Whisper of Love (The Bradens at Peaceful Harbor, Book Five)

by Melissa Foster

  She blessed him with one of her stunning smiles, and it struck him that if she moved in, he’d have the pleasure of seeing that gorgeous smile every day.

  “Thanks. But as you can see, they can be a little over the top. My brothers are less in-your-face than Nick and Jace, but I think Nick feels a sense of responsibility in their absence.”

  Phillip yawned and rested his head on Nash’s shoulder.

  “He’s so quiet,” Tempest said. “I hope they didn’t scare him.”

  “He’s always quiet.” He wanted to stay right there, with the leaves rustling in the breeze and Tempest’s full attention on him, but the dad in him spoke louder than any other voice in his head. “I hate to cut this short, but I’d better get him home. He’s up at the crack of dawn regardless of when he goes to sleep.”

  “Okay. Do you want references or something?”

  He shook his head as they left the patio and reached the sidewalk. “I don’t need them. When would you like to move in?”

  “Right now,” she said with a tease in her eyes. “So I can finally get some sleep.”

  “That works for me.”

  She laughed. “I was kidding.”

  “I wasn’t.” Her expression turned serious, and he silently berated himself for letting that slip. “Where are you parked?”

  “Behind Tully’s.”

  They walked across the street and toward the parking lot. Every step was like wading through a lightning storm. Every time their arms brushed, or their eyes met, sparks ignited.

  “Seriously, though,” she said when they reached her car. “How soon are you looking to rent the room?”

  “As soon as you’re ready to move in,” he said as she dug her keys from her bag. Phillip’s body sagged against his shoulder. His eyes were barely open. He was in that gray space between awake and sleeping.

  “Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to push myself on you.”

  Push, Tempe. Please push. She was too cute, too sexy, and he could tell that she wasn’t acting that way on purpose. This was who she was, and he found her devastatingly enticing. “Really. You can move in tonight, tomorrow, next week. Whenever works best for you.”

  She trapped her lower lip between her teeth and hope filled her eyes. “Tomorrow I’m teaching my children’s class, but then I’m off for the weekend. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

  “Do you always ask multiple times before accepting an answer?”

  “Only when I’m nervous.”

  The air between them thickened. He stepped closer. He shouldn’t have, but she was that compelling. “Why are you nervous?”

  The look in her eyes told him she felt their connection just as strongly as he did. She was too real, too likable and honest. That made her dangerous. Not just to me. To Phillip. On that thought he leaned back, feeling a rush of cooler air fill the space between them. She unlocked her car and he opened the door for her, telling himself to back off and get a grip.

  “No reason,” she said shakily, averting her eyes as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Just the idea of moving again.”

  He waited for her to look at him, and when she did, it was all right there, clear as day. You feel it too, and you’re not running scared. You can’t walk away from us either, can you? He knew he was skating on thin ice. He knew he couldn’t get involved with her, especially if she moved in. But for the first time in forever, he wanted to be selfish. Or at least selfish enough to allow himself to walk that tightrope, giving himself time to experience being with her, even if only as friends. Because as much as he wanted to be truly selfish, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow that selfishness to take over and risk the stability he’d created for his son.

  “I’m nervous, too,” he said honestly. “That’s probably a good thing.”

  Chapter Five

  TEMPEST’S STOMACH HAD been twisting into knots one minute and all fluttery the next since she’d made the split-second decision to rent the room in Nash’s house. Last night she hadn’t left the bar just because she felt suffocated by her cousins. She didn’t want to be at a crowded bar. She wanted to unwind, to center herself after a long, emotional day. She hadn’t realized how frustrated she was until Jillian had said something about her always putting others first. That’s exactly what she had been doing forever. She went to bars because other people wanted to and because that’s what people her age did. She could only find so many friends who didn’t mind hanging out in a quiet café or sitting outside talking without the extra stimulation of crowds or cell phones. When she’d seen Nash and Phillip enjoying a serene moment, focused on nothing more than each other, her fears and emotions coalesced, and she knew she wanted to spend more time with them. Around them, in the quiet world Nash had created.

  Now, as she pulled into his driveway, fear clawed up her spine and perched on her shoulders. Was she putting herself into a position in which she’d have no control? Was this a mistake? Moving to Pleasant Hill had been a big change in and of itself. Was she pushing herself too far?

  She curled her fingers around the steering wheel, trying to calm her racing heart, and caught movement out of her peripheral vision. Flip was running around the goat pen with Nash on his heels. She rolled down her window, hearing the distant sound of little-boy giggles and Nash’s stronger, raspier laughter as he hauled the boy over his shoulder. She laughed, and at the same time, reveled in how carefree he was with his son compared to everyone else. He maneuvered Flip into his arms and hugged him tight. Her heart warmed, and for the millionth time today, she rationalized her decision. What’s wrong with wanting to be in a low-key family-oriented environment? That’s what I know. It is what I’m used to. Yes, she was attracted to Nash, but she wasn’t someone who couldn’t control her impulses. All she had to do was take a stroll down her very limited sexual-partner lane to prove that point. Guys were all about combustible energy. Most reeked of it. She could practically see them plotting out their moves, deciding exactly how long it would take to get her into bed on their very first date. And she’d had enough first dates that she’d never allowed to lead to seconds to know.

  Breathing deeply, she cut the engine. I can handle the heat. And if she couldn’t, she wasn’t too proud to get out of the kitchen. Or the house.

  Nash turned with a wide, unguarded smile, looking ridiculously sexy as he set Flip on the ground. She stepped from the car and his eyes found her. His smile took a different, darker turn, and the atmosphere heated about fifty degrees. He followed Flip up to the edge of the driveway, where his son stopped and looked up at his father. Nash nodded and held a hand for him to take. He wrapped his little fist around two of Nash’s fingers, and together they crossed the gravel, stopping a few feet from Tempest. Nash slipped his free hand in the front pocket of his jeans. Flip, watching his father closely, pushed a hand into his own pocket. They were quite a pair, these two quiet, new boys in her life.

  “How’s it going?” Nash’s typical bravado seemed less brusque, reminding her of what he’d said last night. I’m nervous too. That’s probably a good thing.

  “Good.” I’m freaking out a little. “Are you still sure this is all right? It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

  He looked down at her sandals, shaking his head, and lifted only his eyes, looking up at her from beneath the bill of his ball cap. He looked hot and sweet and manly all at once, sending her heart into a flurry of nervous beats.

  “If I changed my mind I would have called you before you went to all this trouble.”

  She nodded, wondering if he could see how paralyzed she felt. Needing to do something, she pushed the button for her trunk on her key fob and went to collect her things.

  “I’ll help with that.” He reached into the trunk and grabbed her biggest suitcase before she could protest. Surveying the few items in the trunk, he said, “Is this all you’ve got?”

  “Mm-hm. I’m still in the beginning stages of growing my business in this area. I have no idea how my clien
t load will pan out, or if I’ll need to go back to my business in Peaceful Harbor full-time, so I left most of my stuff in my apartment.”

  The muscles in Nash’s jaw twitched. Flip curled his fingers around the edges of the trunk and went up on his tiptoes, trying to peer inside. He was much too little, and squinted curiously up at Nash.

  “Do you mind if I let him carry something?” he asked.

  “No, of course not.” She grabbed a small, locked, leather jewelry box her mother had given her and crouched beside him. “Think you can handle this?”

  He gave her a confident nod with an expression so earnest she had to laugh.

  She grabbed a cardboard box of books from the trunk, and Nash took it from her with one hand. “I can carry it,” she protested.

  “So can I. I left you the heavy load.” He glanced at Flip. “Come on, buddy.”

  Flip carried the jewelry box like it was made of glass. Nash waited for her to grab the laundry basket full of linens and towels before starting toward the door.

  “I carried all of this to my car by myself,” she advised him proudly.

  “And I’m carrying it into the house.”

  His smirk was entirely too sexy. How was she supposed to argue with a sexy smirk?

  “Please tell me I’m not moving in with an overprotective Braden-like landlord. I love my family, but there’s a reason I moved out from under their noses.”

  Flip pushed the door open, and Nash used his elbow to hold it as she stepped inside. “Helpful is a better term. Or maybe I just don’t want you to hurt yourself on my property and sue me.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes with a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” she teased. It felt strange to walk into his house and know she would be sleeping there for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t like staying at a hotel where everyone was a guest, or with family, where she could flop on a couch in her sweats with a bowl of peaches and whipped cream and eat to her heart’s content. Oh gosh, can I flop around in sweats? She could just hear Jillian and Shannon answering her. No, you definitely cannot. No sweats, unless it’s after a sexy romp in the hay. Now she was even chastising herself with dirty thoughts. That wasn’t good.

  She followed Flip up the stairs at a snail’s pace. Nash leaned over her shoulder, bringing with him the musky, masculine scent of a hard day’s work.

  “Still nervous?” he asked in a low voice.

  “A little more so, now that I’m here,” she admitted.

  He didn’t say a word, making her even more nervous.

  When they reached the landing, Flip looked at him and Nash nodded toward the room at the end of the hall. “That’s Tempe’s room from now on, remember?”

  The cutie nodded and toddled down the hall.

  “Wow, that sounds strange,” she said softly.

  “Does it?” Nash asked as they entered her room. “I think it sounds nice.”

  Nice. She even liked his choice of words. Most guys she knew used words like cool or awesome. Nice sounded welcoming. Inviting. Like she wanted to be surrounded by it.

  “Shouldn’t I sign the lease?” she asked.

  “We’ll take care of it after you’re settled in.”

  The bedroom looked different. Brighter, more lived in. She realized he’d added brighter lightbulbs to the overhead light fixture. There was a stack of fresh towels and sheets on the comforter, which looked freshly washed. He’d set a stack of books by the bed, too. Her heart swelled at that, even though he’d probably do it for anyone. She glanced up at him as he set her box of books on a cute table with a chair that had hand-carved legs and an intricate mountain scene on the back, neither of which had been there when she’d seen the room. He set her suitcase by the closet. “I guess you don’t need the linens and towels.”

  Flip placed her jewelry box on the table next to the box of books, and when Nash slid a hand into his front pocket again, he did the same.

  She set her things on the bed. “Thank you. That was really thoughtful, and I love the table and chair. They’re perfect.” She noticed a heap of price tags in the trash bin beside the bed. “I can pay you for the towels and linens if you’d like.”

  He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Flip scoffed and shook his head.

  Tempest felt herself smiling. She had a feeling that with these two around, she would be doing a lot more of that. They made another trip down to her car and carried up the rest of her things.

  Nash put a hand on the back of his son’s head. “I guess we’ll leave you to unpack. Have you eaten dinner?”

  She loved how he included Flip in everything he did, and that he was always touching him, as if his son were a physical extension of himself. “No. I packed up right after work, but I can run out after I unpack and pick something up. I need to stock up on groceries anyway.”

  He glanced out the window, his jaw tensing. “We’re having stir-fry if you want to join us, and pick up groceries tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’d like that. I’ll unpack quickly and help you make it.”

  He grabbed the extra towels and sheets and nudged Flip out the door. “We’ve got it. We’re old pros.” He stopped outside her bedroom door and glanced back at her. “But if you want to help, you’re welcome to.”

  He pulled the door partly closed, leaving her alone to ponder thoughts of the man who’d gone to quite a bit of trouble to make her comfortable.

  NASH HADN’T BEEN this nervous since the first time he’d held his son, and suddenly he was anxious in his own house, preparing a meal he’d made hundreds of times? It was one thing to make dinner for him and Phillip, who he knew liked his cooking. But what if Tempest didn’t like it? He looked over the red, orange, and yellow peppers and other vegetables they’d picked from the garden, and the thin slices of chicken he’d prepared—not from their own stock. It would be fairly hard to screw this up. He tried to concentrate on the country song playing on the radio instead of the way his gut was churning, but it was like trying to ignore an oncoming tsunami.

  Phillip sat on the counter tearing lettuce into shreds and putting it into a salad bowl.

  “What do you think, buddy?”

  Phillip looked up and sang, “Playin’ with fire”—he mumbled a few words—“tangled up.”

  Nash laughed. Maybe I’m overthinking this. He tossed the vegetables into the wok with a dash of olive oil, and Nash joined his son in singing the country song. He added seasonings and the sauce Phillip liked, turned the heat down to simmer, and swept his boy off the counter, spinning as they sang. Phillip loved when he danced with him, and it never failed to remind Nash of the life he’d left behind. He didn’t harbor resentment for having to grow up. But there were times he missed traveling to art festivals, sculpting for hours each day, and pulling out his guitar whenever it suited him. But that was a long time ago. He kissed Phillip’s forehead, gaining even more enjoyment from dancing with his boy than he did from his traveling days.

  “You can sing, too?” Tempest stood in the doorway carrying a mug that said music soothes the soul. She’d changed into a pair of hip-hugging jeans and an off-white tank top with lace around the neckline. Her feet were bare, save for a tiny silver toe ring, exuding the perfect combination of sexy and innocence again, which was rapidly becoming his favorite look.

  “Hardly.” Jesus, could he make a bigger fool of himself? He set Phillip on a stool by the counter, where he went back to tearing lettuce and humming to the song. Nash busied himself stirring their dinner.

  She held up her mug. “Mind if I put this in the cabinet? I use it every morning.”

  “One mug?” He cocked his head. “I don’t know. That’s a real space sucker.”

  She smiled and touched Phillip’s leg. “Your daddy is quite the jokester.”

  He gave her a quizzical look and offered her a piece of lettuce.

  “His hands are clean,” Nash said, taking the mug from her as she accepted the lettuce from Phillip.
He opened the cabinet, set the mug on a shelf, and said, “Mugs and glasses.” He opened another cabinet. “Plates and bowls.” He continued through each cabinet and drawer. When he opened the lower cabinet beside the refrigerator, containing pots and pans, he and Phillip said, “Drums,” at the same time.

  “I think I’m going to like living here.” She opened the drawers until she found a peeler and snatched it up, grabbed a carrot, and put herself to work.

  She peeled and sliced the carrots, giving Phillip pieces as she added them to the salad bowl, and something inside Nash unfurled. She picked up a cucumber, singing softly into it like a microphone. Phillip laughed, but Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her hair was mussed, like she’d gone through her day without primping the way most women spent way too much time doing, and she wore barely any makeup, which he liked. Her smile was enough to make her naturally beautiful face even more radiant.

  She washed the cucumber and sliced it on the cutting board beside Phillip. He snatched a piece of cucumber and gobbled it down.

  “I’m surprised you like vegetables,” she said to him, then to Nash, “Most kids snub them.”

  “Not my boy. He’s always loved adult foods over kid foods.” He grabbed three plates from the cabinet. Three. He recalled the day after Alaina had left, when he’d gone from taking two plates out of the cabinet to one. The memories didn’t come often, and they no longer hit with the force of a plane crash but with the impact of a bee sting, sharp and anger inducing. He grabbed forks and napkins and placed them in the plastic bucket Phillip liked to use to carry them outside. Pushing the uncomfortable thoughts aside, he dished the stir-fry onto their plates.

  “And mac and cheese,” Tempest said.

  “Hm?”

  “He must like mac and cheese along with adult food.”

  “Nope. That’s kid food. He hates it.” He set Phillip on the floor and handed him the bucket with the utensils. Picking up their plates, he motioned toward the back door, and Phillip pushed it open.