you know it’s ten a.m. and today’s the last day for hitting the slopes. How much longer do you need to say goodbye?” he adds with a snort.

I glance around the room, peer my head out of the bedroom door. Yup. I’m definitely in the house by myself.

“I’m ready.”

“Excellent. Lando’s just emerged, so we’ll leave in an hour.”

“Cool,” I reply, though an hour is wildly optimistic, seeing as I still need to wake up properly, get dressed, and Haven’s place is right across town. I catch him just before he hangs up, and blurt, “Milo, can you come and get me, please?”

I take his loud laughter as confirmation, hang up, and send him a pin drop.

Reaching for my clothes, I debate jumping into the shower for a lightning wash but then decide I can shower back at the house. It was only around three a.m. when I finished cleaning Haven up in the bathtub, so I’m probably not smelling as disgusting as I would be otherwise. And I kind of like the scent of her still on me.

We leave tomorrow and I won’t get another chance to experience it. The thought of which twists my gut.

I’m still trying not to think about leaving as I get dressed and head downstairs, before stopping halfway for a little chuckle to myself. Haven might not have woken me up, or even made any coffee, but she’s had time to turn on every single Christmas light and dancing ornament.

I was totally right when I said I expected her house to be covered in Christmas trees. There are trees and decorations everywhere. Glittery objects on every shelf. Way more than I noticed the last time I was here, even last night, though admittedly I was far too distracted by Haven’s tits and mouth, and the way her arse fitted perfectly in my hands, to pay attention to anything else.

On my way into the kitchen, I spy a wall of framed photos and stop in front of it. Haven stares back at me in all stages of her life—a bouncing baby on her mother’s knee, wobbling on skis, riding horses. I spot a couple similar to the one she’s hung in the store. These are not just photos, it’s a wall of memories, like one we have at Burlington—all five of us as children, Max, the animals, our parents.

Just like ours doesn’t feature our father beyond me as a young teenager, there are no pictures of Haven’s parents with her as a fully-fledged adult. I wonder how often she stands in front of this wall and dreams about what life would be like if they were still here.

Is it as often as I do at home?

We might live seven thousand miles apart, but grief doesn’t discriminate. I find myself thinking how lucky I am to still have the rest of my family, when Haven has been left to fend by herself.

I can’t imagine what I would have done, if I’d been left to run our family business by myself.

Fuck it up for sure.

The volume of decisions alone I’d have to make would fry my brain, and that’s without all the labor on top. Lando and I make a good team, throw in the dozens of farmhands and management team we have on top, and we can cope—and that’s only talking about those directly involved with the running of the Burlington Estate and Valentine Nook.

Add in the rest of the businesses we have around the world, and we’re talking nearly ten thousand employees.

I know Haven’s business isn’t the same size, but something tells me it’s almost more pressure. I’ve never met anyone who works as much as she does, including Lando, who would quite easily run himself into the ground if left to his own devices. But the hours I’ve seen her working this week makes me think it’s not solely about how much she loves Christmas trees.

A sudden burst of sunlight stops me from pondering on it any more, pulling my attention toward the kitchen. It certainly looks different in the daylight, and I allow myself a smile as the memory of Haven bent over the table hurtles back into my brain. I’m certain I’ll never experience sex like that again.

My dick’s been ruined by an American Christmas Tree farmer. Go figure.

I debate making a coffee, but it’s already been twenty minutes since I hung up on Miles, and knowing my luck, he’ll arrive the second I switch the machine on, and I kind of want to leave this place exactly as I found it. Like I was never here.

Because, irrationally, I think that if I leave no trace, if I don’t familiarize myself with anything else in this house beyond what I already know, then it’ll be easier to forget about her and move on when I return to England. Forget about the way it felt to be inside her, the tight warmth of her pussy clenching my dick, watching her teeth sink into her lip as she tried to hold onto her orgasm. Or the way my name rolled off her tongue – deep and breathy – when she no longer could.

It's not going to do me any good to remember.

With that in mind, I creep out of the front door and close it behind me.

The sun is so bright it’s taking away the chill in the air. Dropping down onto the porch step next to one of the nutcrackers (eye roll), I take in the view.

It’s even more impressive than the one at Murray’s place, and maybe this view actually is the sole reason Haven works so hard. I can truly understand why. Over the valley from our cabin, the mountains on this side seem so much bigger. There’s a never-ending forest of trees, and I imagine Haven out here in all seasons with her crew planting, logging, and prepping.

For the briefest of seconds, I wonder what she could accomplish here if she had the resources we have at Burlington, but it’s gone the moment I hear the crunch of car tires on gravel, and the Range Rover comes into sight.

Miles pulls up to the front steps and lowers his window.

“Good morning, Alexander.” He peers over to the Father Christmas and reindeer, followed by the nutcrackers. “Well don’t you look like the prettiest Christmas picture sitting there. Want me to take your photo?”

“I do not,” I grumble as I round the car and hop into the passenger side. “But thanks for coming to get me.”

“You’re welcome. I brought you a coffee.” He nods at the to-go cup in the cup holder, the scent of which already has saliva pooling in my mouth.

“My hero.” I ease it out and take a long sip. “Thanks.”

“Again, you’re welcome.”

I turn to Miles, we’re still sitting in the car and he’s staring at me with a broad smile stretching from ear to ear.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just love being right.”

“What exactly are you right about?”

“You getting laid. You look thoroughly fu?—”

I roll my eyes. “Just drive, Milo.”