Into Their Woods (The Eerie, #1)(44)

But a lone tear glides out anyway.





A soft knock sounds from the door, and I look over at the bright sunlight pouring through my hotel room’s windows.

It’s too early for it to be Ellery.

Pushing up from the sofa I’ve been sitting and stewing on for the last few hours, I check the peephole. Pink, white, and orange flowers greet me from the other side of the door. The bouquet is gorgeous, but I step back from the door and eye it skeptically.

Who’d be sending me flowers?

“Noah, you there?” Ruger’s deep, honeyed voice asks from the other side of the barrier, and I unlatch the lock on the door and pull it open.

Astonishment flickers through me when I find him holding a massive cut glass vase of roses and peonies in one hand and several large bags in the other.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he hands me the beautiful arrangement. A flush of pleasure roams through me when I take in all the bright colors and fragrant scents. It’s been a very long time since someone brought me flowers.

I take them and set them on the entry table by the door, a tiny grin rising on my face.

“The front desk said you hadn’t called down to order lunch yet, so I thought I’d bring you some,” he tells me, and my stomach loudly rumbles its approval.

“I was just thinking I was hungry. Are you doing that mindspeak thing?” I wonder.

With a soft chuckle, Ruger tries to hand me the bags, smart enough not to admit whether he’s been rooting around inside my head. Normally, I’d happily take his lunch offering, say thank you, and then shut the door and devour everything in the privacy of my suite. But I haven’t been able to get Gannon’s accusations out of my head all morning.

Instead of taking the food from Ruger, I debate inviting him inside. Part of me is nervous about doing that because it’s my private space and I’m still a little jumpy after everything that’s happened.

Ruger gives me a small grin. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“One sec,” I cut him off as I lean sideways and snag my key card from the entry table. Then I step out into the hall.

“Whatchya got?” I ask as I take a seat on the ground.

Surprise shimmers in his eyes, but he blinks and it’s gone. He sets the bags down and sits across from me, his back to the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him. With practiced hands, he starts pulling out to-go containers. All kinds of delicious scents overwhelm me, and my mouth instantly starts watering.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought a little of everything that’s popular.”

My grabby hands are already activated, and I eagerly pluck a container from him and flip the top open.

“Oh my god, garlic bread,” I moan as I stare salaciously at half a loaf of what looks like freshly baked doughy bread smothered in herbs and garlicky butter. “Get in my belly,” I order and then practically shove a whole piece into my mouth.

“Fuck me, that’s better than sex.” I groan internally.

Ruger chuckles but shakes his head, making it obvious that I failed at shielding that thought, but I’m not even sorry.

“Not the right kind of sex,” he counters, but then he presses his lips together and looks down, like he’s worried he overstepped.

Clearing his throat, he starts setting out different containers all around me, each one overflowing with pure deliciousness. There’s pasta and meatballs, steak and potatoes, seasoned vegetables, and fish and chips. I take another bite of bread, not sure where to even start. Everything looks so amazing.

Noticing the name of the restaurant on the top of a container, I bark out a laugh. “Steaks and Stones?” I read aloud, noting the name of the place I will be ordering all future meals from. “Howling Rapids sure has a knack for naming their businesses,” I point out as I slide the steak and potatoes closer.

“Thanks. It was a battle picking a name in the first place. It came down to this or Lettuce Eat, but the guys all voted for this, so I went with it,” he tells me, tapping on the name of the restaurant on one of the lids.

I stop, a bit of garlic bread hovering an inch from my mouth, and stare at him.

“Wait. Are you telling me this is your restaurant?” I ask, completely astounded.

His smile is proud, and he nods. “Yeah.”

Gannon’s words snap up and bite me like a rattlesnake, but instead of venom, I’m filled with chagrin.

“Took me months to settle on the perfect bread recipe. I think the den gained ten pounds each when I was testing batches.” Ruger laughs, and it makes me smile. I look around at all the food he’s brought me, and a thought occurs.

“Did you…cook all of these dishes yourself?”

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “I did.”

Something warm and fuzzy fills my chest because he didn’t just buy the food for me. He made it. With his own two hands. Who does that?

I stare down at the garlic bread. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks. It was good to get back in the kitchen today. I’m glad you like it,” he adds softly.

I try very hard to shield that thought and the resulting tumult of emotions in my chest. Awe and guilt mix together and have a terribly sweet taste—almost like arsenic. This man might literally be killing me with kindness.