Featherbed (Vino & Veritas, #1)

by Annabeth Albert

Hot chicken farmer was hot angry chicken farmer, and it was all directed at me. “What are you doing to my chickens?”

“You read historicals?” I asked. “Maybe.” Finn’s cheeks went the same shade as my mother’s favorite summer roses. “Didn’t know this one was out already.” “Take it.” Utterly charmed by his reaction, I handed him one of the copies. A chicken farmer with an appetite for Regency romance. Well. Well.

“No pleasures should be guilty.” Finn’s smile turned a lot more mischievous, and that energy inside me turned to heat. I didn’t agree, of course, but I did have a certain admiration for free-spirited hedonists.

And showing off the farm is my second favorite activity.” Gulp. I had a feeling I knew what his first favorite activity was, and cursed him for putting the image in my head. Even though he undoubtedly didn’t mean the tease as flirting, my cheeks still heated.

I liked this Harrison far better. Far too much. And the worst thing was that now I was looking forward to seeing him again too. Maybe there was no harm in enjoying his company. And maybe the new piglets would sprout wings and start zooming around the barn.

I liked his teasing far, far too much. Felt way too good, bantering with another person after so long with my own company. I meant what I’d told Mom—I was a terrible bet for a relationship. However, maybe a little flirting was harmless enough. I’d never really been one for casual, but perhaps it was time to try.

Big, built guys were not my usual flavor at all, but Finn was like a loaded burger after years of poached fish, a craving I couldn’t seem to shut off.

“Buttoned up tight. And all I’m saying is you could undo a collar button or two. Life might be more fun.”

Life was full enough of hardship and unexpected heartbreak. It wasn’t too much to ask my fictional escapes to not be all doom and gloom.

I couldn’t get enough of his confidence or the innate happiness he seemed to infuse everything with, including kissing. His lips were soft. Gentle, like he was expecting me to bolt. Or maybe like he’d decided I was worth the time to explore. I gave a happy sigh, sagging against him.

He kissed like we had all the time in the world, like a Sunday brunch with bottomless mimosas and no deadlines.

And there was going to be a this time. I’d known it as I’d worked to finish the shelves. Heck, even before that. As soon as Harrison had asked for a raincheck, all breathless, I’d been a goner. I’d expected him to be put out at the interruption, not embarrassed, and his willingness to wait for me to have a free evening went a long way to softening my resolve not to get involved.

Harrison was fussy and a bit uptight, but he was also a good guy who loved his mom and had a lot of life left in him. I didn’t like the idea of him withering away whatever time he had left, whether it was ten days or thirty years.

And maybe that was why I’d invited him along. It wasn’t simply that I wanted Harrison in my bed. I wanted to see him live, wanted to see his face when we unleashed the ducklings, wanted to see who he could be if he dared to let himself hope for something beyond simply existing.

I kissed him like he was a glass of ice water after hours spent parched. Maybe years. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d needed a kiss this much. And as he had the first few times, Finn took over, exactly how I was craving, claiming my mouth with his lips and tongue and teeth. My grip on his shoulders tightened as I moved restlessly against him, perilously close to climbing him like a tree.

he’d be so beat after a long day, the most I could hope for was a late shared supper after the store closed, but I was strangely okay with that. Figuring he did enough worrying for the both of us, I was trying to be more serene about the whole thing. Maybe we’d end up decent friends. Maybe something more. Maybe everything would come tumbling down before the first snow. Absent a crystal ball from the metaphysical shop in Colebury, all I could do was try to enjoy the ride.

Some soft spot in my chest that I’d accidentally left unguarded twinged. I was happy being a good son and brother and the fun uncle. I didn’t need a partner of my own, but still the ache bloomed as I stared at the families.

“It’s not a date,” we both said in unison, and then chuckled. We were rather ridiculous. For two people who weren’t dating, we certainly had seen a lot of each other the past few weeks.

Love. That was the last thing I needed, and the thing I could least promise to give, but I couldn’t stop the sudden rush of want. My brain might still be insisting this was a casual fling between friends, but my body insisted on going all eager puppy at the least affection from Finn.

He was a more than competent cook, and everything he’d fed me had been delicious. I gave him a considering glance. I was beginning to trust him with so many things—my desire to relinquish control in bed, my thoughts on “guilty pleasure” books, my secret worries over my health. And, perhaps most dangerously, I was perilously close to trusting him with my heart.

Finn was like the month of June personified, sunshine and warmth that made flavors more intense, moments more meaningful, and the whole world sunny and bright.

My brain tripped over the word love, even as my body continued to grind against him. He loved my farmer’s hands and my muscles, not me. And that was a good thing, and I had absolutely no business wishing for more sweet words when I should be concentrating on getting him off.

He had my free hand spread across his chest, locking us tight. He had me panting in his ear. Had me shuddering. Had me riveted, watching the way he gave himself up to pleasure. And he had me all tied up in knots with everything he made me feel and want. He had me, all right.

“You think so?” Rolling toward me, he peered at me intently. Somehow he’d managed to keep his glasses on, even in our dash for the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.” I pulled him the rest of the way onto me, his weight on my chest right and perfect, exactly where I wanted him. “You’re not?”

It was good. All of it. The sex. The company. The laughs. The growing list of things I wanted to do for and with him. And my list might be longer than the time we’d have together, but that was a problem for later. Tonight was for kissing and touching and being, exactly how I was always telling him to live.

Finn and I had sent a steady stream of text messages back and forth, shared more than a few light suppers, indulged in a lot of making out, and had absolutely zero discussions about exactly what we were doing.

We were a pair of ostriches, and knowing Finn, he’d like that metaphor. Heck, if I were a literal ostrich, there might be a better chance that he’d keep me around. I could keep the attack-peacocks company at the farm. Nothing had changed about our mutual realities, and yet it felt like everything was changing,

“And you.” He gave me a lingering look that was probably illegal in three states, the way it heated me up.

The weather was perfect—clear blue skies, bright sun, but not too hot and humid. In fact, perfection was everywhere today. All the nice people and picturesque setting. And Finn—he was at the top of the perfection list.

but I held back. Not because I didn’t think he’d be interested, but because I wanted it so damn much. There was a potential future where he actually stuck it out in Vermont, where he was here to help and share in all those things, and the wanting of it was enough to steal my breath and my words.

I hadn’t expected him. Or this thing, which had never truly been as casual as we’d tried to pretend, but now seemed to have a life of its own, winding tendrils through me, binding us together, even despite my better judgment.

We’d snuck in several late-night suppers together, but there had also been a number of rain checks and sleepy phone conversations when neither of us felt up to driving. I missed him every day I didn’t see him, not that it was something I’d admit to.

I saw love for Finn all around—his family, the farm interns, other farmers, restaurant workers, and patrons. Everyone appreciated Finn. He was highly lovable and deserved every bit of affection. I might have been more than a little infatuated myself. The thought made my chest pinch.

I absolutely did not deserve this man and his innate thoughtfulness. All afternoon he’d been dropping hints about sex, but far from having a one-track mind, he put my mom’s needs first. And to me, that made him even sexier.

And now as he walked away, leaving my chest splayed open, I finally understood. The vague ache in my chest hadn’t been a physical harbinger of doom. Instead, it was a feeling. As in, I felt far too much for this man, so much that now I hurt on a visceral level. All this time, I’d thought I was protecting him, when really, I’d been protecting me.