The worst part was that part of her didn’t care that he’d lied to her. Part of her just wanted to pick up where they’d left off.
But part of her remembered how much it hurt the last time. And she knew she needed to stay away from Rhys, no matter how much she might still like him.
Chapter 12
Rhys jumped when Raymond returned through the open dining room door. He hadn’t been gone very long. Was Sophie out of cookies?
Then Raymond put the plate in front of him. “Eight cookies. I can return any that you don’t eat.”
“No need.” Rhys stood and gathered up the cookies, four in each hand. “There won’t be any left over.” He shoved cookie number one in his mouth as he headed through the dining room toward the closest outside door.
The closest one other than the kitchen.
He’d tried forgetting Sophie, but he was having the damnedest time. He thought of her at the oddest moments. And he tasted her, too, in every bite of every meal and every cookie.
Rhys reached the door and headed out into the garden. At first he wandered, not planning on going anywhere in particular. Then he found himself in the woods, staring up at the tree house. The last time he’d been here, he’d been with Sophie.
Shoving his cookies in his pockets would ruin them. So he pulled his shirt out of his pants and made a little pouch with it. Once the cookies were safely ensconced, he took the end of his shirt in his teeth and clambered up the ladder nailed into the side of the tree.
Inside the tree house, very little light filtered through the window cut into the wall. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been here at night. Maybe never. If he’d realized this is where he was headed tonight, he might have brought a flashlight with him. Or maybe not.
He wasn’t usually so maudlin. He thought of himself as a man of action, and he certainly had the success to back that up. But since Sophie had broken things off, he couldn’t seem to get out of his funk. And he didn’t know what to do about it.
Rhys took a bite of cookie number two. As his eyes adjusted, he realized there was more light than he’d thought. Enough to paint a lightly dappled pattern that waved in the breeze on the floor of the tree house.
Sophie’d been right. He shouldn’t have pushed things when he knew she didn’t want it. But how could he have helped himself? She was perfect for him. They were good together. Why let the past mess something like that up?
The shadows shook as a gust of wind whistled through the tree.
He’d raced into their relationship the same way he always did, head first. That approach worked a lot of the time, but not this time. He finished the cookie.
Or could it? He usually raced in head first. And he usually wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. So why was he taking it now?
What was the best way to get himself out of this funk? Take action. Go after what he wanted. Find a way to get Sophie back in his life.
As he ate cookie number three, everything became clear. He’d wear her down. He had all the time in the world. If she needed them to be friends first before she’d trust him enough to let him in, he’d do it. Whatever she needed. He’d prove that he could stick around by sticking around.
And he’d start right now.
Taking his shirt in his teeth again, he hurried out of the tree and headed for the kitchen. She might still be there cleaning up. The thought of seeing her again made his footsteps feel light.
Cookies four and five were gone by the time he reached the kitchen door. Holding the last three in one hand, he went inside.
The room was dark.
Too late. He flipped on the light and looked around the kitchen even though he knew she had to have left. She wouldn’t have been hiding in the darkness.
Stuffing down his disappointment at not getting to see her, Rhys dug up a piece of paper and a pen. Amazing dinner, he wrote. I loved the veal croquets. Can we have mac and cheese soon? Below that, he added, P.S. Keep the cookies coming.
He left the note on her pristine counter right next to the stove. She’d be sure to see it in the morning while she made breakfast.
Rhys picked up his last three cookies. Three wasn’t really enough. She must have some more around here. After digging through a couple of cabinets, he found the container with her stash of cookies and pulled out two more. He sealed it again so the cookies wouldn’t get dried out and then headed into the house, shoving cookie number six in his mouth.
She’d be his. It was just a matter of waiting.
Chapter 13
When Sophie got into the kitchen the next morning, she found a note by the stove. It wasn’t signed but it was clear from the message that Rhys had left it. Just what she’d dreaded–he’d decided not to leave her alone after all. Why? Little notes and things would just make it harder for her to forget him.
Which was what he wanted, of course. He wouldn’t accept what she wanted; all that mattered was what he wanted.
She set about making omelets for breakfast. She’d learned that Rhys liked things simple in the morning, and that worked fine for her. She was chopping spinach when she heard the inside door open.
“Something smells good,” a male voice said.
Sophie froze. It was Rhys. Notes were bad enough. What was he doing in the kitchen before breakfast? She felt him come up behind her, but she didn’t turn around.
“What are you making?”
She swallowed, trying to ignore the heat of his body which told her exactly how close he was standing. “Omelets. What would you like in yours?”
He stayed close, barely an inch between them, but didn’t touch her. “Cheese and spinach. And maybe some ham.”
“Got it. I’ll have Raymond bring it out as soon as it’s ready.” Sophie glanced up at him. “I assume that’s why you’re here–you’re in a hurry?”
“Nope. Just wanted to see you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. After an awkward pause, she said, “Well, it’ll be ready in just a minute. You probably should go to the dining room so you can eat.”
She felt him move away then heard the scrape of a stool against the floor. “I thought I’d eat here,” he said.
Oh, no. Please no.
This time she turned and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Raymond won’t like that.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m the boss here, not Raymond.”
Sophie turned back to her chopping board. “Very true.” And exactly why she wished he’d go out to the dining room.
As though on cue, the door opened. “Hold breakfast,” Raymond said. “Rhys isn’t in the dining room yet.”
“That’s because I’m here,” Rhys said.
Raymond walked over to the island where Rhys sat. “Is there something you need, sir? I’m sure I can bring it to you.”
Thank goodness Raymond was on her side, even if it wasn’t for the same reasons.
“I’m fine,” Rhys said. “I’m going to have breakfast here this morning. And don’t call me sir.”
“I’m sure Raymond has already made up the dining room,” Sophie said.
“I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there,” Raymond said.
“I’m comfortable where I am.” The tone of Rhys’ voice left no room for discussion. He was the boss.
And she was stuck with him. Sophie poured the eggs for his omelet into the pan.
After an awkward silence, Raymond said, “I’ll go get your silverware.”
As soon as the door shut, Rhys said, “Slick. But you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”
“I can see that,” she said, back still to him. “I’ll have to try harder.” She added the cheese and spinach to the omelet then folded it.
“Come on, you don’t really mean that. For one thing, I’m your boss. You need to be nice to me just because.”
She snuck a glance at him. “Nice to you?”
He winced. “You know what I mean. Civil. Pleasant. But besides that, is there any reason we can
’t be friends?”
The word hung in the air–friends. Like every chubby girl’s nightmare, the consolation prize. The hot guy wanted to be friends.
Ouch.
And yet she’d brought it on herself. He’d wanted to be way more than friends and she was the one who stopped it. She could hardly blame the extra pounds around her waist.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah,” she said. “We can be friends.”
She plated the omelet the same as usual, as though he was sitting at the fancy dining table instead of at her island. Raymond came through the door with the silverware just as she put the omelet in front of Rhys.
“It looks amazing.” Rhys waited until Raymond finished setting his place before picking up his fork. “Aren’t you two eating?”
Rhys didn’t see the look of horror that crossed Raymond’s face, but Sophie did. Eat with their employer? In the kitchen?
Sometimes the way Raymond and the housekeeper, Janet, acted made Sophie feel like she was in an episode of Downton Abbey–which made Sophie Mrs. Patmore. Sophie loved watching Mrs. Patmore but didn’t really want to be her.
“We’ll eat later,” Sophie said.
As she turned back to her cooking, Rhys grabbed her arm. “Eat with me.”
Raymond’s mouth hung open. She knew he’d have a fit if she agreed. At the same time, how was she supposed to say no to her boss?
Rhys’ thumb moved over the soft skin on the inside of her forearm. “Sit.”
She couldn’t eat with him if she sat–she’d have to cook first. Maybe that was the answer. Her eyes on Raymond, she said, “I’ll sit for just a second.”
Rhys moved one of the stools in her direction with his foot. “That’s a good start. Raymond, you sit, too.”
Raymond didn’t move. “Sir, it isn’t right.”
Rhys did one of those head roll things that showed he was really annoyed, ending with a piercing look at Raymond. “Sir?”
“Rhys. Sir. It isn’t right.”
Rhys closed his eyes. “Very well. Stand there, then.” He cut a piece of omelet. “This isn’t the 1800s, you know. And I’m not the lord of some estate. I’m just me.”
Raymond seriously looked like he was biting his tongue. His lips moved as though he had to fight to keep from speaking.
Rhys couldn’t see it because Raymond was standing a little behind him, but Rhys saw Sophie staring and turned to look. “Spit it out,” Rhys said.
“You are the lord of this mansion,” Raymond said.
Rhys sort of deflated. Sophie’d never seen anything like it before. It made her want to come to his rescue, to say something that would bolster him up.
“It’s not like we’re in England,” she said. “This is America.”
Rhys gazed at her but didn’t say anything, waiting.
“I mean, we’re all supposed to be equal in America, right? No lords and ladies?”
Rhys’ mouth twitched, his eyes growing light. “How perfectly Yankee of you, Sophie,” he said in a precise British accent.
Sophie laughed. “I try.”
“See that,” Rhys said to Raymond. “We’re all equal here. So sit down.”
With a huge sigh, Raymond perched on the edge of a stool.
“What are your plans for today?” Rhys asked Sophie.
Did he really want the details? Maybe...he was going to end up eating it. “I’m going to bake this morning. Some bread and another double-batch of cookies. The bread is to go with lunch. You said you just wanted cold cuts–I thought some fresh bread might go nicely with that.”
“I can eat store-bought bread.”
“But why should you? I’m here,” she said.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “What else? After lunch, I mean?”
She knew she was about to make him very happy. “Well, this was supposed to be a surprise. But since you asked...tonight I was going to make that macaroni and cheese you’ve been asking for.”
His grin reached his earlobes and his eyes lit up. The look on his face was worth it. Then he jumped up and threw his arms around her. “Thank you.”
She froze, heart pounding. He wouldn’t kiss her would he?
Rhys backed off and sat back down. “I can’t wait. It’s better knowing like this because now I’ll look forward to it all day long.”
Taking a deep breath to try to calm her heart down, Sophie forced her lips into a smile. It was nice seeing him so excited. But next time she’d let Raymond break the news. She held her hands together, hiding her sweaty palms. The worst part was the sneaking bit of joy she felt from just a hug.
Rhys took another bite of his omelet, still smiling.
“Will you be going into the office today?” Raymond said.
“This afternoon.” Rhys’ eyes stayed on Sophie. “After lunch. I hear I’m getting fresh-baked bread today.”
The door from the house opened and Janet walked in saying, “Something smells wonderful, Soph—” The words died on her lips as soon as she saw Sophie and Raymond perched painfully on their stools while Rhys finished the last of his omelet.
“Pull up a seat,” Rhys said.
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
She really couldn’t. Janet would probably have an apoplectic fit before she got within a foot of one of the stools.
Raymond jumped up. “If you’re finished, I’ll take your plate.”
“Would you like more?” Sophie said. Please say no.
“Maybe a little more orange juice,” Rhys said. “And pour some for yourself. We can talk while we drink.”
Sophie shared a look with Janet over Rhys’ head. Janet hurried to her side. When they got out of earshot of Rhys, Sophie said, “Can you let everyone know breakfast will be a little late?”
“He shouldn’t be here,” Janet said.
“Don’t I know it. Raymond and I tried to convince him to go to the dining room, but he insisted on staying. Does he do this often?” He hadn’t since she’d started there, but she still hadn’t been there that long.
“Never. I’ll let everyone know.” Janet spun around and headed out of the kitchen, tapping Raymond on the shoulder as she left. Raymond followed her, looking more like he was escaping than anything else.
That left her alone with Rhys. She’d barely pulled the orange juice out of the fridge before he was in her space again, bracing his hand on her back as he reached past her to get a glass out of the cupboard.
“I can get that,” she said.
“It’s a little high for you. I’ve got it.” He left his hand on her, lightly rubbing her back with his thumb. Sophie gritted her teeth. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting an orange juice glass.” He waggled the glass back and forth in the air.
She took a step back from him. “You know what I mean. I thought we talked about this. No relationship.”
For a second, the look in his eyes reminded him of a wounded animal. Then it was gone. “You said we could be friends. I’m just being friends.”
“Rhys, this is hard for me.”
He put the glass down on the counter and grabbed the orange juice, avoiding her eyes. “What is?”
“Having you here.”
Now she had his attention. He almost spilled the orange juice because he was staring at her instead of the glass. “Why should it be hard?”
“Why do you think?”
He carefully put the orange juice container on the counter. “You’re saying you have feelings for me.”
Her face felt hot. Grabbing the jug of orange juice, she headed for the fridge, hoping to escape his view. “Yes.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”
The heat of his body told her how close he stood; he must have followed her across the room. After she closed the fridge door, she paused. His hand came around her to rest against the refrigerator, penning her in.
“Why, Sophie? You don’t really think I’m like that jerk who left you high and dry?”
No. Rhys was nothing l
ike Stanford. But that was beside the point. Still with her back to him, she said, “We talked about this. If we tried to have a relationship and it didn’t work, I’d have to leave. I like it here.”
“You wouldn’t have to leave.” His voice sounded like a growl. “I’m perfectly capable of avoiding the kitchen. If we split up, you could stay right where you are and I could stay in the dining room and we’d never see each other.” He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. “That’s no excuse at all.”
Could she really do that? Know he was here and never see him–and be okay with it?
“Besides, why are you so sure we’re going to split up?” He ran his fingers down her cheek.
“That’s what happens.” She said it without thinking, but on reflection, it was true. Men left. When it was her, anyway. Men left her.
He watched her, not saying anything. Behind her, the hum of the fridge filled the silence, while the lingering scent of the omelet she’d made him hung in the air. Finally, she met his gaze. “That’s how it is for everyone,” he said. “You date, you split up...until you find the one who’s going to stick around forever. But you can’t find him unless you keep yourself in the game.”
She’d never thought about it that way. It just always seemed like she was the one getting left behind while everyone around her was happily paired off.
“Give me a shot, Soph.” After another heartbeat, he stepped back. “Think about it. In the meantime, I’m going to take you up on your offer to be friends. Friends stop by the kitchen, friends eat meals together. Friends also give friends cookies.”
Ah, the cookies.
Rhys glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get some work done. But I’m looking forward to that mac and cheese tonight.” And with that, he left the kitchen, leaving his glass of orange juice behind.
She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved he hadn’t pressed her harder or annoyed he hadn’t kissed her. Kissed her? Of course she didn’t want him to kiss her. They were friends. Only friends.
But a little voice in her head admitted that she really had wanted to kiss him. And she wouldn’t have said no if he’d tried.
Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads Page 84