by Mara Wells
“What?” He dropped his hands from her neck. “We are definitely not cousins. Why would you say that?”
“Your grandpa? My Grams? Face it, there’s some parallel universe in which we are cousins.”
“I don’t believe in parallel universes.”
“Then you need to read more sci-fi.”
“I don’t read any.”
“That’s my point.”
Caleb’s head reeled. “You’re saying this whole conversation has been about my reading habits?”
She slapped his upper arm. “No, you goofball. About our incompatibility, professionally and familially. You get it, right?”
“We are definitely not incompatible.” He cupped the back of her neck and drew her toward him. “And I definitely know it because you definitely want me to kiss you right now.”
She opened her mouth to protest but sighed again instead. “You’re right. I do.”
His blood surged in celebration. He knew it!
“But—” she put a finger to his mouth, “—we can’t always have what we want. We have to do what’s best.”
“This is definitely best.” He pressed his mouth to hers.
She placed her hand on his cheek, pulling away half an inch. “One last dog park kiss, and then we put it behind us. Deal?”
“Absolutely,” he said, closing the distance. Right before their lips met again, he whispered, “Not.”
Chapter 18
Riley hated how much she loved kissing Caleb. Really, it was ridiculous how good his lips felt, how their tangled tongues spread pleasure to every starved nerve in her body. She leaned in toward him, knowing she shouldn’t, that she was sidetracking them from the road she’d decided was best: professional courtesy.
Well, he certainly was courteous, the way his hand shielded the back of her head from the sharp edge of the bench. And it was courteous when he moved his hand to her waist, caressing her side before wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer. He was a real gentleman, not groping her breast in a public location. The dog park was empty; he didn’t need to be quite so courteous, but she appreciated the thought.
The kiss went on and on, and pretty soon she was sitting on his lap with no memory of having climbed up there. Her hands were on his face, and she couldn’t get enough of his mouth on hers. She sucked in his bottom lip, and he growled playfully at her. She didn’t stop kissing him, not for anything. If this was the last kiss, it was going to be the best kiss in the history of last kisses.
She felt LouLou’s feet press against her thigh, heard the whimper that usually meant she needed to go outside. But they were outside, so Riley ignored her poodle even when said poodle scrambled onto the bench and tried to insert her body between Riley and Caleb. There wasn’t an inch to spare. She settled for squeezing her nose in between Riley’s hip and Caleb’s stomach. She shook and pressed herself to Caleb’s side.
At first, Riley thought she imagined the few drops of water she felt on her head, on her arms. Then a crack of lightning made LouLou jump and paw at Riley’s shoulder, and the sky opened up like a faucet. In seconds, she, Caleb, and the poodle were soaked to the skin.
Riley broke the kiss. “LouLou tried to warn us. Thank goodness you put the top up when you parked.”
“It was more theft deterrent than weather prediction.” Caleb buried his face in Riley’s neck. “Come on, I’ll take you home. It won’t be the first time I’ve rescued you two damsels in distress from a storm.”
Riley smacked his chest.
Caleb laughed and stood, cradling Riley in his arms. “Shall we reenact it?”
“Put me down!”
“Aha, like our first time.” But unlike the first time, he set her on her feet and they walked to his Porsche. He kept his hand on her lower back, and she felt the heat there long after he’d tucked her into the passenger seat and deposited LouLou on her lap.
On the drive home, Caleb laid his hand face-up on the console between them, and she placed her palm over his. He laced their fingers together, and she sighed. It was supposed to be the last kiss, but she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop touching him.
“How’d your Grams end up raising you?”
It wasn’t a story she shared with a lot of people, how her mom hadn’t exactly abandoned her but also hadn’t exactly chosen a lifestyle that included a child. Working a cruise ship meant long stints out of the country with no cell service, and even when home, it still meant long days of prep and longer days of recuperating for the next run. But Riley shared the story with him, and his fingers squeezed hers in sympathy.
Caleb pulled into an empty spot in front of the Dorothy. “Here we are.”
“We are here.” She didn’t take back her hand, was reluctant to let go of the physical manifestation of the tentative bond they’d built today. Caleb was right; they weren’t ready for a last kiss. At least not yet. Her heart sped up at the thought, thumping hard in her chest. More kisses. More everything. With Caleb.
Riley needed to check on Marco and Kent and probably Grams, too. She had a whole host of responsibilities that gave her every reason to get out of the Porsche. Instead, she sat like a silly teenager in the front seat of the car, tongue-tied over saying goodbye.
So she didn’t. She tried out one of the late-night lines she’d almost typed but never did. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee?”
He brought her knuckles to his lips. “I’d love one.”
Riley led the way, her fingers still laced with Caleb’s and LouLou trotting at her heels. She was doing this, taking him to her apartment. It could stop at coffee. It totally could. But she wasn’t planning on it.
She set up the Keurig. “Do you have a favorite flavor?”
“Strong.”
“Okay then.” She loaded a cup of Da Bomb while the poodle danced at her feet. She liberated a dog treat from its box and broke it in two. “Something for you, too, of course.” LouLou grabbed the treat and dashed for the sofa.
Caleb stood beside her breakfast bar, hand braced on the black-and-pink-laced marble. “The Dorothy really does have its charms.”
“Yeah, Eliza’s pretty sure it’ll be a shoo-in to get it declared an historic property.” Riley chose two large coffee mugs from her cabinet. One read Keep Calm and Get Your Hospitality On and the other pictured the silhouette of a poodle and the words Life Is Better with a Poodle. She held them both out to Caleb.
He took the poodle cup and placed it in the machine. “That’ll certainly put a kink in my plans.”
“Indeed.” Riley leaned against the counter, hands around her empty mug. “That’s our plan.”
“You don’t have to seem happy about it.”
“Why not? You want me to be pleased that you plan to kick out Grams? Her friends? All the people who’ve lived here?” The glow of the dog park make-out session was wearing off. She felt the press of wet clothes against her skin, that weird chilly feeling as the AC kicked on. Good Lord, even her panties were wet, and not in the good way. What was she thinking, making coffee?
Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m working on that.”
Riley snorted. “I’m sure.” But then her hospitality training kicked in. “Are you cold? I should’ve offered you a towel or something.” She’d been stupidly distracted by her hormones, but now that they were calming down, she couldn’t wait to get out of these clothes. And not in the way she’d been imagining on the way home, where they end up scattered in a trail to the bedroom. No, she was dreaming of shedding them in the bathroom and stepping into a hot shower.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
Are you back yet?
Damn it. Marco. How could she have forgotten? Stupid hormones must affect her short-term memory. Or maybe she was simply really, really tired of plumbing problems, and her mind was helpfully blocking her from remembering any new ones. Th
e Keurig finished its cycle.
“Can you?” She gestured at the coffee maker. “Because I—” She pointed at her phone. “I’ll be right back. Marco and Kent are just down the hall.”
“Sure.” He grabbed his poodle cup. “Can I set one up for you?”
“Yeah, hazelnut, please.” She dashed out the door, leaving him alone in her home with her dog. Would he be there when she got back? She suspected he would be, and that made her smile.
* * *
It wasn’t an illegal garbage disposal or dishwasher, thank God, but it was the toilet, one of Riley’s least favorite types of maintenance jobs.
“It runs and runs and won’t flush. Not at all.” Marco guided her toward their bathroom, Kent trailing behind them. “We’ve been using the lobby restroom since this morning, but Kent insisted I text you. I said it’s not a real emergency, let Riley have her date with that handsome young man. But he said, ‘What if it’s worse than we think?’ So I texted, and here you are. And here it is.”
“It wasn’t a date.” Riley swiped her still-wet hair out of her face and tightened her ponytail holder.
“Sure, honey. Whatever you say.” Marco gave her an exaggerated wink. “We can keep a secret, can’t we, Kent?”
“There’s no secret.” Riley knew it was useless to try to stop building gossip, but she had to try. “Because it wasn’t a date. We were doing research.”
Marco giggled. “That’s what the kids are calling it these days. Have you heard that before, Kent?”
Kent shook his head, and Riley gave up. Time to fix this toilet and get home. Hot coffee, hot shower, and maybe, a hot Caleb would still be there. He shouldn’t wait for her, but if he did, well, that would be something, wouldn’t it? She turned her attention to the toilet.
Marco and Kent had decorated their bathroom sometime in the 1980s. The mauve-and-black tile work was meticulously maintained, as were the black porcelain sink, bathtub, and toilet. The towels and bath mat were black, too, and all the walls were mirrored. All of them. And also the ceiling. Riley found the effect startling, but Marco and Kent didn’t seem to mind how crowded the bathroom felt with the three of them, plus their multiple reflections, in the small space.
Riley gave the handle an experimental jiggle.
“We did that.” Marco sat on the edge of the tub while Kent hovered in the doorway. The two men couldn’t look more different—Marco all rounded and plump, Kent tall and gangly—but they tended to dress alike. Today, they were in gray lounge pants. Marco’s T-shirt strained across his belly, advertising a popular crab shack in Key West. Kent’s Mickey Mouse T-shirt hung loosely on his frame. Both were barefoot. “We jiggled and jiggled, but nothing happened.”
Riley popped the lid off the tank. Marco nodded approvingly. “I told Kent you’d do that. Didn’t I say so, Kent?”
Kent inclined his head. Riley’d heard him talk in the past; she just couldn’t remember when. Maybe the holiday party? Typically, Marco did enough talking for them both, and she supposed, after thirty years together, the system worked for them.
Ah, the fill valve needed adjusting. It was an easy fix that helped calm Riley’s nerves. Not a plumbing disaster by any stretch of the imagination. No need to call a plumber. Once again, her YouTube video training paid off. She washed her hands in the sink and followed Kent out of the bathroom, waving goodbye to her many reflections.
“You’re a marvel. I always say so, don’t I, Kent?” Marco ushered her to the kitchen and loaded her up with some of his homemade banana bread. “Things are much better now that you run the place.”
Riley held the aluminum-wrapped, still-warm loaf of bread to her chest. “Thank you, guys. I’m glad I could help.”
Marco hugged her, then hustled her out the door. “Now get back to that young man waiting for you.”
“I don’t know if he’ll still be there.”
Marco lifted the mauve curtain from his window. The window that overlooked the Dorothy’s front yard. “One Porsche, still parked. Go get him, honey.”
“It’s not like that.” Riley’s protest was brushed away with another quick hug from Marco and a knowing smile from Kent. Okay, maybe it was like that.
Riley swallowed. Caleb in her apartment. And she still hadn’t given him a towel. Seriously, they should take her hospitality degree away. She imagined him dripping on her kitchen floor, sipping his high-octane coffee. Waiting for her. Even when they disagreed. Even when she had needled him about his plans for the building. He still waited for her. It shouldn’t make her feel warm inside. She should be thinking about how a Donovan would do anything to get in her pants. That was what Grams would tell her, and on some level, she believed it. On another level, though, she kept replaying that kiss in the rain and started imaging her hot shower for two.
Then her phone buzzed. Mr. Cardoza. She headed for the elevator. That shower for two was getting awfully cold.
* * *
Riley folded up the three-step ladder and placed it back in Mr. Cardoza’s hall closet. “You’re all set.” She flicked on the light she’d just replaced, and Mr. Cardoza beamed at her.
“You’re such a resourceful young woman. Thank you. I do not like to stumble around in the dark.”
“I know the feeling.” All Riley’d been doing since meeting Caleb was stumble around in the dark. “Have a good evening.”
“You want to see the pictures my daughter posted today? She made a paella that looks so delicious I can taste it through the computer screen.” He kissed his fingers. “I’m thinking I should make one this weekend.”
“Thank you, but I can’t stay.” Her clothes were still damp and yet somehow stiff at the same time. She doubted Caleb would still be waiting, not after this long, but she was still in a hurry to get home.
Mr. Cardoza jogged his thin eyebrows up and down. “The Porsche is still on the street. You’re entertaining Caleb Donovan?”
It was? And seriously, these seniors and their watchful eyes. They didn’t miss a thing. No wonder she’d never been able to sneak out as a teen. Grams had spies in every unit. “We’ve been talking about his plans for the Dorothy.”
Mr. Cardoza sighed. “Change is always happening. Nobody likes it, but no one can stop it.”
“We can try. Or at least get the changes on our own terms.”
“You can try, if it makes you feel better. Me, I already told my daughter I’m looking for a new place.”
“Mr. Cardoza, no! What would the Dorothy be without you?”
Mr. Cardoza shrugged his thin shoulders. “What can I do? I can’t afford to buy into a condo conversion.”
Riley placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t give up so easily. Eliza is helping us with the legal stuff, and she has a few ideas for how to keep the Donovans from turning the Dorothy into one of their soulless properties.”
She hadn’t thought the Donovan Resort was soulless. She’d thought it was her ticket to upper management and the life she’d dreamed of since college—one that included long hours, sure, but that was rewarding both emotionally and financially. She liked trouble shooting, how no two days were ever the same, and most of all she loved putting a smile on a guest’s face. Now, however, any change that meant Mr. Cardoza had to move was a soulless one indeed.
“Like what?”
Riley lifted a shoulder. “A few things.” She felt guilty not telling Mr. Cardoza more, but Eliza had said the surprise element was an important part of their strategy. That was why they hadn’t even given Grams many details. Gossip could make the whole thing fall apart if it gave the Donovans time to mount a counterstrategy. “We have to trust in the legal process, I guess, and that Eliza knows what she’s doing. And hope for the best. Let’s not give up hope, Mr. Cardoza.”
He patted her shoulder. “Of course. We will all keep our hope. But we will also keep our options open. I don’t want to be homeless.”<
br />
Impulsively, Riley threw her arms around Mr. Cardoza’s frail body. “You won’t be. I promise.”
It was a promise she hoped she could keep.
Chapter 19
Caleb helped himself to a towel from the hallway bathroom, patting at the water still clinging to his hair and skin. He smelled extra-girlie after using Riley’s shampoo and body wash. The sheer number of bottles in her shower had at first confused him. What were they all for? He’d inspected a few and found multiples of the basics, plus body scrubs, bubble bath, shower gels, and something called a hair mask that looked nothing like a mask and was really just a jar of thick, green goo that smelled like something had gone bad in the fridge. He didn’t touch the mask, choosing the plainest bottles for his own use, but he still smelled like a fresh spring day and possibly roses.
His khakis stuck to him in an uncomfortable way, but remembering how he’d helped her dump the ex’s stuff, he knew his choices were be uncomfortable or be naked. It seemed a bit presumptuous to greet Riley in the nude when she returned from her managerial duties, although he was seriously hoping that was the direction they were heading. Coffee, more kissing, less clothing.
He kicked off his waterlogged shoes. Funny how being around Riley was hard on his wardrobe—and even funnier how much he didn’t mind. New shoes were easy to come by, but moments like they’d shared at the park were priceless. She was something else, something outside his previous experiences with women. What was the word he was looking for? Caring? Genuine? Real? What the hell, all those words and more. Maybe the only word that described Riley was, well, Riley. He peeled off damp socks and stuffed them in the likely ruined shoes and padded back into the kitchen, towel around his shoulders, to finish his cup of coffee.
Riley’s laptop was open on the small dining table, printouts and notebooks fanned around it. The top sheet caught his attention—financial records. A quick scan showed they were for the Dorothy, no surprise, and if he nudged the top sheet aside to look at the whole pile, it wasn’t an invasion of privacy because they were in plain sight and the building belonged to his family so they were, in a sense, really his documents, right? Plus, her worries about the plumbing situation troubled him. Upgrades should’ve happened years ago. What was going on with the Dorothy’s financials? Now was as good a time as any to investigate.
