by Mia Josephs
Standing as far in the corner as she could manage, she snapped a few pictures of the mess as part of documenting her monumental move in. She might get a whole week of posts about “your first place” or “moving in” or “college apartments for people with style” or… She’d come up with something interesting. At the end of it all, her posts would probably be more centered around space-saving and how to make apartments awesome without using paint or other “forbidden by landlords” products.
When she pulled open the closet doors her heart sank. Donovan’s guitars rested in their cases way off to the left. This wasn’t acceptable. Not for someone as talented as him. She hefted the two cases, walked into the living room, and set them next to the old, brown couch. She couldn’t even conceive of a Van without music. What had happened?
Four beers and eight games of nine-ball into his night, Donovan was still thinking about Sierra. Her perfect legs. Her friendly smile. But it was more than the shift in her body. It was her confidence. How she carried box after box up the stairs. She smiled. She just… She held herself differently. Maybe it was just moving from girl to woman or some other mystical something he didn’t understand. But knowing she was a cool girl on top of all the outside trimmings wasn’t making it any easier to stop thinking about her.
His phone vibrated in a text.
CLARK BLADES
Sierra’s dad. Donovan winced. He probably sensed some guy thinking about his little girl.
Clark: Sierra settling in okay?
Donovan: She’s fine. Wanted to sort her things, so I left her to it.
Clark: Thank you again. You know I'm an old fart who worries too much. Glad she has you to watch out for her.
Donovan wished he could lie and tell him he shouldn’t worry, but he should. Anyway, even through texting, her dad seemed to always understand the meaning behind Donovan’s words, so he wasn’t sure what to say.
He settled on Check in whenever and hit send.
Chuck tapped Donovan’s beer bottle with his own. “You here?”
Donovan took a long swallow shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Only a little.”
“And your sister moved in today?”
“She’s not my sister,” he said.
Chuck’s eyebrows rose. “You seemed very adamant when talking with Alyson the other day that Sierra was your sister. And earlier today at your house you claimed she was practically your sister, which is why I wasn’t even allowed a shot at her.”
Yeah. That’s because he and Alyson were on a break of sorts, and he had no clue why they’d separated at all. He’d wanted to downplay the idea of having a girl roommate when he’d told Alyson he wasn’t ready to move in together. It was another one of those moments when he thought about what his father would have done (moved in with the girl even when he wasn’t sure), and then did the opposite.
Donovan shrugged.
Chuck stood, setting his bottle of beer down. “Good thing I'm not a girl or I’d make you spill all your dirty little secrets.”
Donovan shook his head and leaned against the wall. At this point, he just wanted to stay out late enough so that Sierra would be asleep when he got back. He had to keep thinking about her as his little sister—that would prevent him from noticing her, and hopefully make him aware when other people noticed her…
That still felt…weird somehow. Watching out for her so closely. Sierra was what, nineteen? Twenty? She ran a craft blog, for shit’s sake. She was a junior in college who seemed pretty driven and serious about both the blogging and school so he was a little unsure of exactly how much trouble she could possibly get into. Still. He’d promised Clark, so he had to get in the right mindset.
Donovan blinked a few times before he heard Sierra’s humming. Eight a.m. and perfect timing. Also miles better than waking up to an alarm. Breathing in deeply he smelled...baking? He’d only turned on the oven for frozen pizzas, but this had cinnamon and maple…?
He slid on a shirt and stumbled toward the living room in his boxers.
When he reached the end of the hallway, he stared at the floor next to the couch. His guitars were there. Both of them. He really wasn’t ready to look at them every day. Maybe he could shove them in his closet? Take them to work and hide them in the back room?
He’d play again, but maybe not until the desire for bigger venues passed, or as soon as playing guitar didn’t make him question the decisions that had put him on the path to being a successful business owner instead of a professional musician.
Sierra stood in cutoffs that were so small; he was amazed he couldn’t see panties and ridiculously high platform sandals. The angle of her feet accentuated every place up and down her long legs that were toned to perfection.
“What… What are you… doing?” He stumbled over every word like an eighth-grader about to ask a girl to the dance.
“I’m trying this new recipe.” She grinned, her light hair messy on top of her head, showing off a lean neck. “They’re apple pie muffins. They smell pretty yummy, huh?”
She definitely looked yummy.
Wait. His question. “No. The shoes. Is this...normal?”
“Oh!” She grinned again as she patted the front of her tiny apron and bent a knee, kicking one of her feet toward her rear. “Victoria’s Secret workout this week. You do all sorts of stuff while wearing your heels.” She wiggled her ankle, showing off her shoe. “All kinds of squats, and lunges, and…”
“And you do this kind of thing all day?” he choked out, wondering how much time he’d be able to spend at home.
“It’s my job, silly,” she said as she took a long lick off the spatula. Her tongue and tiny waist and long legs… Holy shit. “For my blog.”
Van shifted in his boxers and spun back toward the hallway before it became obvious. Now he just had to try and act something like normal. This was a ridiculous reaction to someone he was determined to keep in the box of ‘little sister.’
“I’ll throw on some pants. Do I get to sample the muffins?” Because he thought her job was about crafting and cooking. If she was working out in outfits slightly larger than bathing suits, he definitely had an excuse to put in some long hours at the store.
“Of course you can sample!”
Good. Because he hadn’t been feeling unsatisfied until seeing Sierra in those microscopic shorts. Food would do him good since it was the only thing in the kitchen he was allowed to put his mouth on.
Not even a second look from him!
She turned up the music on her iPod, needing the distraction.
Sierra had a lot of people who followed her blog requesting she try the Victoria’s Secret workout, and she’d saved it for when she knew she’d be living with Van. Maybe it was too much. Maybe she was stupid for thinking he’d ever see her differently. She picked up her phone, grabbed the link for her blog post about the muffin trial, and headed to twitter.
On the blog today – Testing Apple Pie Muffins. Whole-wheat flour makes everything healthy. #Right? #SomeoneTellMeImRight #Please *begs*
Five “you’re rights” came in almost immediately from her twitter followers.
Van was still in his room.
Well. She still had her mad cooking skills. Her Nani used to always tell her that the way to every man’s heart was through his stomach, and she had a full frontal assault planned for the first week alone.
Van jogged back into the kitchen in a button up shirt and dark wash jeans. “Is it rude if I eat and run? I have to go be the big boss man for a while.”
She plastered on a smile as disappointment trickled in. “It’s fine.”
His eyes darted around the kitchen as he shifted his weight. “Is this Kincaid? I love their music. I approve.”
“I’m so glad.” She laughed a sort of pinched, nervous laugh and immediately cringed. She had to just chill out already.
“Christian Meyer is one of the best guitarists out there.”
“He’s not ‘out there’ because of his perfectly sexy face a
nd lickable abs?” she teased.
Donovan’s head tilted to the side. “Please tell me you’re not one of the millions of women swooning over that guy.”
Sierra licked the wooden spoon again before answering. “That many women can’t be wrong.”
Instead of watching, he stared at the ground. Even licking the spoon didn’t get his attention. Damn.
“So, it’s cool if I grab a bite and run?”
Sierra tilted her head to the side, willing him to look at her. “Of course it is. But if you have any specific thoughts I could add to my post as my man-taster, could you text them to me? That would be awesome.”
His eyes caught hers briefly, but he looked…weird. Not like himself at the very least.
“No problem.” He glanced around the kitchen again. “I have muffin pans?”
Sierra laughed, shifting her weight to show off her legs better but he wasn’t looking at her. He was still staring at the damn muffins. Maybe cooking wasn’t going to work.
“No, you have nothing of use in the kitchen. I unpacked my stuff while you were out last night.” Until 2 am. She was dumb enough to stay up more than half the night, just hoping to see him again, before she gave up and went to bed only to lie there and worry about what might be crawling on her from the un-scoured mattress. Apparently girls around Grant City, Oregon were really into scruffy do-good-for-the-world types—at least that’s what her brother had led her to believe. She didn’t want to entertain the idea that maybe Donovan was somewhat the same.
“I need to work on cleaning out the inventory in the back room before I open today,” Van said. “So, uh… Thanks for breakfast.”
Sierra dropped four muffins in a bag. “I can make a pretty mean sandwich, too, but I need to hit the grocery store for some more food first.”
Van just waved dismissively. “This is great. I’ll…um…see you later.”
She stood in the middle of the kitchen, one hand stuffed in a cooking mitt, and watched as Donovan practically ran out the door.
Letting out a sigh, she slipped her phone from her apron pocket to send Lindsey another text.
Not even a second glance. And I made my special apple pie muffins and didn’t get to watch him enjoy. I’m in my tiniest shorts and biggest heels, and… Maybe I’m overdoing it. I’m an idiot.
Lindsey wrote back immediately.
In the middle of econ. Give it another few days, See. He’ll come around. Or it’ll be the sign that you need to move on
Sierra didn’t want a sign that she should move on. She wanted a sign that she should move in. Maybe Lindsey was right and she just needed to keep at it for another day or two. Some Pilates after he got home that night couldn’t hurt. Or maybe she’d do a new yoga workout? Maybe she should jump on twitter to see what workouts guys might be most turned on by.
Her fingers were so tight on her phone that her knuckles were white. Sierra stared at them for a moment. Okay. She released a breath. Maybe she was over plotting. A little.
“Stay the course, See,” she said to herself. “Make a killer dinner tonight and pick up food for a wicked lunch tomorrow. And stay in the heels. No matter what.”
There. Pep talk. Much better.
Donovan moaned as he took the first bite of a muffin. Crumbs fell onto his desk and the scattered receipts, but he ignored the mess and took another large bite, moaning again.
“You alone in here, or should I be worried?” Alyson asked as she stepped through the old wooden door into his office.
She already had her “Great Outdoors” t-shirt on.
“I thought we were taking a break,” he said stupidly, which would mean that he could be moaning over whatever he wanted in his small office. Maybe his plan to handle this situation with her in a way that didn’t remind him of his ass of a father wasn’t working. Maybe genetics were more powerful than he wanted them to be.
Alyson frowned. “And I thought you were not at all happy about it, and now I see you fooling around with…muffins?” she asked arching a brow.
Donovan tugged the paper bag closer to him.
Why, after begging Alyson to reconsider their separation, was he the one bringing it up?
Her dark eyes narrowed. “What’s up with you?”
“Just hungry. Stayed out too late last night.”
“You and Chuck and the same old bar and playing pool?” she asked with her impatient voice. The same voice she’d used when she claimed Donovan wasn’t doing anything interesting anymore. The same voice that told him she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay together.
“That’s the one.”
And it’s not like Donovan was looking for his forever in Alyson, it was that her words had come out of nowhere and made him feel like a loser in a dead end job. Ironic considering she worked for him, though that argument had been slammed down with the fact that she’d be graduating in December. Also ironic since he owned half of Great Outdoors with Hanson—the guy who was practically his brother. Making Sierra practically his sister. Making the fact that he was moaning over one of her muffins maybe not a good thing.
“Want a muffin?” he asked as he held the bag between him and Alyson.
She reached into the bag without even an “are you sure” look.
Alyson sat sideways on his desk, reminding him of all the other naughty ways she’d been on his desk. He shoved another bite of muffin into his mouth. Whoever said that food could replace sex was an ignorant asshole who had probably never had great sex, but when it was the only option available…
Donovan took another too-large bite.
“Damn.” Alyson’s turn to moan, which wasn’t helping his wound up body any. “Who made these? Because I’d tap that for more.”
“Sierra,” he managed. The girl with the big smile, new-found confidence, miles-long legs. Maybe coffee would help. Or maybe a run. Or a bike ride. Or a cold shower.
“Your sister?”
“She’s not my sister,” he blurted.
Alyson leaned back and studied Donovan so closely he felt his insides squirm. “I thought Sierra was your sister.”
He shook his head and turned for his laptop, tapping into email. “I just stayed with her and Hanson’s family for my last two years of high school. That’s all.”
“Huh,” Alyson said and her eyes slowly narrowed.
But it wasn’t really just a “huh.” It was a “huh” that said Alyson was going to be pondering this puzzle while she worked that day. She’d almost definitely have questions later. Questions from Alyson were always loaded—something he knew from experience.
Dammit.
The last thing Donovan needed was someone asking him questions about a girl he was having dirty thoughts about. Thoughts that weren’t helped by frickin’ perfect muffins.
“I’m going to work at sorting out the ski stuff for a while.” He stood and stepped around Alyson. “Let me know if you need anything out front.”
“Yeah…” Alyson trailed off, and he knew without looking that she was watching him. “I’ll do that.”
After scrubbing the kitchen (holy cow did boys not know how to clean kitchens), Sierra flopped down and rested her computer on her lap. She couldn’t even think about making the kitchen fun or cute or interesting until she got rid of the film that seemed to be on everything from the cabinets to the handles to the counter.
Over a hundred twitter notifications.
Fifty comments that needed answering.
A ton more emails from her few sponsors.
These were the things that made her grin. That made her laugh in the face of her Business 101 teacher who said her plan freshman year was worth a D.
She’d wanted to write that teacher every semester since her first semester in college, but hadn’t. She pulled in about five thousand a month, and granted that was before expenses, but her expenses hovered at about a thousand. And, if she wanted, she could easily manage a part time job on top of the rest of it.
She’d also sent her book out to about
a million agents. A romantic comedy called Kissing Lacey. But so far, no bites.
She tapped her foot as she sent out half-hearted responses to bloggers and what felt like a million smiley faces and heart replies on twitter. Sifting through emails from people who wanted to buy ad space on her blog, she sent a few letters of acceptance and prices for numbers of impressions. All normal, daily stuff for her.
Her phone chirped in a text from Donovan and her heart flipped.
Donovan: Probably won’t make it home for dinner, but it looks like you’re set in the kitchen ;-)
And that’s it. No – your muffins were amazing - or – I’m so sorry because this is only your second night in town…
Well, crap.
The doorbell rang and Sierra ditched her laptop on the couch. Maybe she’d recover the couch… That was a project she hadn’t tackled yet. She could turn it into a week-long segment for her blog or something…hmm…
She opened the door to see a guy in a navy uniform with a clipboard. “I have a delivery for Sierra Blades?”
“That’s me.” Oh, crap again. The big cabinet. She’d hoped Donovan would be there to help her with the thing…
The guy gestured down the stairs. “Come on up!”
Sierra glanced at the space next to the couch that Donovan had cleared for her, but it didn’t seem big enough… She’d given him the measurements…
“Gimme a sec,” she said as she dashed for her room and upturned three boxes before finding her tape measure.
“Where do you want it?” he asked.
“We were going to do it right there, but I don’t think there’s room…” She jerked the tape measure out on the far side of the couch, glancing back at the monstrosity she was supposed to fit into that space. No freaking way.
She measured twice before knowing it wouldn’t fit. The couch couldn’t be slid over because of the hallway… Dammit.
“Miss? We can’t stick around waiting for you to rearrange your furniture. Where do you want it?”
