The UnLucky Interruption
873 Words
The morning of the twenty fourth arrived with a softness that felt like a trick. Sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of the cottage, casting warm, golden squares across the rumpled sheets. Elara woke to the steady, comforting weight of Rowan’s arm draped over her waist. She checked the clock. It was eight in the morning. Her flight wasn’t until three, but every second already felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
Rowan stirred, his eyes flickering open and immediately finding hers. He didn't say good morning. Instead, he pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“I’m considering barricading the door,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “I’ve spent my life building things to keep the world out, but I think I finally found the one thing I want to keep in.”
Elara laughed softly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I think the airline might have something to say about that. And my sister has already threatened to have me declared a missing person if I’m not there by tonight.”
“They can wait,” he whispered, his hand sliding up her thigh. “Let the world wait just one more hour.”
They moved slowly, lost in the quiet intimacy of the morning, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the suitcase waiting by the door. But the peaceful bubble burst with a sharp, insistent knock on the front door.
Rowan stiffened. He let out a long, frustrated exhale. “If that’s Bear’s owner again, I’m calling the pound.”
“I’ll stay here,” Elara said, pulling the duvet up to her chin. “Go deal with your public.”
Rowan threw on his jeans and a shirt, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. He walked to the front door, his expression hardening as he saw the car idling in the driveway. It wasn't the neighbor.
He stepped outside, pulling the door shut firmly so Elara wouldn't hear.
Standing by the car was a woman with a sharp, tired face. It was the ex-fiancée he had mentioned at dinner, the one who had preferred the empire over the man. But she wasn't alone. In the backseat, a four year old girl with Rowan’s blue eyes was strapped into a car seat, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
“I need money, Rowan,” the woman said, her voice frantic. “The car needs a new alternator and I’m trying to get to my mother’s in the next town for the holidays. I can’t do this on what you gave me last month.”
Rowan looked at the little girl in the back. His expression softened into something pained and tender. “You’re taking Lucky with you?”
“Only until the thirty first,” she snapped. “I’ll bring her back then. Just give me the check, Rowan. I don’t have time for a lecture.”
Rowan walked to his truck, pulled out his checkbook, and scribbled a number that would make most people’s eyes water. He handed it to her without a word. He leaned into the back window of the car, whispering something to the little girl that made her giggle, before the car lurched into gear and sped away down the snowy drive.
Inside the cottage, Elara finally emerged from the bedroom. She was dressed in her travel clothes, her hair still slightly mussed from sleep. She reached the front door just as Rowan was stepping back inside, his face a mask of practiced neutrality.
“Who was that?” she asked, looking out the window, but the driveway was already empty.
Rowan cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes as he moved to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. “It was the ex. The one I told you about. She’s... she’s heading out of town for the holidays and needed a bit of help with travel expenses. Apparently, her sense of timing is as bad as your luck used to be.”
Elara felt a small pang of sympathy. “She sounded urgent. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Rowan said, his voice a bit too clipped. He turned back to her, the shadow in his eyes disappearing as he looked at her. “But enough about her. We have a few hours left before I have to deliver you to the authorities.”
Elara walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into his chest. The suitcase was by the door, and the airport was waiting, but she wasn't ready to let the magic of the cottage go just yet.
“One last round?” she asked teasingly, her eyes dancing. “Before I have to go back to being a ghost in transit?”
Rowan’s grip on her waist tightened, his blue eyes flaring with a sudden, renewed heat. He didn't need to be asked twice. He lifted her onto the counter, the coffee forgotten, as he showed her exactly why he didn't want her to leave.
- Writer
