by Penny Reid
“Let me guess,” he said, amusement tinging his tone. “There’s not a market for it.”
“Oh my god, how did you know?”
He glanced over his shoulder, dark hair almost flipping into his eyes, and smirked. “Lucky guess.”
I laughed, resting my chin on my hand. The table was hard on my elbow. “Summer is who we all use. It was her mom before her, and I think her mom before her.”
“Is there anything in Rock Bay that isn’t a family business?” Brantley pulled the two trays out carefully. He spilled the pasta onto two plates before setting them in front of me with cutlery.
“Thank you.” I flashed him the hint of a smile. “Actually, that’s a great question. I basically took after my dad because I didn’t have much choice. I think the same was for Summer—her dad worked a lot so she was always with her mom, then worked for her when she got older. Hmm.” I stabbed my fork into some pasta. “Have you been to Corkys? The Irish Bar?”
“No. I can’t say that’s a place I’d like the twins to explore.”
“Because it’s a bar or because they’d terrorize it?”
“Because I like to drink in peace,” he replied wryly, a smile matching his tone stretching across his tone.
I fought not to snort as I ate and laughed at the same time. “Well, Corkys isn’t. Paddy—not his real name, by the way—opened it about five years ago. Got pissed off with all the fake Irish in the North-East, apparently.”
“I thought they were real Irish.” Brantley paused. “And isn’t that ironic given his fake name?”
“Kinda, but he’s actually Irish. Accent and everything.”
“Fair enough. What about the other businesses in town?”
I ate as I thought. “There’s Delia’s Diner. She’s more on the road out of town, but still technically in Rock Bay. Her grandma was Delia, her mom Delilah, and her Della.”
“I see the pattern there.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s like the Kardashians heard of them and tried to out-name them.”
“I can honestly say I couldn’t give a rats ass about that family.”
“You should try it. It’s a great stress reliever, because as long as you watch, you know your life will never be as much of a train wreck as theirs.”
Brantley laughed, sipping some water. “I’ll remember that. Sorry—did you want a drink? I’m not used to guests who don’t demand everything in sight.”
“I’m fine.” My lips twisted. “Anyone else in town you want to know about? That might be easier.”
He inclined his head to me, eyes twinkling. “Mrs. Simpson at the Post Office.”
“Ah! Family business there, too. Nobody but a Simpson has run that office for a hundred years.”
“Seriously?”
“Ask Mr. Ibetger at the library.”
Brantley finished his lunch and, pushing it to the side, wiped at his mouth with his thumb. “I have no intention of going near a library, with or without my kids.”
“Shame. He knows everything there is to know about Rock Bay.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to tell me everything about this town?”
I stilled. When I met his eyes, the now-strangely-familiar twinkle of amusement shined back at me.
He was teasing me.
The shit.
“Absolutely,” I answered. “This conversation is positively dreadful. In fact, if Slughorn’s hourglass was sitting between us, it’d be moving slower than a sloth.”
“Yet the sand will still fall quicker than when I argue with my kids about the benefit of drinking water over apple juice.”
Oh. He just Pottered me.
Sigh.
“Well played,” I replied. Then, I sighed. “That’s really a fight you have?”
“You’re not around kids much, are you?” He smirked. “It’s a daily conversation. I could record my responses and shower while the argument happens at this point.”
“See—that’s why I’m not around kids much.” I put down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin from the center of the table. “Thank you for bringing back lunch.”
He held up his hands. “Thank Marcie. I don’t think I had a say in the matter.”
“You’ll find you generally don’t where she’s concerned. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” I stood and picked up my plate. “I need to get back to work now.”
“Let me take it.” His chair scraped along the floor when he got up. “Here.” He took the plate from me and set it next to the sink. “By the way, Kali?”
“Yeah?” I paused, one foot in front of the other.
“You’ve got a little…” He motioned to his cheek. “Sauce. On paint. Right here.”
Frowning, I rubbed at my cheek.
“No. Shit. The other cheek.” He tapped his left one.
I rubbed there, too, but he shook his head, clearly fighting a smile if the twitching of his lips was anything to go by.
“No, hold on.” He swiped a napkin and moved toward me. My breath hitched when he stopped right in front of me, just inches from me. His steady hand held the napkin, and my eyes followed its path as it came closer and closer to my cheek.
Gently, he wiped over my cheek, right by my ear. His gaze glanced toward mine for a second. One that was somehow long enough to make my heart stutter.
“Well,” he said, tilting his head to get a better look, “I got the sauce. I think the paint is dry.”
“How did that even happen? I’m right-handed,” I muttered, touching my fingers to where the napkin had just been.
Lips curved, he stepped back, crumpling the paper towel in his hand. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Let me know if you ever find out.” I moved away from him, closer to the door. “I’ll be painting. Maybe a bit of drilling to get rid of some stuff in Eli’s wall. Let me know if I disturb you.”
He waved his hand, setting his plate on the counter. “If you disturb me, I’ll go out. I can work anywhere—you kinda need to be here.”
Over his shoulder, he shot me a stomach-flipping smile that reached his eyes. One that made his eyes flash with laughter. One that put itself firmly in my “Must Resist” book.
“Good point.”
He turned.
Our eyes met.
He winked.
Me?
I basically ran up the stairs.
Chapter 7
“How’s it going?” Mom put a box of chocolate cookies in her cart. It looked out of place among all the green, leafy veg that she currently had in there.
Yes, I was grocery shopping with my stepmother. I was guilted into it by my father who insisted I put chips in my cart then put them in her car. How he thought I’d do that, I didn’t know.
“That’s not on your diet,” I pointed out.
She fluffed her hair. “What your father doesn’t know and all that.”
I grabbed a bag of his favorite chips. “You know these are going in your trunk, don’t you?”
“And I shall pretend not to know when he unpacks the bags,” she replied smoothly. “That’s marriage, honey. We pretend we don’t know that the other is cheating on our agreed upon diet.”
I snorted. “I hope wedding vows are rewritten to include that.”
“You and women everywhere. Now, tell me how this new job is going. I believe I saw him in the store yesterday. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”
“I didn’t notice,” I lied, examining the nutritional values of a bag of Cheetos.
At least, I pretended to read it.
Mom snatched the bag out of my hand. “Kali Hancock, don’t you lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
“Your ears are redder than a boiling lobster. He’s cute, huh?”
“He’s a little young for you.” I took back the Cheetos and dumped them in my cart.
“We all have a little cougar in us.” She chuckled, grabbing a bag for herself.
Wow. Talk about cheating on the diet.
“One, ew.” I waggled my finger at her. “Two, yes, okay, fine. He’s handsome. Are you happy now?”
“What’s he doing in Rock Bay?”
“Ah, well, that I think I can answer.” I paused. “I kinda put my foot in it the first time we met.”
She mock-gasped. “And you didn’t tell us at dinner last week?”
“Of course not. You were too busy dropping hints at Dad about your anniversary.”
“Thanks for the evening, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. At least he paid.”
She laughed. “Always a bonus. Now, back to Brantley.”
I wasn’t even going to ask how she knew his name. I was surprised she didn’t know why he was here. “We were talking after I’d seen the rooms and I asked how he ended up in Rock Bay. He doesn’t have family here, and he doesn’t have a ring, so naturally…”
“Oh dear, Kali.”
“Oh dear is a nice way to put it,” I agreed. “I put my foot in my mouth and chewed up to my damn ankle. The twins’ mom died two and a half years ago.”
“Poor thing,” she murmured. “And those poor babies. Is he here for a fresh start?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t exactly carry on that line of questioning. I figured I’d screwed up enough for one meeting. Besides, it’s none of my business.”
“Does he work?”
“He mentioned it today. Something about his boss wanting him to go back. He’s struggling with daycare options. I think he’s used to having a nanny back in Denver.”
“Hmm.”
I side-eyed her. “What’s that mean?”
“A nanny. If he can afford that as a single parent, he must be quite financially comfortable.”
“No.” I stopped smack-bang in the middle of the aisle and pointed my finger at her. “No, absolutely not. Do not even go down that line of thinking.”
She giggled, a fake, tinkly laugh tickling the air between us. “What line of thinking, honey? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Work, Mom. It’s just work. Besides, I have a date on Saturday night.”
She stopped and jerked her head toward me. “You do?”
“Yes. I was giving up hope after a builder asked if we could hammer something else into the wall—”
“Ha!” she barked out. “That’s a good one.”
I shot her a withering look. “—When I got an email from a perfectly nice young man—”
“You sound seventy.”
“—Who might actually be worth two hours of my time.”
She rolled her eyes, carefully laying eggs at the end of her cart. “Whatever you say, Kali. You know as well as I do you’ll reject him, too. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but unless you lower your expectations, I doubt you’ll ever find it.”
“What’s the point of lowering my expectations? I’m worth more than that. Look at me. Anyone would be lucky to have me.”
“Your self-confidence is admirable,” she admitted. “But you should make sure you don’t have paint in your hair before you proclaim that to the world.”
I stopped. Again. “I don’t have paint in my hair…Do I?”
Mom leaned over and picked a loose curl out from my low ponytail. “Right here.”
I grabbed the same lock of hair and tugged it into my eyesight.
Damn it. She was right. And the bright, white paint stood out like a sore damn thumb against the darkness of my hair.
Sighing, I flicked it back over my shoulder. “Well, I can’t be perfect all the time.”
“Yep,” she said to herself, grabbing a bottle of wine. “You’re your father’s daughter. No doubt about it.”
I smirked at her back.
Really…She shouldn’t have been surprised.
I wasn’t.
Friday came and went without fanfare. I didn’t see Brantley at all. That wasn’t ideal, since I’d taken over ordering the furniture for him to make sure Dad could match it, and it was all due for delivery the next day.
A week ahead of my schedule.
The house was still covered in boxes, and I was a total loss of what to do. There was nowhere to put it, as far as I knew. I had no idea what the garage was like or if there was any room there. It was obvious his cross-country move had been done by movers, so I had no idea how much stuff there was in this house.
Saturday morning dawned bright and early. Too early. My mom had plied me with her homemade sangria at family dinner, and once again, I’d made bad choices.
At least I didn’t have such a huge headache…This time.
A text message at nine-thirty alerted me to the fact the furniture would be delivered in an hour. This was at odds—surprise, surprise—with the three-to-five p.m. window they’d originally given me when they’d told me it would be delivered early.
Because why not? I loved getting my whole schedule screwed up twice.
I filled my take-out coffee cup and tugged up my shorts. It was hot as hell outside, and I wasn’t happy about having to work today. I’d planned to not actually do a thing except help Dad with Ellie’s bed.
I sighed as I got in my truck. I dialed Brantley’s number again, but the call rolled over to voicemail after ringing.
Awesome. I loved showing up at client’s houses unannounced. Unexpected guests were about as enjoyable as a bout of hemorrhoids.
God, I was pessimistic this morning.
Ten minutes later, I pulled up outside the Cooper house. His car was in the drive, and my stomach rolled as I got out of the car.
I hoped that was because of last night’s sangria.
Dear god, let it be the sangria.
I grabbed my coffee before I shut the car door and went to the front door. It swung open before I could knock.
“Kawi!” Ellie grinned. “Hiya!”
“Ellie!” Brantley stalked out from the kitchen, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants, slung low on his hips. He fiddled with a t-shirt, turning it the right way around. “What have I told you—Kali. Hi.”
I froze.
Jesus, was there a part of this man that wasn’t completely delicious?
I blinked several times as I took in the sight of his lean, toned torso. Perfect pecs, lightly shaded abs, a dangerous ‘v’ that teased way below the waistband of his sweats…
He pulled on his t-shirt, covering up his body and forcing me to come back to the here and now.
“Hi,” I said, shaking myself out of the daze. “Sorry—I tried to call, but you didn’t answer the phone.”
“Inside,” he said to Ellie, grasping her by the shoulders and directing her to the front room. “Come in. Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, gesturing for me to follow him inside. “Eli was playing a game on it this morning and put it down somewhere safe, apparently.”
“Ah.” I stepped inside and closed the door, then went with him to the kitchen. “I have a lot of safe places. Not entirely sure where any of them are, though.”
He snorted, stirring in a mug. “If you were a four-year-old boy who had to give back your dad’s phone, where would you put it?”
I blinked. “Where all lost change goes to die. Down the back of a sofa.”
Brantley paused, mid-stir. “Hold that thought.”
The spoon clinked against the countertop as he dropped it and went to the living room. I watched him go, my gaze dropping to his ass two too many times for it to be appropriate.
Oh, whatever. Even once was inappropriate, but still.
Gray sweatpants—sent from the gods for the viewing pleasure of women everywhere.
“You’re a genius, Kali.” He returned, phone in hand. “You got a list of safe spaces for future reference?”
I laughed and shook my head. “If I had a list, I’d know where to find all the stuff I’ve put somewhere sa—damn it. I just remembered where I put my credit card bill so I wouldn’t lose it.”
His laugh was deep and rich. “Which is?”
“My underwear drawer. That’s what I get for being lazy and not putting
the laundry away.” I sighed and leaned against the counter. “Hold on, let me email myself that.”
More laughter. “I’d offer you a coffee, but I see you came equipped.” He paused as I tucked my phone away. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to come either,” I replied. “But the furniture delivery company let me know they’re delivering today and not next week as planned.”
He blew out a long breath and looked around helplessly. “Shit,” he whispered. “I have no idea where that’s gonna go.”
“I called them, but it’s already on the truck and it’s gonna be here within the hour, so they refused to redeliver.”
“Didn’t you specifically pick the date so it could go right upstairs?”
“Yeah…Uh, as a sidenote, you should probably greet them when it gets here. I think the delivery note might be a warning about the crazy, angry lady who ordered it.” I bit the inside of my cheek when he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Off the professional record, my mom might have plied me with sangria last night and they contacted me very early.”
He stared at me, turquoise eyes shining as his lips curved into an oh-so-sexy smile. “You don’t look hungover.”
“I’ll write to Sephora to thank them for their flawless coverage.”
He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “All right—I think we can do this. Would you just give me a hand in the garage to move some stuff around to make room for it?”
“Sure. I promise, I’ll get out of your hair as soon as it’s delivered and I’ve checked it all. It won’t take long.” I smiled.
He held up his hands and backed toward the garage door. “Don’t worry—I plan to do nothing but try to get through some of these boxes. I figure we should have more than one cup in the cupboard at this point.”
That was a hard fact to disagree with. “You do give off the impression you plan to leave at any minute.”
“Yes, well, after meeting that damned cat at the grocery store, it’s tempting.”
“Ah, you’ve made the acquaintance of Mr. Prickles.” I stepped into the garage. Fuck, it was like a sauna in here.
Brantley whacked a unit on the wall. A light flashed and it whirred to life, instantly shooting out cold air. “Damn thing,” he muttered. “Prickles? I thought it was Pickles.”
