by Nina Lindsey
“Shrimp cocktail, beef bourguignon…which, oh my god, takes a million years to cook…and potatoes called…hold on a sec.” Rory wiped her hands on her apron and flipped a few pages of the cookbook. “Pommes de Terre Mont d’Or. Anyway, I’m supposed to have everything timed, and I totally don’t think I do.”
“Sweetie, you didn’t have to—”
“Go, go.” She shooed him out of the kitchen with a dishrag and got back to work.
She was a hot, sweaty, greasy mess. She’d been cooking for hours and had vastly overestimated the ease of Jacques and Julia’s recipes. Not to mention her own culinary know-how. A software engineer who lived on fast-food burritos and Sour Patch Kids probably should have stuck with Quick and Easy 30-Minute Recipes instead of a cookbook written by the most renowned chefs in history.
Well. Lesson learned.
She checked pots, peered at the bubbling beef, chopped parsley, and tasted one of the croutons.
“Are you ready?” she yelled.
“Born ready, baby.”
“I mean, for my cooking.”
“Bring it.”
Rory carted two dishes of shrimp cocktail with horseradish sauce and lemon to the table. Grant was already seated and had poured the wine.
At least she’d had the wherewithal to set the table nicely with candles and cloth napkins, which Aria had brought over earlier—after she’d squealed like a baby goat over the fact that Rory was planning to cook dinner.
Grant picked up a shrimp, which dangled like a sad little comma from his fork.
“I had to clean and devein them.” Rory poked at the shrimp in her dish. “It was pretty gross. How the hell you do this all day is beyond me.”
“You did a great job.” He peered at the shrimp and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. How did you cook them?”
“In something called a court bouillon.” She ate one of the shrimp, which was tough but not inedible.
“Really? That’s a classic broth for poaching.”
“That’s what Jacques and Julia told me. I’ve discovered that classic means it will take you forever and you’ll burn yourself twice.”
He grinned and nudged her wineglass toward her. “Relax. Presentation is a major part of cooking. Act like everything came out exactly the way you intended.”
Rory let out her breath and forced herself to calm down. Grant would love whatever she cooked, even if it was frozen pizza. He wasn’t necessarily easy to please out in the world—like her, he was too guarded—but it was easy for her to please him.
In fact, pleasing him might have been the easiest thing she’d ever done.
He proclaimed the rest of the meal excellent, though it wasn’t. The beef was overcooked, the potatoes undercooked, and the sauce was too salty, but it didn’t turn out to be the disaster Rory was expecting. Grant ate every bite and scraped up the extra sauce with a buttered roll.
“I was going to make crepes Suzette for dessert, but I was afraid I might set the whole place on fire.” She picked up their plates and brought them back to the kitchen. “So I made Julia’s dessert crepes. She said it was okay to make them ahead of time.”
She warmed up the crepes and arranged them on plates with berries and whipped cream. The dish turned out to be the best one of the night, and after they were done, Grant leaned across the table to kiss her.
“Thank you. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me. I couldn’t be happier that it was you. Go take a break. I’ll clean up.”
“You’ve been working at the restaurant all day.” Rory put her hand on his chest to urge him to sit back down. “You’re not cleaning the kitchen when you get home. Drink your coffee. I’ll throw everything in the dishwasher.”
“Come on. We’ll do it together.” He picked up more dishes and headed into the kitchen.
Together was the way they seemed to do things the best, and within half an hour, they’d cleaned up the kitchen—including the splatters on the ceiling—and stretched out on the sofa with Rory’s feet in Grant’s lap.
“Really.” She leaned her head against the cushion and closed her eyes. “You’ve skyrocketed in my esteem like you wouldn’t believe. Cooking is hard.”
“Depends on what you’re cooking.” He rubbed the soles of her feet. “I could give you some lessons.”
She opened her eyes. “Cooking lessons?”
“Sure.” He wiggled her big toe gently back and forth. “Just basics like roasted chicken, and mac and cheese. Maybe a frittata or fried rice.”
Much as Rory liked the idea of Grant teaching her to cook, a touch of unease diluted her pleasure. Six weeks from now, she’d be living alone again, without him to serve her gourmet meals as if he’d conjured them up out of thin air. If she hoped to live on something besides candy and preservatives, she’d need to know how to cook a chicken or a frittata.
Whatever a frittata was.
“That would be great.” She nudged his leg with her foot. “I’d like to take lessons from you. I’m a really good student.”
“I know you are.” The hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Straight A, right?”
“Mmm. I’m very eager to do extra credit, too.” She slid her toes up the length of his thigh back to his lap.
“I’ll have plenty for you.” He stroked his hand underneath the leg of her yoga pants. “In fact, you might be the teacher’s pet.”
“Might be?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Gotta prove yourself first.” He edged his fingers higher to her calf. “Raise your hand a lot. Sit in the front row. Ask to stay after class and review the lecture notes.”
“I’ll do all of that.” She sat up and touched his whiskered jaw. “I might even do some kissing up.”
“Well, then.” He slipped his hand around her nape, heat brewing in his eyes. “Class is in session, Miss Prescott.”
“I’m present and accounted for, Mr. Taylor.”
Their lips met in a lovely kiss that tasted like berries and that felt both familiar and thrillingly new. He eased her back against the sofa cushions, his lips still locked to hers.
Winding her arms around his neck, she stretched out underneath him and hooked her legs around his. She loved the way their bodies fit together, all her curves yielding to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.
He deepened the kiss, his body tensing. Emotions flooded her, a riotous combination of desire, happiness, and the urgency of knowing that their time together was limited. She parted her lips under his and pulled at his T-shirt with a murmur of impatience.
He eased away from her to shuck off the shirt. His muscles gleamed beautifully in the dim light as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and slowly stripped them off her.
Rory had never before been so comfortable, so open, with a man. She knew her level of freedom had everything to do with the way Grant looked at her and touched her as if she were the most incredible person he’d ever encountered. As if he almost couldn’t believe she was real.
When they were both naked, he took his time pleasuring her—skimming his hands over her breasts, trailing his tongue down her body, kissing her from her lips to her bellybutton. She slipped easily under his erotic spell, little gasps and moans breaking from her throat, her hips arching upward with increasing need for him.
Sensations flamed through her blood. She was on the verge of begging when he slipped his hands between her thighs and positioned himself between them. Rory dug her fingers into his biceps, crying out when he sank deep inside her. Every time, their union stunned her with both its power and utter ease, as if they’d been made for each other.
They moved in a slow, rocking rhythm that Rory wanted to last forever. Grant kissed her, licked the hollow of her throat, stroked her breasts and hips. Each touch and thrust pushed her closer and closer to the blissful edge. Gripping him tightly, she convulsed again, gasping his name. He groaned, his muscles flexing as his own body shuddered with release.
Breathing hard, he press
ed his forehead to hers. Their eyes locked. Tenderness and an emotion more intense than Rory could articulate passed between them. Her heart beat heavily against his chest. They’d been together for less than a month, and yet she knew she would never have this kind of life with another man. Ever.
He eased to the side, pulling her back against his chest on the narrow sofa. Rory nestled herself against him and closed her eyes. His breath stirred her hair. He circled his arm around her waist and cupped her breast in his hand. His body was a solid wall of heat and muscle behind her.
She had the striking sense that she could do anything—anything—with his strength backing her up.
Her phone buzzed unpleasantly. Grant clamped his arm tighter around her waist. “Do not answer that.”
“What if it’s for you?” She nudged him with her ass and reached for her phone on the coffee table. “People are starting to text me with messages for you. Don’t you think that’s perhaps an indication that it’s really time for you to get a phone?”
“No. I don’t want people to be able to reach me all the time. Tell them to stop bugging you and to call me on my landline like they always have before. Leave a message if I don’t pick up.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “I could be busy, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” She swiped the screen to check the notifications. Her heart stuttered.
Grant stilled. “What’s wrong?”
“Email from the Digicore CEO.” Rory pulled up the full message.
Rory, we got funding in place for the cloud solutions project earlier than expected. Deadline now moved up. Your start date is next Monday. Apartment available in nearby building.
She tossed the phone aside and sat up, her breath escaping in a hard rush. Monday was four days from now.
With a frown, Grant picked up her phone and read the message. “Monday, huh?”
“I knew there was a chance my start date could shift.” She rubbed her chest, where an ache was starting to form. “I told them that was fine, since I was finishing up my contract work, and Mom had already hired Linda to help at the bakery. I figured I’d just be spinning my wheels here until Thanksgiving. But that was before…”
Her voice trailed off. Straightening, Grant slipped his arm around her and pulled her closer. “That was before I knocked your wheels loose and sent you careening off the road.”
Rory smiled, even as sorrow collected in her throat. “Hardly. I think it’s more like you set me rolling on a path I didn’t know existed.”
“Hey.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “You’re moving less than two hours away. I don’t think even the guidebooks consider that long distance. I’ll come up every chance I get.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Gotta make sure you’re not subsisting on tube goo and gummy worms. Though now that you have Jacques and Julia on your side, I might not have to worry about that too much. I’ll take a day off and help you move.”
“You don’t have to. I can do it by myself.”
“I know you can. I’m saying you don’t have to.”
Rory shifted to look at him and put her hand against the side of his face. Warmth, tenderness, and a hint of regret darkened his green eyes. She traced the edges of his sharp cheekbones. She ran her fingertips over his well-shaped mouth, his dark eyebrows, the strong, stubbly line of his jaw.
Yes, she wished they’d crossed the line sooner so that they would have had more time together in Bliss Cove, but at least she wouldn’t be moving away without knowing just how much Grant Taylor meant to her.
“So we’re still…you know.” She moved her hand down to his chest. “You and me?”
He captured her wrist. “You once told me you’ve never thought of an end goal in a relationship.”
She rested her palm over his heart and shook her head.
“That means you haven’t thought of an end goal with us, either.” He rubbed the inside of her wrist right against her pulse. “And that means you haven’t thought of an end.”
A smile started from somewhere deep inside her. “I guess I haven’t.”
“Good.” He kissed her. “To answer your question, yes. We’re still you and me. No end in sight.”
Chapter 17
“I know you won’t be far, but it feels like you’re moving across the country.” Eleanor Prescott wiped a tear from her eye before hugging Rory close. “Henry and I are already hoping to come up next weekend. I can help you decorate.”
“You mean you can’t wait to decorate for me.” Rory tightened her arms around her mother, battling back her own emotions. “Just please don’t bring me any houseplants.”
“Okay, but I’m definitely bringing framed family photos, and at least one wooden sign painted with a positive-thinking quote.” Eleanor released her and stepped back, squeezing her hands. “Something like Never Give Up.”
“Mom, she’ll just hang that in the bathroom.” Callie shook her head in amusement and embraced Rory. “Don’t take any crap. Don’t back down. And call us if you need anything.”
“These are for the trip.” Eleanor handed Rory a bakery box containing enough Sugar Joy cookies to last a week. “Let me know as soon as you arrive.”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.” Before she started getting choked up, Rory left the bakery and returned to the Mousehole, where, under Aria’s direction, Grant and Hunter were loading her boxes into the back of the truck.
“There’s room here for more.” Hunter tightened the bungee cord and nodded to an empty space.
“That’s everything.” Grant hefted his duffel bag into the truck and dusted off his hands. “Rory doesn’t have much stuff.”
“She’s a minimalist,” Aria corrected.
“Good spin.” Rory hugged her little sister. “Be good, okay? I’ll keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they could use a cat companion.”
“Like you?” Aria tightened her arms around Rory, her words clogging with tears. “Make sure you see some sunlight at least twice a day. We’re going to video chat every other day so we can talk face-to-face instead of through texts. Here’s some stuff you might need for your new place. I’ll put it in your car.”
She picked up a floral box with a lid and set it in the backseat of Rory’s car.
“Thanks.” Rory turned to hug Hunter. “I’ll keep you posted if I find anything more about the software.”
“I’ll do the same. Good luck to you, Rory. Thanks for everything.”
A few minutes later, she was in her car, following Grant as he headed north on the coastal highway toward the Bay Area. She almost couldn’t believe it had been less than a month ago when they’d traveled this exact route on the way to Nathan and Alice’s wedding. Then, Grant had been her contentious but ever-present friend, the man she counted on to be there all the time.
Not once had he let her down.
Before long, they were pulling into the parking lot of a beige stucco apartment building. After getting the keys from the manager, they hauled her boxes up to the third-floor apartment—one room with a window overlooking the back alley.
It actually wasn’t all that different from her Bliss Cove apartment, though there she’d had a view of the park behind the building, but it couldn’t compare to the Mousehole cottage with its wood-burning fireplace and bed just big enough for the two of them. Or to Grant’s house, which had felt so much like home.
He stayed with her for the afternoon, helping her shop for actual furniture and making several trips to transport it all back in his truck. They ordered out for pizza and ate it at her new little kitchen table, where she lit a tapered candle she’d found in Aria’s box. The box also contained a number of other items that Rory would never have bought for herself—cat figurines, decorative bookends, flower vases, throw pillows, and a “healing crystal.”
After putting the leftover pizza in the fridge, Grant turned to face her. Though he smiled, regret darkened his eyes. “Even though it’s not long distance, I’ll still miss you.”
“Even
if we hadn’t…you know, this…” Rory gestured between them and swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I’d still miss you, too.”
“Come here.”
She closed the distance between them, tucking her head under his chin. He tightened his arms around her. The heavy thump of his heart echoed through her. Constant and steady.
“You can stay the night.” She rubbed her cheek against his chest.
“If I stay the night, I might not leave.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“It would be a great thing, if we both didn’t have to work.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “With tomorrow being your first day, you don’t need any distractions. I do have something for you, though.”
He eased away from her and unzipped his duffel bag. He pulled out Bob the Singing Fish and handed it to her. Rory took the mounted monstrosity with a laugh.
“You don’t have to give him to me.”
“I’m not. You earned him.” Grant pushed the button on the plaque, and “Love Me Tender” warbled out. “Now you can do with him as you please.”
“Hmm.” She ran her fingers down the front of his T-shirt and set the fish on the counter. “Can I do the same with you?”
“Always.” He tugged a lock of her hair. “As for the three meals a day, since I did promise to make them until Thanksgiving, you’ll have to claim the rest on visits. It could take a while to get through all the meals I owe you.”
“I can wait.” She slipped her hand under his shirt and stroked his warm abdomen.
Sadness and warmth shimmered in the air between them. He cupped her face and slanted his mouth over hers again, his kiss so thorough and compelling that for the first time in her life, Rory understood what it felt like to be claimed.
“Work hard.” He lifted his head and tweaked her nose. “If any shit comes your way, you call me. The Taylor name carries a lot of weight, and I’ll use it if I have to. But first I’ll beat any guy up for you.”
“My hero.” She took a breath, trying to smother her fear of being alone again. “I’ll see you soon.”