by Nina Lindsey
She could not, for the life of her, stop herself from noticing that he wore boxer briefs, mostly black with a few dark gray pairs, and that his shirts smelled like him when he wasn’t cooking—citrus and salt.
She ran her hand over his T-shirts, all of which were soft as clouds and felt as if they were shaped to his chest and shoulders. If she were the poetic type, she’d even have sworn that his body heat still clung to the material.
Not that she was fondling his clothes. She slammed the drawer and hung a few of her shirts in the closet. The front door opened.
Her heart almost stopped. Were the Taylors already finished with dinner?
“Rory?” Grant’s voice.
“In the bedroom, sweetie!” she called cheerfully. “Haven’t I told you to pair your socks before you put them in the laundry? And have you seen my hairbrush? The one with the pink handle.”
“My parents are still at the tavern.” He stopped in the doorway, his face set with a frown. “What’d you do with your stuff?”
“I put the boxes in the utility closet. No way will I have time to set up my computer.” She threw a pair of her jeans shorts and a shirt at the foot of the bed to make it look like casual disarray. “You’d better go back there and keep them at bay. Text me when…oh, crap, will you please get a cell phone? Give me another half hour. Go, go!”
Waving him away, she grabbed the boxes and Naked bag from the foyer and returned to the living room. Aria had nailed it—sheer flowy dresses, candles, “live your best life” type magazines, romance novels, tubes of lip balm, jewelry, beaded sandals, even lacy stockings and lingerie.
Rory scattered everything in various places around the house as if it were her personal clutter. She replaced a couple of Grant’s black-and-white photos with paintings of fairies and pinned a funny cat calendar to a wall in the kitchen.
She put the Naked shampoo and conditioner in the shower, uncapped the jars of moisturizer, and set the other toiletries on the counter beside Grant’s shaving cream and razor. She found a new toothbrush in the cabinet and plunked it next to his in the holder.
“Honey, we’re home.” Tension underscored his greeting.
Rory swiped her lips with sticky, strawberry-scented gloss, pinched her cheeks to make them red, plastered a smile on her face, and sailed into the living room.
“Welcome!” She spread her arms out. “How was dinner?”
“Wonderful, dear.” Joanna beamed. “Edward found his steak a bit tough, but the garlic whipped potatoes were exquisite.”
“Good martini, too.” Edward scanned the room.
“Great!” Rory wondered if she’d feel the need to speak with exclamation points for the rest of the week. “So, come on in and have a seat. Would you like to look at Oprah’s magazine, which I subscribe to along with this one…Home and Garden. Or perhaps you’d like to read this book…um, Love in the Jungle? It’s one of my favorites. Oh, here, let me light this lovely, vanilla-scented candle.”
Her palms were starting to sweat.
Behind his mother’s back, Grant made a slashing motion across his throat even though his lips twitched. “Or we can head downtown, and I’ll show you around Starfish Avenue.”
“It’s getting a bit late, and I want to see the town during the day.” Joanna wandered to the open bedroom door and peered inside. “Why, this is quite spacious, isn’t it? Not large enough for a family, of course, but rather perfect just for you two. Rory.”
She gestured for Rory to come closer. After tossing Grant a puzzled glance, Rory joined Joanna at the doorway.
Bracketing her mouth with her hand, Joanna whispered, “Not to meddle, but it’s a bit uncouth to leave your underclothes lying on the floor.”
Rory’s gaze shot to the crumpled blue panties prominently announcing Juicy right across the bum. Thank you, Aria.
“Must’ve fallen out of the laundry basket.” Her face heating, she grabbed the panties and shoved them in her pocket. “So, would you like something to eat or drink?”
“We just ate and drank, dear.” Joanna smiled, though her sharp assessment of the bedroom appeared to miss nothing. She strolled around the rest of the house, remarking on the “charming” fairy paintings, the state-of-the-art coffee-maker and bag of French Roast, which was Edward’s favorite, and the size of the “gorgeous” back porch with its Adirondack chairs.
As Joanna walked out to admire the view of the redwoods, Grant brushed his fingers against Rory’s arm and whispered, “Thank you.”
Her whole body tingled, whether from his gratitude or his touch she couldn’t say.
“It must be so lovely to have coffee on the porch every morning.” Joanna walked back into the kitchen with a wistful sigh.
“You’ve got the balcony at home,” Edward remarked.
“I don’t have a view of the redwoods at home.” Joanna gave him a pointed look.
“Sure you don’t want to see the downtown area tonight?” Grant asked.
“Not me.” Edward pulled out his phone and swiped the screen.
“I think we’ll go back to the little cottage and unpack.” Joanna studied a sculpture of a cat holding a flower. “I’m a bit tired, so we’ll get an early night’s sleep and be ready to sightsee in the morning.”
“I’ll get your suitcases from the car.” Grant shot out the door faster than the human bullet.
“Let us know if you need anything.” Rory took Joanna’s arm and guided her outside. “You have my cell number, right?”
“Yes, though I’m surprised you haven’t convinced Grant to get a phone yet. Isn’t that right, Edward? How does he get by without a cell phone?”
Edward grunted. “Won’t last long, with Rory moving up to the Bay Area soon.”
Concern furrowed Joanna’s brow. “How will you and Grant make that work, Rory?”
“We’ll figure it out.” She and Grant would need to come up with a game plan for that fictional scenario, too. She opened the cottage door and ushered them inside.
“It’s freezing in here.” Joanna shivered and huddled into her coat. “What on earth…?”
“I opened the windows to get rid of the cinnamon smell.” Rory hurried to shut and lock the windows against the autumn chill.
Grant set two gigantic suitcases on the bed. “I’ll build a fire, Mom.”
“No, dear, the smoke would be horrible. I’ll just wear my coat.”
“You got one of those coffee-makers in here?” Edward opened a kitchen cabinet, and a loose hinge popped off. The door tilted. With a frown, he shut it. “Better get that fixed.”
“You can have breakfast at Ruby’s Kitchen,” Grant said. “Anything else you need?”
“No, it’s just that we’re used to having coffee before we get ready for the day.” Joanna shivered again and folded her arms. “But we’ll make do.”
“Where’s the TV?” Edward sank down on the narrow sofa and looked around as if expecting the TV to materialize by voice command. “I watch CNN every night before bed.”
“There’s no TV here, Dad.”
“Use your laptop, Edward.” Joanna patted the mattress. “Does this have a cushioned topper? Because, you know, your father has back problems.”
Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “No topper, Mom.”
“Well, we’ll manage. The bed is a bit small, though.” With a laugh, she walked over and squeezed her husband’s shoulder. “I hope we can fit. It will be like sleeping in a tent, won’t it?”
Rory caught Grant’s eye and jabbed her thumb toward his parents. His mouth compressing, he shook his head.
She frowned and made a frantic gesture to convey: Otherwise, you’ll never hear the end of it, and do you really want to deal with your parents being unhappy for the next week on top of convincing them that we’re a devoted couple? And did you forget about Bali? I’m pretty sure the suites at the resort are a crap ton more luxurious than anything Bliss Cove has to offer, and despite her manipulations, I’ve little doubt your mother would be thri
lled to exchange a mattress without a topper for Egyptian cotton sheets and feather pillows.
Apparently Grant got all that because he expelled his breath in a long rush of surrender.
“Mom.” Thin patience stretched his voice. “Why don’t you and Dad sleep in the house? Rory and I will be fine out here.”
“Oh, no, dear.” Joanna shook her head emphatically. “We couldn’t possibly kick you out of your own home.”
“I could,” Edward remarked.
“Really.” Grant twisted his neck, as if it was stiff with tension. “You’ll be much more comfortable in the house.”
“Well, if you insist…” Joanna bit her lower lip worriedly. “It would be nice to have some space and a comfortable bed. And it’s not good for your father’s eyes to watch CNN on his laptop.”
Time for an exclamation point.
“Of course not!” Rory smiled and glided across the small space to the door. “Grant, bring your parents’ suitcases into the house.”
“Where’s my other one?” Joanna tapped the Louis Vuitton case. “And my toiletries bag? You did tell Marcus to put them in the car, didn’t you, Edward?”
“Far as I can remember.”
“I’ll get them, Mom.” Grant hefted the suitcases to the house, then returned to the car to get the rest of the luggage—which was more than all of Rory’s assets combined.
After he’d situated his parents in the house, ensuring they had everything from the TV remote to instructions for the coffee-maker, he and Rory grabbed a few clothes and toiletries. They walked back to the cottage.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter.” Rory shrugged. “I’m not big on creature comforts, and it’s no surprise that your mother is. When I got my first job in San Jose, the housing was so tight and expensive that I rented an unfinished basement room. Had a cot right next to the washing machine and dryer.”
“That can’t have been comfortable.”
“It was fine.” She sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled off her shoes. “I spent most of my time at the office, anyway. I had super clean clothes, too.”
He chuckled and opened a cabinet. “You want some tea or coffee?”
“I thought there’s no coffee-maker here.”
“There isn’t.” He indicated the hot plate. “The coffee’s instant, and I can boil water. Or I can grab some from the tavern along with a piece of pie.”
“No, but thanks.”
Rory dragged her hands through her hair. A wave of fatigue hit her. She recognized it as a ghost from all her tech jobs—the intense, frantic work of finishing a project had invariably been followed by a crash after she’d met the deadline. Though getting ready for Edward and Joanna’s visit wasn’t the same thing, it was definitely work.
She flopped down on the bed. “Hey, this is pretty comfortable. Your mother should have tested it out.”
He didn’t respond. She glanced up. He stood beside the kitchenette counter, his arms crossed and his pensive gaze on her. The cottage was small by any standards, but with him here, it seemed to shrink to minuscule proportions. Even now, only a few steps’ distance separated them.
“You’re getting the short end of this deal,” he finally said. “Are you sure Bob the Fish is worth all this trouble?”
“I’d let your mother take me away for a spa weekend, if it meant I could get rid of Bob.”
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t go that far, but I don’t mind helping you out. I do intend to start cashing in on my free meals soon, though.”
“Just say the word.” Unfolding his arms, he opened a small closet and took out two pillows and a blanket. “If you don’t want anything now, I’m going to head over to the tavern for the rest of the night shift. I’ll be back around midnight.”
He dropped the pillows on the bed at her side.
“Hey, Grant?” She sat up, running her hands over her thighs. “Why cooking?”
He twisted his mouth with discomfort. “It sounds like another poor little rich kid story.”
“But it’s not. It’s your story.”
“When I was a kid, I had a nanny. Of course.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “Lupe. I spent more time with her than my parents, both before and after Nathan came along. My parents had a trained chef on call, but Lupe did a lot of our daily cooking for us, so I was in the kitchen every day. I did my homework at the kitchen counter, then she’d take me to baseball or football practice before we came back to start dinner. She’d always let me help, no matter what we were having. Before long, I was learning how to make everything from pot roast to chili rellenos. I loved being in the kitchen—the smell of frying onions, the sizzle of oil, the thunk of Lupe’s knife as she chopped peppers. Best time of my day.”
“That sounds nice.”
He shrugged. “I had it good compared to a lot of people. And there was…well, whenever Lupe served my parents and whatever guests they had over…they were always so happy. Their faces would light up over perfect sea scallops or tamales. Everything was good. I guess I wanted to make people feel that way, too.”
“Aww.” She nudged his leg with her stocking foot. “That’s so sweet.”
A faint flush rose to his cheeks. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”
“So Nathan never got into cooking?”
Grant shook his head. A shadow passed over his face. “He had some health issues and set-backs when he was a kid, so our mother kept him pretty close. He had his own nanny who was also an RN. He’s fine now, but despite what my father told you, we weren’t actually raised the same way.”
“What happened to Lupe?”
“She married a man who owned a real-estate company. When he retired, they moved down to San Diego to be closer to family. We’re still in touch.” Pulling his keys from his jeans pocket, he started toward the door. “Call me at the tavern if you decide you want anything. I’ll bring it over.”
“Grant.”
He turned to face her, his strong features unreadable except for a touch of wariness lingering in his eyes.
“You do make people feel that way,” Rory said. “Like everything is good, even when it’s not.”
Does anyone do that for you?
Their eyes met. A force vibrated between them, like a sharp current of electricity flashing across the night sky.
Rory had lost track of the number of times she’d gone to the Mousehole after a long day or just to get away from her apartment. More often than not, she’d walked in feeling tired or cranky—not to mention ravenously hungry. After chatting with Grant and sometimes pestering him, and hanging out with her sisters and friends, she always left feeling better than she had when she’d arrived.
She had no doubt that all of Grant’s other customers felt the same way, and it was because of him.
“Well.” He opened the door, his gaze shifting away from her. “Thanks for putting up with this whole mess. It’s funny, but I kind of wish—”
He stopped and shook his head. “Get a good night’s sleep, Rory.”
Then he was gone. The door closed behind him.
I kind of wish we’d crossed the line sooner.
Rory flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe that wasn’t his wish, but it was starting to become hers.
Chapter 11
The smell of French Roast coffee wafted through his sleep. Peeling his eyes open, Grant focused on Rory sitting on the table in front of him, holding a take-out cup.
“You look super uncomfortable,” she remarked.
“Looks are not always deceiving.”
With a groan, he straightened his cramped legs. He sat up slowly, twisting his stiff neck. The narrow sofa was neither wide enough nor long enough to allow for a good night’s sleep, but the cottage was too small for a big, cushy sofa that could also double as a bed.
Rory held out the coffee. He grunted a “thank you” and took a gulp. Aches and pains aside, waking up to Rory b
ringing him coffee wasn’t a bad thing at all.
She was fresh-faced and scrubbed, her long hair curling in damp tendrils around her face and shoulders, and her blue eyes were bright. Clearly she’d slept just fine. She also smelled fantastic, like key-lime pie. She probably tasted like it, too.
A drop of water trailed from her hair into the V-neckline of her powder-blue shirt. He wanted to lick it up.
Warmth flickered through him. At least one part of his anatomy hadn’t been affected by his twisted-pretzel slumber.
“You should’ve slept in the bed.” Rory pulled her hair into a ponytail and took an elastic band off her wrist. “There’s room, and I think we could get past the weirdness of sharing a bed.”
Weird wasn’t the word he’d use when it came to sharing Rory’s bed.
“I’m okay.” He stretched his arms to the sides, hoping he could make time for a workout to loosen up his muscles.
“Besides, if your mom comes knocking on the door before we get up, she’ll wonder why we’re not sleeping in the same bed.”
Grant glanced at her. As rationales went, that one was pretty weak. And while he was…somewhat secure in his ability to control his attraction to Rory even if they were sharing a bed, he couldn’t help wondering why she was pushing the issue.
The sofa was damned uncomfortable, though.
“Thanks for this.” He lifted the coffee cup, figuring they wouldn’t have to cross that bridge until tonight anyway. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“Have you seen my parents yet?”
“No, but the lights in your house were on when I went to Java Works to get the coffee.” She reached for her cell phone and showed him the screen. “I also made an itinerary…tentative, in case your parents have other ideas about what they want to do, but I figured we need to keep them as busy as possible. Boredom is a surefire path straight to Bali, and from the looks of Nathan’s social media pages, he and Alice won’t want anything bursting their glowing bubble of happiness.”