He closed the journal and set it aside to return to his pizza. But before he bit into it, he looked across the table at her. “You told her we met while I was home on leave, but did you tell her how we met?”
“It’s on page one of the journal.”
“Paraphrase it for me.”
She really didn’t want to. Somehow the idea of him reading her lies seemed less directly humiliating than her reciting them out loud. But he cocked an eyebrow at her as he chewed, clearly waiting for her to tell the story. “We met at Jasper’s Bar & Grille.”
“Kevin’s bar?”
“You were home on leave and he hadn’t owned the place long, so you stopped in to check it out. Lisa and I had been shopping in the city and stopped in for a Jasper burger.” She felt her face flush and stared down at her plate. “It was love at first sight.”
She heard him chuckle and wanted to glare at him, but she had a feeling that would only turn his chuckle into a full-fledged laugh. “So you wrote to me and I wrote back and then I left the army and here we are.”
“In a nutshell.” She let him swallow his mouthful of pizza, then asked, “You have plans for tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Want to start work? Just a half day, over on the big lake. And then we could do some shopping. Stock up on food and get some stuff so it looks like you actually live here.”
“Sounds good. What time?”
“I usually leave here at seven-thirty. I can probably meet you somewhere so you don’t have to get up even earlier to drive over here.”
“I’ll be here. I never sleep past six anyway.”
“Never?” She was up at six on weekdays, but on the weekends she liked to sleep in a bit.
“Never. And I like a big breakfast, so I hope you’re a morning person.”
He kept a straight face, but Emma could see the amusement in his eyes. “You can get two doughnuts at the coffee shop drive-through, then.”
When the amusement spread to his mouth, Emma took a long swig of her beer and looked anywhere but at the curve of his lips. He had nice mouth. A really nice mouth that looked like it knew its way around a kiss and since the thought of kissing Sean gave her a need to squirm in her chair, she looked at the clock over the stove. And at the grocery list stuck to the fridge.
But, dammit, right next to the grocery list was the picture of her and Sean and the grin didn’t lose its potency in two dimensions. Thank goodness he had those good manners and wasn’t the kind of guy to plant one on her in front of her grandmother.
The discussion turned to first-date small talk while they ate. They both liked cheesy action movies and preferred home-style diners to fancy restaurants. Emma read romance and Sean read horror and biographies. They both preferred half-hour sitcoms to hour-long dramas or reality shows, and they both hated shopping for clothes.
It was a start, she told herself as she walked him to the door. Hopefully he’d look through the notes she’d written for him, and she knew a lot about him already, thanks to Lisa. It would have to be enough.
As soon as she opened the door at twenty after seven, Sean could see Emma had spent as much time tossing and turning the night before as he had. She looked tired and her mouth was set in a way that made her look a little cranky.
“I’m running a few minutes behind,” she said. “You want a coffee?”
“Sure.” He followed her into the kitchen and when she waved in the direction of the coffeemaker before sitting at the table, he assumed he was on his own.
Maybe it was a test, he thought as he opened the cabinet over the coffeemaker in search of a mug. Luckily, she organized her kitchen in a way that made sense to him, so he didn’t have to rummage through drawers looking for a spoon. He could almost pass for somebody who lived there.
Once he’d put the half-and-half back in the fridge, he pulled up a chair across from her. She ignored him, sipping her coffee while she flipped through an enormous leather-bound organizer. Then she pulled out her phone and hit a button.
“Hey, it’s Emma,” she said after a pause. “The Duncans decided they don’t like the black mulch, after all. Or Mrs. Duncan did, rather. She thought it would be artsy but it—and I quote—‘swallows up the accent lighting.’”
Another long pause while she rubbed her forehead. “I can use most of it to touch up for my other clients with the black, but I’ll need three yards of the gold cedar for the Duncans. And yes, she knows how much it will cost.”
Sean tuned her out, then picked up his coffee mug and wandered out of the kitchen. It seemed a little rude to go roaming around her house, but her grandmother might suspect something was up if Sean had to ask her for directions to the bathroom.
He found another picture of himself and Emma in the living room. It took him a few minutes to figure out it was Stephanie who’d been replaced that time, and only because a balloon was barely visible along one edge. He’d been home on a short leave and took the time to drive over from Maine for Stephanie’s birthday because her long, funny letters meant the world to him during deployment.
Besides a half bath and a boring formal dining room, he found her office on the ground floor. It wasn’t a big room, but bookshelves full of romance novels lined the walls. In one corner, a fat easy chair begged to be relaxed in and a gas parlor stove stood across the room. A desk sat under the window, holding a fairly new computer and piles of paper threatening to slide off in every direction. He wondered if the filing cabinet next to the desk was full or if she just ignored it.
He could still her voice coming from the kitchen, so he set his coffee down on an end table and made his way up the stairs. All of the doors stood open, so he peeked his head in each room as he walked down the hall.
The first room he looked in had to be her grandmother’s, judging by the photos and the décor. A lot of crocheted things, too. Not the room he was looking for, so he kept going.
He found what looked like a combination guest room and storage closet, so he guessed she didn’t have a lot of overnight company. The bathroom was big and had been updated in the last decade or so. Hiding behind a set of louvered doors, he found a state-of-the-art washer and dryer set, which wasn’t surprising considering what Emma did for a living.
Finally, at the end of the hall on the right, he found what had to be Emma’s bedroom. His bedroom.
Judging by the long arch meant to disguise a weight-bearing beam, it had started life as two smaller bedrooms, but at some point the wall had been removed to make a master suite. Besides a bed that looked queen-sized and the usual bedroom furnishings, there was a sitting area. End table with a lamp surrounded by more books. A small flat-screen TV mounted to the wall. And the couch she’d be sleeping on for the next month.
Even with the room’s expansion, he figured there were only about ten feet between the bed and the couch. Despite the fact he’d learned over the years to sleep through any conditions, this arrangement was going to be a little awkward. Intimate.
There was a door to the left of the sitting area and he poked his head through to find a three-quarter bath—toilet, sink and a shower. It’d do.
Aware of how many minutes he’d burned exploring, Sean went back down to the kitchen, grabbing his coffee along the way. He could see by tension in her shoulders she didn’t really care for him being so free with her home, but she’d probably come to the same conclusion he had.
“I just want to finish this coffee,” she said. “Rough night.”
He splashed the little bit of hot coffee left in the pot into his mug and leaned against the counter, watching her make a few more notes in her organizer.
“So…landscaping, huh?” He’d pushed a few mowers in his time. “Don’t you think having Emma in the business name’s a bad idea, though?”
She set down her pen and narrowed her eyes at him. “What? Girls can’t be landscapers? You’ve heard we’re allowed to vote now, right?”
“I just think if I want my lawn mowed or
my weeds whacked, I’m more likely to call Bob or Fred.”
“And that’s fine. If you want somebody to mow your lawn or whack your weeds, call Bob or Fred. But if you want an artist to design the beautiful, virtually maintenance-free landscaping for your summer cottage or lake house, you call Emma.”
Her defensive tone made him want to chuckle and poke at her some more, but he stifled it. “So you specialize in design, then?”
“Yes, but I do the labor, too.” She smiled. “Except for the next month, of course. I’ll have you to do the heavy lifting.”
“Not afraid of a little hard work.” He was looking forward to it, actually. His body was accustomed to a little more physical activity than it was currently getting. If he got too soft, his cousins would wipe the grass with him during the annual Fourth of July family football game.
Emma looked at her watch and then stood to rinse her coffee mug. “Time to hit the road.”
It wasn’t until she’d climbed behind the wheel of her truck and was watching him expectantly that Sean realized he couldn’t remember a time he’d ever ridden shotgun to a female driver. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked to be the one in control.
But she’d be signing his paychecks for the next few weeks, so she was the boss. He slid in on the passenger side and closed the door, only to find himself white-knuckled by the time they reached the highway. She didn’t drive any better than she claimed she cooked.
They spent the morning at a three-million-dollar summer home on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee, where he had the joy of turning a pile of rocks dumped next to the house into stone walls outlining what would be the perennial beds, whatever the hell that meant.
It was good physical labor that worked up a sweat, but it didn’t make him nearly as hot and bothered as watching Emma work. She didn’t whine. Didn’t worry about breaking a nail. She just worked alongside him, humming country tunes under her breath, and he found out the hard way how attractive a hard-working woman could be.
Ten feet, he thought. Ten feet between his bed and hers. A few steps.
Then she bent over in front of him to adjust a rock and he dropped the one he was holding onto his toes, which made a dozen curses echo through his head, though he managed not to say them out loud.
Thirty days with Emma was shaping up to be one hell of a job.
Chapter Four
“It’s not Disney World, Sean. You get in, you get what you need and you get out.” If Emma had known shopping with him was going to be like this, she would have hidden a cattle prod in her purse.
“I’m shopping.”
“No, you’re meandering.”
He stopped the cart—again—to look at something on the shelf and then resumed walking at a snail’s pace. “I might see something I need.”
“I have a list. See?” She held it up. “I know what we need.”
“That’s your list. Do you have salt-and-vinegar chips on it?”
“No. I don’t like salt-and-vinegar flavor. Makes my tongue burn.”
“See? If we sprint through the store, just getting what’s on your list, I won’t have any salt-and-vinegar chips.”
“Maybe if you’d written down a few notes about yourself, I would have put them on my list.”
He shook his head. “I don’t come with an owner’s manual. Sorry.”
She pulled on the end of the cart, trying to make him move a little faster. “The store closes in six hours. You might need to pick up the pace.”
He stopped so abruptly the cart jerked her arm. “You need to relax.”
“No, I need to get the shopping done so I can move on to the next thing.” She glared at him, willing him to shut his mouth and move his feet.
“You know, for a long time I’ve had what Uncle Sam saw fit to issue me and what my family could send in a care package,” he said quietly, and her impatience fizzled and died like a match dropped in a puddle. “When I got back stateside, I bought some necessities, but not a lot because I was on the move. I’d like to browse a little bit.”
“I’m sorry.” She let go of the cart and blew out a breath. “Here you are doing me a huge favor and I’m being all…intense.”
“Bitchy,” he muttered, not quite under his breath.
“I prefer intense.”
“Intensely bitchy.”
Between the amusement lurking at the corners of his mouth and the fact he was right, Emma decided to let it go. Not only his less-than-flattering assessment of her mood, but the stress of her grandmother’s impending arrival. What was the worst that could happen if this didn’t work? Gram would be angry and see this little escapade as proof it was all too much for Emma. She’d sell the house and Emma would rent an apartment and life would go on.
And that thought made her want to cry, so she shook it off and tried to be patient as they very, very slowly made their way up and down the aisles.
“What the hell is this?” Sean picked up a box from the shelf and showed it to her. “It looks like a cheese grater for your feet.”
“Women like having smooth heels.”
“Do you have one of these?”
“Hell, no. It looks like a cheese grater.”
They laughed as he put it back and moved on to the next thing that caught his fancy. Between the department store and the grocery store, they managed to almost fill the bed of his truck but, an hour later when it was all put away, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference.
“It still doesn’t look like you’ve lived here for a year.”
Sean shrugged and sat backward on a kitchen chair, folding his arms across the back of it. “She won’t think much of it. Single, former army guys aren’t really known for dragging around domestic clutter.”
“It just seems like you should have more…stuff. Pictures and sports trophies and stuff like that.”
“It’s all in boxes in the attic back home. If she says something, which she won’t, I’ll just tell her I haven’t gotten around to getting them yet.”
She grabbed a couple of sodas out of the fridge and set one in front of him. “Lisa told me a little bit about your family. She said you’re all really close to Leo and Mary, even though you were all in Maine.”
“My mom died when I was nine. It was an aneurism, so we didn’t even see it coming and everything would have gone to shit, including my dad, if not for Aunt Mary and Rosie. Rosie’s the housekeeper at the lodge, but really she’s more than that. She stepped up and raised her own daughter, plus helped my dad raise the five of us. He died nine years ago, but Rosie’s still there, helping Josh run the lodge. But without Aunt Mary backing her up, I don’t know how we would have turned out.”
She loved the way his face softened when he talked about his family. And the way the muscles in his arm flexed as he lifted the soda to his mouth. And the way his throat worked as he swallowed. And…
And nothing, she told herself. She needed to think of him as an employee…kind of. Except for the whole sharing-a-bedroom thing.
“So tomorrow’s the big day,” he said, and she wondered if he was just trying to change the subject away from his family. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I can be, I guess. I can’t wait to see her, of course. I’ve missed her so much, but a month is a long time.”
“It’ll fly by once we settle in and you two start catching up on lost time.”
She twisted the ring on her finger, watching the stone catch the last rays of the late-day sun. “For something I’ve obsessed about right down to the last detail, I can’t help but think I should have thought it through a little more.”
“You can still change your mind.”
She shook her head. “No, we’re committed.”
“Or we should be,” he said, and they both laughed.
Then he drained the last of his soda and stood. “I’m going to hit the road. Gonna relax and get a good night’s sleep before the big show starts.”
“Okay. If you bring your stuff over by ten, you’ll have
time to put it away before I have to leave for the airport.”
“I’ll be here.”
After he was gone, Emma collapsed on the couch in a bundle of raw nerves. Starting tomorrow, she was going to have to start convincing her grandmother she was in love with Sean Kowalski. And tomorrow Sean would be moving into her house. Into her bedroom. Into her life.
A good night’s sleep was out of the question.
After a few hours of hard deliberation, Sean decided to call his oldest brother, Mitch. He was a rolling stone, too, never staying in one place too long or spending too much time in one woman’s bed. He, of all the siblings, was the least likely to think Sean had left his marbles overseas and needed an intervention.
“Hey, little brother,” Mitch said after the third ring. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Weird, but good. “You gotta minute?”
“Five or six, even. I’m in Chicago, getting ready to drop an old office building, but we’re waiting on paperwork right now.” Mitch’s childhood obsession with wrecking balls had led to his being one of the more respected controlled demolition experts in the country. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got myself into a little situation here and, since I don’t have time to explain it over and over, I thought maybe you could spread the word.”
“In other words, you don’t want to tell Liz.”
“Pretty much.” Fierce was a good word to sum up the only girl of the five kids. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Rosie, either.”
“Does it involve bail money?”
Sean laughed. “No.”
“A shotgun wedding?”
“Um…not exactly.”
He told Mitch the story, starting with Emma knocking on his door and leading up to the present—him at Kevin’s apartment to grab his few belongings and make the dreaded phone call.
“Holy shit,” Mitch said when he was done talking. “That definitely qualifies as a situation. Is she hot?”
“Very. But she can’t cook worth a damn.”
“That’s what take-out’s for.” His brother was quiet for a few seconds, then chuckled. “So this hot chick’s going to pay you to be her man for a month. Is that legal in New Hampshire now?”
Yours To Keep Page 4