by Nina Lindsey
All of which meant it was time for Rory to leave Bliss Cove and return to her own version of life.
Even if it did involve little toads who thought it was okay to send her suggestive messages and winkey-face emoticons when she had just been hired to work on their team.
She downed the rest of the scotch as Grant appeared in her peripheral vision again.
“Another, please.” She indicated the empty glass. “And a fried onion.”
Frowning, he refilled her glass. “Is this dinner?”
“Well, it’s not brunch.”
“I do serve excellent food here.” He rested his hands flat on the counter and leaned in to study her with his shockingly green eyes. “Not that you’d know since you never eat it.”
“Last time I checked, fried onion blossoms were still on the menu.” Rory hauled the glass toward her. “Are you bringing me one or not?”
Irritation flashed in his eyes, but he shoved away from the bar and strode to the kitchen. Rory ignored a stab of guilt and checked her phone again. After buying the Mousehole five years ago, Grant had revamped the basic menu of burgers and fries. He’d retained upgraded versions of the Mousehole classics while adding stuff like filet mignon and grilled salmon. The only item that stayed the same was the world-famous artichoke soup, whose secret recipe was handed down from owner to owner.
Rory didn’t like artichoke soup. And she had no interest in Grant’s fancy gourmet food.
“Rory! I have some wonderful prospects for you.”
Rory turned to find Destiny Storm, the owner of Moonbeams on Mariposa Street, wafting toward her like a peacock in a shiny turquoise caftan with her curly black hair piled on top of her head.
A strong believer in fates, furies, and One True Love, Destiny had decided the love lives of the Prescott sisters were in dire need of an upgrade. Now that both Callie and Aria were living in committed bliss, Destiny had turned her attention to the “tragically single” Rory.
Because Destiny was Aria’s close friend, and because she did like the other woman, Rory had agreed to let Destiny set her up on a casual date or two. She hadn’t been on a date in ages, and it would be good practice for when she moved to San Jose.
If she didn’t want to end up submerged in work 24/7 again, then she’d have to actively seek out a new social circle. That would not be an easy task in the frequently smarmy and chauvinistic world of the tech industry.
Considering how badly her career had bombed the last time she’d been in the Bay Area, she needed to ease her way back into dealing with men in general. Little Jerk with the winkey-face had reminded her of the type of pig she’d have to occasionally contend with in the workplace. Maybe a date in Bliss Cove would remind her that romance and her career were two separate things entirely.
Destiny leaned one elbow on the bar, her eyes bright with anticipation. “I want you to come in for a reading so I can better assess your energies, but I have a strong intuition about you and Max Weatherford.”
“Didn’t we already talk about this? I can’t even keep a houseplant alive. I’m pretty sure I’m not compatible with a man who doctors pets for a living.”
“Ah, you don’t know the power of opposites.” Destiny raised a knowing eyebrow. “You and Max can learn a lot from each other. I gave him your number, so you should expect a text from him soon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date of my own.”
With a wink, she fluffed out her hair and sauntered over to a table where Joe, the owner of Metalworks Hardware, was pulling out a chair.
Rory shrugged and turned back to her phone. A date with a good-looking man, even if he did enjoy being around animals, wouldn’t be a hardship.
No short-term leases.
The text popped up in response to yet another one of her queries about available apartments. With a groan, she dropped the phone on the bartop.
“That’s why I don’t have a phone.” Grant set a plate of golden-brown, crispy goodness in front of her. “Gives you nothing but misery.”
“You know what gives you nothing but misery?” Rory plucked off a piece of onion and bit into it. “Being born a hundred years too late.”
He shrugged. “I’m not miserable.”
“Please. Anyone who owns a singing fish has issues.”
“If we’re talking about issues,” he said, “what’s with the scotch and the groaning?”
“None of your…wait a second.” She lifted her head, hope flaring. “The cottage in the back. Is anyone renting it?”
“The one behind the house?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and shook his head. “I don’t rent it out.”
She blinked. “What do you mean? Someone’s always been able to rent the Mousehole cottage.”
“Not since I bought the place.”
“Why not?”
“I live alone.” He started polishing highball glasses and setting them on a shelf.
“The cottage is a totally separate building.”
“It’s close enough that someone would be around.”
“And you don’t want anyone around.”
“I prefer it that way, yes.”
Ignoring a strange dissatisfaction with his response, Rory tore off another onion slice. “Would you reconsider for two months?”
“No, but why do you ask?”
“Because I accepted a job with Digicore Corporation in San Jose.” She wiped her greasy fingers on a napkin.
He glanced up sharply. “You’re moving?”
“In two months. It was supposed to be sooner, but they haven’t yet gotten funding in place for the project they want me to work on. So I have to wait.” She pushed a swath of hair back over her shoulder. “I hadn’t expected to stay in Bliss Cove this long, and it’s past time for me to leave.”
“What’s the job?” Grant grabbed a rag and scoured the top of the bar. The sinews in his forearm flexed with his rapid movements.
“Software engineer. I’ll be working on cloud systems.”
“Weren’t you doing some programming contract work?”
“Yes, but this is a full-time job with potential for advancement.” Her mouth twisted. “At least that’s what they told me.”
He tossed the rag aside. “You don’t believe them?”
“Another beer over here!” a guy called from the other end of the bar.
“Hold up, Pat,” Grant snapped before settling his gaze back on Rory with the I’m waiting for an answer look she’d come to recognize.
Maybe the scotch had loosened her tongue because she found herself confessing. “I’ve worked in the high-tech industry since I was a teenager. All through college, I worked different jobs and internships. I’ve probably worked for five or six different companies over the years. I’ve dealt with every situation you can imagine. So while I would very much like to think they’d consider me for advancement, even leading my own project, the stark reality is that women are frequently passed over for that kind of thing. Even women as good as I am. And believe me, I’m damned good.”
“I believe you.” He leaned back against the counter, his shoulders tense. “So why are you taking the job?”
“Because I miss the work, and I’m the best person for it.” She took another sip of scotch. And because, really, I can’t just take contract jobs and work at Sugar Joy forever.
“I love the coding and analyzing,” she continued. “I’ll get great benefits. I guess I’m still holding out hope that I’ll soon have the perfect job, you know? The one where I can use all my skills and even lead my own project. Plus, I’ve learned how to deal with the shitty stuff.”
A frown carved deep lines on either side of Grant’s mouth. “What’s the shitty stuff?”
“Come on, man, I’m thirsty!” Pat yelled.
With an irritated sigh, Grant pushed away from the counter and strode to the end of the bar to refill the other man’s glass. He paused on the way back to put more peanut bowls on the bar—another Mousehole tradition he’d kept.
“H
ave you ever thought about serving sugared nuts, Grant?” Madeline Fox, who owned the bath-and-body shop Naked, approached the bar and perched on a stool. “I have an excellent recipe for roasted nuts with sugar, cayenne, and cinnamon. Spicy and sweet is the best combination, don’t you think?”
Rory barely managed to withhold a snort.
“I can see why you’d like it, Madeline.” Grant set a bowl of plain peanuts in front of her.
“Why’s that?” Madeline plucked a nut from the bowl and began shelling it with her perfectly manicured fingers.
“Because you’re spicy and sweet, aren’t you?” Amusement crinkled Grant’s eyes.
“In the right circumstances, I certainly can be.” Madeline winked at him.
Rory yanked another slice off the fried onion. With her thick blond hair and long legs, Madeline was sexy as hell, but Rory had seen countless women hit on Grant Taylor to no avail whatsoever. He was unfailingly polite and courteous, and he frequently flirted right back, but he never took them up on their overt offers.
Unless he did, and Rory had just never seen it happen. Besides, what man could resist the siren call of Madeline Fox with her knockout body and expert knowledge of the girly stuff that had always eluded Rory?
Her stomach tensed. Must be all the grease from the onion. Grant was right. She should eat more salad. Or at least a salad.
Madeline leaned closer to Grant and whispered. He turned and pushed the button on the plaque of an ugly plastic fish hanging on the wall.
The warbly strains of Elvis’s “Love Me Tender,” sung in a nasally voice with bubbles popping in the background, began playing. The fish came to animatronic life, mouth gaping open to form the lyrics, and its scales shimmering with silver lights.
Madeline clapped. Cheers and laughter rose from the other bar patrons as the fish performed its nails-on-a-chalkboard rendition of the classic song.
Rory gripped her glass and suppressed the urge to throw it at the grating little robot. Grant had put the fish up on the wall after he’d bought the tavern. Upon request, he’d push the button that made the fish sing, or he did it to amuse people.
Women, specifically.
He refilled Madeline’s wineglass and said something that made her giggle. With a wave, she picked up her glass and sauntered back to her table.
On a purely objective level, Rory got why women flirted shamelessly with Grant all the time. With his thick, wavy brown hair and chiseled features enhanced by an ever-present stubble, he was aesthetically very appealing. Not to mention, he was tall and broad-shouldered with a deliberate way of moving that spoke to an innate confidence.
He also knew how to cook—Rory had heard, anyway—and he treated his customers as if they were guests in his home. He looked people in the eye and listened—really listened—to their stories and tales of woe. He was every man’s buddy and every woman’s dream guy.
The interesting part was that no one really knew much about him. He’d moved to Bliss Cove five years ago after buying the Mousehole, and he’d eased seamlessly into town life without so much as a wrinkle.
Next thing anyone knew, he was serving steak au poivre and fine wine alongside cheeseburgers and artichoke soup, offering his opinion on local politics, showing up at town events, and talking to residents as if he’d lived there forever. He pitched for the Bliss Cove Rockets, volunteered at a nearby food pantry, and was known for being an easy touch when it came to school fundraisers and sponsorships.
The only frustration he caused was among single women who couldn’t figure out, or become part of, his love life. He’d dated occasionally, and rumor had it that he sometimes hooked up with women in neighboring towns, but he never seemed to be part of a couple.
Must have something to do with him not wanting anyone around.
Well, Rory could relate. Which made her the perfect candidate for renting the cottage.
“Grant, my lease expires on Thursday.” She tapped her finger on the bar to emphasize her point as he approached her again. “The job doesn’t start until after Thanksgiving. I need a place to stay until then.”
“What about your mother or sisters?” He grabbed her crumpled napkin and tossed it in the trash before giving her a clean one.
“I can’t stay with them.” Rory ate another piece of onion and held out her hand, ticking off all the reasons on her fingers. “Mom’s still with Henry and I’m sure he stays overnight, even if she’d never admit that. Callie’s course load is crazy with the start of the new semester, and Jake is using the spare bedroom as an office to work from home. I can’t impose on Aria and Hunter with everything they have going on. None of the apartment owners will give me a short-term lease, and the B&Bs and the Outside Inn are booked for parents’ weekend and then the Harvest Festival. I can’t couch surf with friends either, not with my computer and stuff.”
“So get rid of the computer and stuff.”
“I work on my computer, you luddite.”
He shrugged. “That could be part of the problem.”
“It’s only for two months.” She forced down the rising desperation in her tone. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“Funny.” He started mixing a drink for another customer. “The cottage might not even be habitable. I can’t remember the last time it was cleaned.”
“I don’t care.” Rory pushed her plate away in exasperation. “I’m not fussy. I wouldn’t even be around much. I’m still working at Sugar Joy, and at night, I’m just on my computer. I even have headphones, so you won’t hear anything if the windows are open. In fact, I’ll keep the windows closed. And the curtains drawn, so the glow from the computer screen doesn’t intrude on your hobbit hole.”
He shot her a look that was a mixture of amusement and irritation. “No.”
“Grant.” Bracing her feet on the stool rung, she leaned across the bar and grabbed the front of his forest-green T-shirt. The soft, warm material crushed in her fist. “Let me rent the cottage.”
“I don’t rent the cottage.” He put his hand over hers to pull her grip away. His fingers engulfed hers, shocking her with sudden awareness.
He stilled. She clutched his shirt. Energy suddenly charged through the air. Her knuckles pressed against the incredibly solid wall of his chest. His body heat burned through the cotton. He tightened his grip on her hand.
Never before had she noticed how big his hands were. His inner wrist pressed right against hers. She swore she could feel their pulses beating together. His blood thumped swift and heavy beneath his skin.
What the…?
Forcing her fingers to unclench, she yanked her hand away and sat back down. Her heart was beating oddly fast. She took a healthy swallow of scotch, which did nothing to quench an unexpected surge of desire.
Grant flicked his gaze over her, as if he knew exactly what that brief contact had done to her. Acute self-consciousness flooded her, burning her cheeks.
Ugh. She hated reacting like a girl.
Rory shoved off the stool and dug her wallet out of her jeans pocket. She tossed a twenty on the counter. “I gotta go.”
She grabbed her jacket and fled.
Chapter 2
“Hey, boss, we putting salmon on the menu?” Winslow, one of two cooks at the Mousehole, peered at the specials board, which they revised every morning according to what local foods were available.
“I’m going down to the harbor now to see what they’ve got.” Grant tossed a dishrag into the laundry. “Tony, you got things covered here?”
His manager nodded, waving a hand for him to leave. Grant headed out the back door to the one-bedroom house located behind the tavern. He pulled the salt-and-pine air into his lungs.
One of the reasons he’d bought the Mousehole was its location close to downtown yet isolated in a grove of redwood trees that stretched toward the forested hills. Not to mention, the house meant he was only a few feet from work.
After taking the mail out of the box, he went inside and tossed his keys on a table. H
e shuffled through a few bills, pausing to look at a postcard from his friend Kate Rochester, who’d worked at the Sugar Joy bakery a couple of years ago before she’d left to embark on adventures with her new husband.
Pleased, Grant read Kate’s happy message about her discovery of pane di segale during a trip to Rome. He pinned the postcard to his bulletin board and pushed the blinking light on the answering machine. His younger brother’s voice crackled through the tape.
“Hey, man, I know you’re not looking forward to coming up this weekend…considering I’m marrying a goddess, thanks for that…and since I don’t want anything to mess this up for Alice, I need to talk to you. Call me.”
Suppressing a sigh, Grant picked up the phone and dialed. “What?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Nathan replied. “How are you?”
“Sorry.” Grant pulled a hand down his face. “But your message sounded ominous.”
“It was supposed to, Prince Charming.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. First of all, one of Alice’s friends came down with mono, so the wedding planner is having a fit over the fact that we have an extra seat and no one to put in it. Therefore, Mom is lining up women for you like they’re in a beauty pageant, which she was planning to do anyway but this seating thing has her even more militant. I overheard her talking about moving you to another table so she could seat you between two eligible women. And don’t forget Vivian’s going to be there. Without a date, according to Alice.”
Grant sank onto the edge of the sofa. “I can’t do this.”
“You have to. Mom will lose her shit if you don’t show, and that will seriously fuck things up for Alice, which means I’ll have to kill you. My bride is expecting this to be her perfect day, and there is no way I’m letting my big brother ruin it because he’s too pansy-assed to face a group of stunning single women.”
And Vivian. Who apparently was still eligible. Considering her pedigree, that was a surprise.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”
“Grow a pair, man. It’s just a few hours, right?”