by Nina Lindsey
Grant gave a strained smile that came out more like a grimace. “Mom, the inn and the B&Bs are booked for the festival. There’s nowhere for you to stay.”
“Well, that’s not a problem at all.” Joanna blinked. “Didn’t you say there’s a cottage behind your little tavern? We’ll stay there.”
Rory tried not to groan aloud. Edward grunted a noise of irritation and took out his phone.
“You’d hate staying in the cottage.” Grant shook his head. “It doesn’t even have a full kitchen.”
“Perfect! It’ll be like camping.”
“You’ve never camped, Mom.”
“Well, it’s about time I did, isn’t it?” Joanna looked up at her husband again, eyes sparkling. “It sounds like fun. We can get a quilt and roast marshmallows in the fireplace. Won’t that be romantic, Edward? I’ll text Simon to make the changes in our itinerary.”
“I’m sure we can find you somewhere else to stay.” A hint of desperation edged Grant’s voice.
“I won’t hear of it. I insist on staying in the cottage.”
“One week.” Edward pulled his heavy eyebrows together. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”
“With your delightful company, I’m sure that’s all the rest of us will be able to handle.” Joanna gave his lapel a sharp tug. “I’d strongly suggest you get into a second honeymoon mentality, Edward.”
“With you at my side, what choice do I have?” He pinched her cheek.
A flush rose to her face as she suppressed a smile. Edward winked at her and strode toward the bar. Joanna turned back to Grant and Rory.
“We’ll plan to drive down on Wednesday,” she announced. “You can show us around, and we’ll go to all the festival events, and maybe we can even get tickets to a show at the local theater or whatever. All right?”
Grant dragged a hand through his hair, tightening his fingers around the thick strands as if he were ready to pull them out.
“Well played, Mom,” he muttered. “Very well played.”
“Drive safely on your trip back.” Joanna gave them a bright smile. “I’ll send you all the details of our visit tomorrow. This is going to be so much fun!”
“Fun,” Grant remarked, “is not the word I would use.”
With a little wave, Joanna returned to the party in a sweep of taffeta.
As she watched the other woman depart, Rory shook her head with a combination of disbelief and grudging respect. “Damn.”
“That’s not the word I would use either,” Grant said darkly as he strode toward the coat check. “But you got the four-letter part right.”
Chapter 8
“We’ll tell them we broke up.” Grant pulled down the sun visor and guided the car onto the highway leading back to Bliss Cove. “Happens all the time.”
The flippant note in his voice sparked Rory with irritation. “Then what if your mother is so upset by our break-up that she books the next flight to Bali?”
“She’s not going to Bali.” Exasperation threaded his voice. “She never was going to Bali. This was a ploy to get both me and my father to tolerate a week-long visit to Bliss Cove because she knew neither one of us would agree to it any other way.”
“I realize that, but are you entirely certain she wouldn’t fly off to Bali if things don’t go exactly as she wants them to? That woman is not the type to make a threat and not follow through.”
Grant compressed his mouth into a tight line. Despite Rory’s anxiety about this curveball and her knowledge that Joanna Taylor had a ruthlessly manipulative streak, she couldn’t help admiring her just a tad.
Clearly, the woman was the power behind the throne. She’d have been a force to be reckoned with in Tudor England. Hell, she was a force now.
“She said she’s coming to spend time with us,” Rory continued. “Even if a break-up doesn’t send her off to join the newlyweds on their honeymoon, she’ll go on the prowl for you again. In Bliss Cove, there’s a good chance she’ll meet Madeline Fox, and if Madeline thinks she can get to you through your mother, then look out, Grant Taylor, because there is no way you can battle both of those women alone.”
“Of course I…okay, you’re probably right.”
“And have you forgotten I still need a place to stay?” Wishing she had a bag of gummy bears to gnaw on, Rory unlocked her phone screen and pulled up a game of Clash Royale to give herself something to do. “Everything is still booked for the Harvest Festival through next weekend. What am I going to do when your parents stay in the cottage?”
Grant flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “You can move into my house.”
“Your house? Do you not remember giving me your Boo Radley crap about not wanting anyone around? You only let me stay in the cottage because you needed something from me. Now you’re asking me to move in?”
“Just for a week.” Grant threw her a scowl. “My parents will stay in the cottage, you’ll move into my house, and we’ll pretend like we’re living together.”
“Whoa there, Buckaroo Banzai.” Rory misjudged her opponent’s attack. Her tower crumbled. She dropped the phone back into her lap. “I agreed to pretend to be your date for a wedding. I did not agree to pretend to be your live-in girlfriend.”
“Okay.” He heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll give you Bob.”
“What?”
“The singing fish. Bob. Do this for one more week while my parents are visiting, and you can have the fish.”
Rory blinked. “I hate the fish. Why would I want it? And seriously…Bob?”
“It’s a pun.”
“I don’t get it.”
“A bobber is a float attached to a fishing line.”
“I don’t fish.”
“You were fishing yesterday for information about Madeline.” He slanted her a knowing look.
Heat rose her to cheeks. “I don’t fish in the ocean. So why would I want your stupid singing fish?”
“You can do whatever you want with it. Take it apart. Throw it away. Crush it with a sledgehammer. Pretend to be my girlfriend for one more week, and neither you nor anyone else will have to suffer through Bob’s rendition of ‘Love Me Tender’ ever again.”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Tempting. Why didn’t you name him Elvis Fishley? Now that would have been funny.”
“And I’ll cook for you.” He glowered at her. “If we’re not eating out, I’ll make you three large, delicious, well-balanced meals a day until you leave.”
“Done.”
Not a bad deal, all things considered. It wasn’t as if she’d have to hang around Grant and his parents every minute. She could pretend she had some coding contract work and other things to do, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.
Except…
She shifted and fidgeted with her phone. “So your place is a one-bedroom right?”
“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Great.” She pulled up a new game of Clash Royale.
That was not disappointment poking her like a thorn.
Rory knew she was in trouble when she walked into Sugar Joy for her Monday afternoon shift, and her mother asked, as usual, “How was your weekend, dear?”
“Great, thanks.” She hurried into the back to put on a clean apron.
She’d told her mother and sisters she’d be out of town, but she hadn’t said anything about the wedding and Grant. While it had been relatively easy pretending to be his girlfriend a hundred miles away from Bliss Cove, there was no way she could dupe her family into thinking they were actually together.
But if she told them the truth, she’d put the entire charade at risk. Her mother and sisters would never tell Edward and Joanna outright that she and Grant were faking it, but any offhanded comment could blow the whole thing up.
This was going to be far more complicated than she’d thought.
“When does Linda start full-time?” She returned to the front counter, tying on her apron. “I should probably start
cutting back on my hours soon. Give her a chance to take over.”
“She’s already full-time, so you can cut back whenever you’d like.” Eleanor set a tray of cookies on the counter. “I know you’ll need the time to get ready for your move. Are the arrangements going well?”
“Yes, we’ve done all the paperwork.” Rory started putting the cookies into a basket. “I’m keeping an eye out for an apartment near the Digicore campus so I don’t have to commute too far. The head of my department sent me the details of their upcoming projects so I can get caught up.”
“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Eleanor paused to hug her around the shoulders. “And how grateful I am for all you’ve done? I’ve known for a while now that it’s past time for you to get back to your career, but selfishly I’ve been happy to have you around. While I’ll miss you terribly, I’m thrilled that you’ve found a job where you can use your talents again.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Rory forced a smile and returned her mother’s embrace.
“Hi, all.” Aria Prescott breezed through the swinging wooden doors leading to the kitchen, looking pretty and bright-eyed as always in a pink sweater and skinny jeans. “Did you finish my order for the birthday party tonight, Mom?”
“The cake is ready to go.” Eleanor nodded toward a bakery box on the counter. “I made some cat cookies for you, too. I just need to box them up.”
“I can do it.” Silver bracelets jangling, Aria pulled a tray of cookies from the baker’s rack. “I had three adoption applications for two different cats this weekend, and our Saturday game night was booked. I’ve had to start taking reservations for the Cat Lounge on weekends.”
“That’s great.” Rory put the basket in the display case.
“Mayor Bowers told me the town council approved a budget for Mariposa Street renovations.” Eleanor patted Aria’s shoulder, her face creasing with a smile. “That’s wonderful.”
“We’re close to finalizing an agreement to renovate and build out the rest of the land,” Aria said. “Oh, be sure to visit our Bliss Cove Preservation Society booth at the Harvest Festival.”
“I’ll give you cookies so you can lure people over.” Eleanor pushed the baker’s rack back into the kitchen. “Rory, put a fresh pot of coffee on, please.”
As Rory started measuring out the coffee, Aria asked, “So, how was your weekend?”
The speculating note in her voice had Rory’s suspicions sharpening. “Fine. Yours?”
“I already told you about mine.” Aria glanced at her, eyebrows lifted. “But on Saturday afternoon, you were spotted in the passenger seat of Grant’s car, heading toward Highway One. He was driving.”
Rory’s heart thumped. “So?”
“Since when do you hang out with Grant?”
“I don’t.”
“Then what were you doing in his car?”
“He was giving me a ride home.”
Aria crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Your apartment is in the opposite direction of Highway One.”
“Thank you, Sherlock,” Rory muttered. “Who in the…oh, hell. Brooke, right? That nosy little reporter needs to mind her own business.”
“Bliss Cove happenings are Brooke’s business,” Aria said. “Rory Prescott hanging out with Grant Taylor is newsworthy, indeed.”
“I was not hanging out with Grant, and there’s nothing newsworthy about me being in his car.” Rory turned away so her sister couldn’t see her telltale blush. “But since you’re snooping, I happen to have a date tomorrow.”
“You have a date?” Aria made it sound like Rory had scurvy.
With a scowl, Rory scrolled on her phone and pulled up Max’s confirmation text from early last week. She turned the screen toward her sister. “Max Weatherford and I are having lunch tomorrow.”
“You and Max?” Aria squinted at the screen, as if she were trying to figure out if Rory had somehow manufactured the message herself. “But you don’t like animals.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like him.” Rory dropped her phone back into her apron pocket. “By the way, what did Hunter think of that urban development software the design firm was using?”
To her credit, Aria rolled with the unsubtle subject change. “I don’t think he or the designers at Studio Twenty-Five were very impressed. Not enough functionality for what they want to do.”
“Which is what?”
“Well, the whole idea is to create a plan and design that’s consistent with the historical architecture and supports rather than overtakes the street itself.” Aria taped up a box of cookies. “You have to talk to Hunter about the specifics, but there’s a ton that goes into the planning. Data visualization, mapping, geospatial analysis…I don’t even know what else. He said he was going to contact you soon to see if you have any other recommendations.”
“I’ll do some research.”
“Awesome, thank you.”
Pleased at the idea of finding out more about software systems for a field she didn’t know much about, Rory got to work restocking the muffin baskets and helping customers.
After her shift ended at six and she closed up the bakery, she returned to the Mousehole cottage, only to find that all of her stuff was gone.
Whirling on her heel, she crossed the flagstone pathway to the back door of Grant’s house. When he didn’t answer on the third knock, she found him in the Mousehole kitchen, presiding over a dozen burgers sizzling on the grill.
Just a whiff of charred juicy beef made Rory’s stomach growl.
Just the sight of Grant—bare arms flexing, bandana tied around his forehead, skin glistening with heat and sweat—made other parts of her body ache with a different kind of hunger.
“Hey.” She poked him in the shoulder. “What’d you do with my stuff?”
“Threw it out.”
“What?”
“I moved it into my house, genius.”
“Even my computer?”
“Even your precious.”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “You didn’t set it up, did you?”
“I’m not that chivalrous.” He flipped a couple of burgers. Steam billowed up from the grill.
Lord, she was starving.
“What about my other stuff?” She was acutely conscious of the fact that she’d left her suitcase open, the messy contents and tangle of bras and panties out in plain sight. Had he touched them?
And how messed up was it that the thought of his big, tanned hands on her unremarkable panties got her all hot and quivery?
“It’s still packed. I’m working late, so I’ll have to show you tomorrow where to put everything.” He slanted her a dark look. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m cooking here.”
“I see that.” She eyed the burgers and tried not to salivate.
Muttering something under his breath, Grant slapped a thick burger onto a freshly baked bun, put it on a plate, and shoved it toward her. “Go away.”
“Can I get some fries with this?”
His glower deepened. He stalked to the deep fryer and scooped a batch of fresh, crispy fries onto her plate.
“How about a milksha—”
“Go away.”
“You said you’d cook me three meals a day.”
“Starting on Wednesday when my parents get here.” He snapped his eyebrows together and shot her another scowly look. “Do I need to say it again?”
Before he started breathing fire, Rory grabbed a bottle of ketchup and scurried out the back door. His parents were due to arrive late Wednesday afternoon, so they didn’t have a heck of a lot of time to make it look like they were living together. Hopefully, Joanna had already realized tech girl Rory wasn’t much of a decorator.
The back door to his house was unlocked, so she ventured inside. Might as well get acquainted with the place.
Her heartbeat increased as she closed the door behind her. In a direct contrast to the noisy, bustling tavern, a quiet peace filled the house.
Everything was in
shades of taupe, light gray, chocolate. A warm, honey-brown leather sofa and chairs sat in the living room, with a woven throw rug covering the worn hardwood floor. Her suitcases, computer hardware, and speakers were all stacked in front of a stone fireplace.
Shelves full of books lined the room, and framed artwork from local artists decorated the walls. There were paintings of the ocean splashing against the rocks, the dusky shadows of the redwood forests, and a downtown scene signed H. Higgins—the lovely, elderly owner of the Outside Inn.
Not unexpectedly, the kitchen was bright and pristine with shiny, stainless-steel appliances, a gourmet coffee-maker, and a polished little table by the windows.
After setting her plate down, Rory explored the rest of the house—the bathroom with its old-fashioned pedestal sink and towels that were fluffier than sheep, a linen closet so neatly stacked with sheets, pillows, and blankets that Martha Stewart would be impressed, and a shoebox bedroom with a huge picture window framing a view of the redwoods. A king-sized bed covered with a navy comforter and several pillows dominated the room.
It was…charming. Not a word she’d ever have associated with Grant Taylor. There was nothing feminine or frilly in the décor, but it had a warmth she hadn’t expected.
What had she expected? Sports memorabilia and a plasma screen TV?
She let her gaze linger on his bed. She could easily picture him asleep, the navy sheets twisted around his body like ocean waves. Lying on his stomach with the thick, soft comforter pushed to his waist, his body moving in the rhythm of sleep, clutching a pillow against his muscled chest…
Letting out a breath, she retreated back to the kitchen and sat at the table to eat the burger and fries.
Even with her equilibrium about Grant jolting up and down like an earthquake reading on the Richter scale, she’d successfully made it through a weekend with his family at an extravagant wedding. She could handle another week with just his parents.