Love At First Ink: A Woodbine Valley Romance (Tate Family Book 1)

by Bridgid Gallagher

  "Don't start with me," he grumbled.

  She blinked. "What?" she asked, all innocence. "I wouldn't think of grilling you about Miss Pearly Whites over there. But seriously. What gives?"

  He shrugged. "I picked her up at the airport. Period. Mom's making something out of nothing. You know how she's always trying to pair us off."

  Jess wanted to see her kids happy—or so she said—which turned into a fervent desire to see them married. Preferably with grand babies.

  Amy raised an eyebrow. "Right. But you took her to dinner. When's the last time you went out to dinner?"

  "I get out," he said.

  "Who? When?"

  "Mandy Miller. Last year."

  Amy wasn’t impressed. "A year ago? You're pathetic."

  "When's the last time you went out on a date?"

  "Last week," she said.

  "Checking out plant suppliers doesn't count."

  She stuck out her tongue.

  Guests trickled into the room, called by the smell of bacon, pastries, and coffee. The room began to fill with the sounds of clinking cutlery and polite chatter as they filled bowls, plates, and coffee mugs.

  Amy and Justin moved away from the guests in unspoken agreement. They nodded and smiled—Jess would be on them in a second if they weren't polite—but they steered clear.

  "Really, though. What gives? It’s not like you to want to spend time with a guest,” she said. "I know that much."

  Justin sighed.

  "We were on the same flight, and her douchebag boyfriend joined the mile-high club. With another woman.”

  Amy whistled low. "Sucks."

  "She moved seats and ended up next to me." He tried to sound gruff, but the memory of her books and silky underthings raining down on the other passengers made him smile.

  Amy was watching, so he dropped the smile. Little sisters were the worst.

  "I thought Ryan's pizza might improve her day," he added, knowing how much his sister loved Ryan's place. The owner? Not so much. For whatever reason, she loathed the guy. But the food? She'd been known to bribe people to bring her Ryan's pizza.

  "Huh,” Amy said.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" he said.

  "I think you know."

  He groaned. "Please don't give Mom any ideas. She's already making plans for Elle."

  "Elle?" Amy echoed. "Even her name is stuck up."

  Justin gave her his best big-brother glare. "Can we stop talking about this?"

  She put up her hands. "Yeah, yeah. I'm done. Don't worry about me. But you might want to have a chat with Mom. I think you've done enough damage on your own."

  "Damage?" he snorted.

  Amy nodded. "Yeah, buddy. Damage. Of course Mom is over there acting like the girl found the cure for cancer." She started to tick reasons off on her fingers. "Ever since you moved back, I haven't seen you with a woman. You avoid guests like the plague, but suddenly you take this one out to dinner."

  "You're overreacting—" he started.

  Amy interrupted. "I wasn't finished. The nail in your coffin is that you haven't taken your eyes off her once this morning. That's why Mom is acting like this."

  "Not true," he said, thinking back. Had he been staring at her? He didn't think so ...

  Amy raised an eyebrow.

  "I'm not interested," he ground out.

  "In my brilliant logic?"

  "In her."

  Just then, Elle laughed. She flipped her hair over one shoulder in a careless move, and he had the urge to stalk across the room and run his hands through it.

  Amy smacked his arm. "Like I said. You're in big trouble."

  While Elle chatted with Jess about interior decorating, she couldn't ignore Justin's presence in the room. He stood off to the side with his sister, glowering like a grumpy bear. When Jess excused herself to check on things in the kitchen, Elle fixed a plate of what looked like the most amazing croissants in the world. They were light and fluffy as tiny pillows and smelled like butter and pure, unfiltered deliciousness. Exactly what she needed.

  Elle loaded up her plate before heading back to an empty table. Then she remembered her dress for the wedding. Which was distressingly small thanks to Caroline, who had ordered the dress a size smaller than Elle usually wore.

  She brushed it off as a mistake at the time, but a part of her wondered if Caroline had done it on purpose. There was every likelihood that this was her way of making sure Elle dieted her way into a size deemed more socially acceptable. Another small annoyance, and one that Elle had been stressing over ever since Lucy announced her engagement. She did diet; the dress was thousands of dollars and far beyond Elle's budget. More, there was a part of her that agreed with her mother. Caroline and Lucy were tall and lean, and Elle always felt like the dumpy little sidekick.

  Today was different. Today, Elle wanted a freaking croissant. Maybe more than one.

  She took a hearty bite of one croissant, and the flaky pastry melted in her mouth.

  Definitely more than one.

  "Enjoying the croissants?" a voice rumbled.

  Elle looked up, then wished she hadn't. Justin stood over her, watching her reaction to the croissant with a look she couldn't interpret.

  His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was wearing another ratty flannel and tee shirt combo. The trucker hat was gone, and his dark hair was a shaggy mess.

  She found herself hoping he'd say something pleasant and complimentary. Something like—

  "You have croissant here," Justin said, pointing to her chin.

  She glared up at him and wiped her chin with a napkin.

  He chuckled.

  "Justin," Jess called. She swished into the breakfast room through the swinging door and bustled over to them. "The flooding is worse," she said without preamble.

  "I'm on it, Mom." He put a hand on her shoulder.

  Elle's heart melted a little at the way Justin spoke to his mother, and she tried to fathom what it would be like to actually like her mother.

  "Won't you need help?" Jess asked, looking worried. Then her expression changed. She eyed Elle with a calculating look.

  “We have a magazine editor coming to take photos of the grounds and cottages," she told Elle. “The woman arrives tomorrow and I'm a bit of a mess trying to get everything together."

  “A magazine editor?” Elle said. "That's wonderful.”

  "It's about time someone noticed the hard work you do here," Justin said to Jess.

  Jess smiled. "That's all well and good, but it won't do to have a flooded cottage and torn up grounds. I just don't know how you're going to handle the cottage on your own," she worried out loud.

  Justin shook his head. "I'll be fine, Mom.“

  Elle watched the exchange. "I could help," she offered.

  "You?" Justin asked. "What do you know about plumbing?"

  “Nothing,” she said. “But I canceled all of my plans, and I wouldn’t mind staying busy. There’s nothing quite like being on a romantic vacation for one,” she said, waving a hand to encompass the rest of the guests—all couples.

  “But you’re our guest,” Jess protested half-heartedly. “You don’t want to deal with this mess.”

  “Really,” Elle said. “I’d be happy to help. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  "Well ..." Jess eyed Elle’s clothes. ”White may not be the best choice for this kind of work."

  “Oh I don't mind getting dirty," Elle said.

  Which might have been a lie, but the more time she stayed occupied, the less time she'd have to spend worrying about what she was going to tell her mother.

  Justin's frown deepened. "I work best alone," he said.

  "Now that's not true," Jess said. "Take the help that's offered," she told Justin.

  He glowered. “Can I talk to you?” he asked Jess. “In private.”

  Jess lifted one shoulder. They excused themselves and moved away from Elle. While she nibbled at her croissant, she heard snippets that made her blush
.

  “Setting me up—" in Justin’s deep voice.

  Then Jess said something Elle couldn’t hear, followed by, “doing no such thing.”

  More heated whispering, before Justin growled, “—playing matchmaker.”

  And a final, “Respect your mother.”

  Elle watched Justin cave. He and Jess returned to the table and after a long, put-upon sigh, he said to Elle, "Meet me out front in ten."

  Elle gave him a fake salute, which he ignored. Justin stalked away, and Jess sent Elle a rather crafty smile before excusing herself to the kitchen, leaving Elle to her thoughts. Which were:

  One, how to not actually get her hands dirty (she'd just had a manicure), two, how many croissants she could take with her. Because priorities.

  Chapter 9

  Justin was going to enjoy seeing Elle get dirty. She showed up at the front of the big house looking like a rich blonde who was used to getting what she wanted. He watched her take a bite out of a croissant. She gnawed at it like she hadn't eaten in a year.

  Justin raised a brow. "Hungry?" he asked. "Aren't you worried about ... what were you talking about on the phone? Carbs?"

  "I love carbs," she said.

  "Right," he said.

  She glared at him.

  Good. If she was pissed it would mean she'd keep her distance. Which suddenly seemed like a very important thing. The less time he spent in proximity to her, the better.

  "Let's go," he said, hauling up his toolbox. “Lots of work to do."

  He turned on his heel. She could follow him. Or not.

  Not would be much, much easier.

  The sound of gravel crunching behind him told Justin he wasn't going to be that lucky.

  Justin stalked toward the cottage with the problem. The second he opened the door, he could smell the state of affairs. Elle stepped into the cottage behind him, then crinkled her nose.

  He almost felt bad for her. Emphasis on almost.

  "What is that smell?" she asked.

  "It's a plumbing problem. Those tend to have a certain smell."

  She paled. "I thought Jess meant there was a leaky faucet or something," she said.

  He laughed. "Right." He decided to give her an easy out. He dropped his toolbox, turning so that she had to stop. “You know, I can tell my mom you helped out so you don't have to get your hands dirty."

  Elle narrowed her eyes at him. If it didn't smell so damn bad, he'd take a minute to appreciate that she went from pretty to hot when she was mad. Her pale skin flushed, making the sprinkle of freckles across her nose stand out. It also made the freckles on her chest—

  Don't go there.

  Because he wasn’t going to think about her chest.

  Nope.

  He also wasn’t going to think about the way her blouse dipped down or the way it tucked in at her waist, emphasizing her curves.

  But man-oh-man, did she have great curves. She was soft and round in all the right places.

  It was a good thing she was so damn prickly.

  Otherwise, he’d be in trouble.

  "I'm here to help you," she said. "You're supposed to be nice."

  Justin crossed his arms.

  "Stop flexing your tattoos at me," she said. "It's distracting."

  That made him grin. So he distracted her? Good. It was only fair.

  "Look," she said. "I do want to help. And what I said to your mom was the truth. I had all of these romantic things planned for the next few days, and now ... well, I wouldn't mind staying busy."

  He grunted, not ready to give in.

  Elle gritted her teeth. "I'll help you if you let me," she said. "But if you're going to grill me about this some more, can we at least step outside? This place smells like something died in here."

  He decided he liked it when she was snarky. It was like she shed the fake Elle, the one who wore all white and picked a guy like her Pretty Boy. Now, she was something else. She was someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better.

  Elle snapped her fingers. "Let's go, Handyman. We're wasting daylight here. And I might pass out."

  Justin shrugged, but picked up his toolbox and led the way to the bathroom. They'd had trouble with the plumbing in this cottage before. He'd helped unclog the sink and bathtub time and again. He was messing with Elle. It wasn't exactly sewage, but grey water wasn't much better than that. She didn't need to know the details.

  He opened the bathroom door. The flooding had stopped, but the place looked as though a tornado—a very wet tornado—had hit. Gobs of wet paper and debris were everywhere.

  "Ugh," she said.

  "It's not so bad." He set down his tools and pulled on gloves. "I'll snake the drains, then we can clean up. Easy."

  She looked like she was regretting her decision.

  "You don't have to be here," he said.

  Elle set her chin. "No, I said I would help, so I'll help. Quit asking me to leave, okay?"

  He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

  Justin got to work while she watched from the doorway. Even her shoes were white. It was enough to make him laugh.

  "Are you this amused by clogged drains?" she asked. "Because if so I really think you should get out more."

  "No," he said. "It's you." He’d already opened up the pipe beneath the sink. Getting the line in was the easy part. He fed it through, taking his time so that he didn’t bust anything. Once enough line was out, he reeled it back in, pulling out all sorts of gunk and brackish water with it.

  "What's so funny about me?" she asked, sounding like she was holding her nose.

  "Why are you here?" he asked.

  "I'm helping you," she said.

  "No, I mean, why aren't you with your family? You’re here for your sister’s wedding, right?"

  He put away his tools after cleaning them, then looked at her.

  She shifted. Then seemed to decide something. "My mother loves Carter."

  "The Pretty Boy from the plane, your ex?"

  "Yes."

  "But you broke up," he said.

  "Yes, but ... I don't want to tell her what happened."

  “Won’t she find out when you show up at the wedding without Prince Charming?”

  "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe things will just … work out."

  "Right," he said slowly. "Things will just work out. That's the stupidest thing I've heard.”

  She started. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me."

  He stripped off his gloves and tossed them in a waste bin. The cleaning supplies were stored in a locked cabinet, and he removed a few, then pulled on a new set of gloves.

  "You're not telling your family about what he did because you think they'll be mad about it or something. Instead, you're hiding out here, and hoping for—I have no idea. What are you hoping will change?" He waited a beat. "Oh, shit. You're thinking the guy will come crawling back to you. That's it, isn't it?"

  She didn't deny it.

  He shook his head. "You should just tell them the truth. Tell your mom that your boyfriend is an idiot. Go alone. Deal with it."

  She put her hands on her hips. "You haven't met my mother. She'd rather I lied to her than know the truth."

  Justin shook his head. He tossed her a pair of plastic gloves. Elle scrambled to keep them out of the muck on the bathroom floor.

  "Whatever," he said.

  "You're the one who asked," she pointed out. "If you don't like the answer, that's not my problem."

  "Got it loud and clear, Princess. You're here to help, so let's get to work."

  He grinned at her look of disgust. He had a feeling she'd work hard to prove her helpfulness. Which could definitely work out to Justin's advantage.

  A new thought struck. Wasn't there a landscaping project underway? He wondered what her pearly white outfit would look like after a day of digging flower beds.

  Justin chuckled and ignored the glare Elle sent his way.

  His day just got a whole lot more interesting.

  Elle
hated Justin with the power of a thousand suns. The idiot was taking advantage of her, and every time she thought of quitting—of throwing her cleaning supplies or shovel at his head—he'd give her that, I knew you'd quit look.

  The man was infuriating.

  Staying busy had been first and foremost on her mind when she offered to give Justin a hand. That and wiping the unimpressed smirk from his face. But now it had morphed into some strange desire to prove herself to Justin.

  Ridiculous!

  After cleaning the germ-ridden bathroom with enough bleach to make her dizzy, Justin had suggested they help the landscaping crew. Unless she was too tired from the hard work. Or maybe she didn't want to mess up her nails. The jerk. She should have known what he was up to, but she blamed her stupidity on the toxic slurry in the air. Besides, Elle was far too prideful to admit she was exhausted, and she couldn't stand the thought of Justin being right.

  She'd gone with him to where the landscapers were working to fix some damage done when a tree had fallen in a recent storm. They’d cleared most of the debris and were rebuilding flower beds.

  The crew was nice, and she hit it off with their boss, Jo. Elle had expected a gruff, older man, but Jo was an effusive woman, whose dark skin and grey-tinged braids made her look suited for something like landscape photography or jewelry making, and not digging ditches with a group of rowdy men.

  Jo won Elle over when she’d snarked at Justin for taking off his shirt, and for the fact that she didn’t give Elle too hard of a time for having no idea what it meant to ‘dig out a flower bed’.

  Elle pushed her shovel into the ground with an unladylike grunt. The work gloves hadn't been able to keep her hands—which had never seen a shovel—from getting torn apart. She leaned back, wiggling the shovel until there was an amount of dirt she could move on it, then groaned as she lifted it and tried to toss the dirt aside.

  Some of the dirt fell back in the hole.

  Elle shrieked in frustration and threw down her shovel. As she wiped a dirt-streaked arm across her face, Elle looked for the man who was the root of her problems and swore when she saw him.