A jacked-up car with oversized tires and shiny rims pulled up, booming a deep bass rhythm. Hunter came out of the side door, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He tugged his pants to ride low on his hips on the way to the car, his walk turning into a swagger. The passenger-side window lowered. Alec tucked himself as far into the wall as he could manage.
The bass line and distance kept Alec from hearing what was said, but Hunter’s body language changed the longer they talked. His affected slouch turned defensive, his feet shuffling apart, giving the appearance of fight or flight. A tingle of warning heated the back of Alec’s neck like an electrical shock, and he pushed off the wall and into sight.
A hand extended out of the lowered window to point in Alec’s direction, and Hunter looked over his shoulder, their gazes clashing. This was not Alec getting involved. He only wanted to make sure Hunter was okay after the rough practice. Taking a deep breath, he approached.
The engine revved, and the car shot away from the curb, tires squealing on the turn out of the parking lot. Alec held Hunter’s gaze over the distance. Before he got close enough to engage Hunter, the boy turned away and jogged toward a beat-up Toyota with rusted-out panels sitting at the far end of the parking lot. He was gone before Alec made it halfway across.
Hunter’s home life was none of Alec’s business. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself, it refused to stick. Responsibility tugged at him like an annoying bramble. Just like with Lilliana, the distant cold-hearted image he’d worked hard to cultivate the past few years poofed into smoke confronted with reality.
He jogged back into the pavilion, grabbed a shower, and debated his next move. He had no idea where in Mill Town Hunter lived or how to help him. But Lilliana’s house was only a stone’s throw from the school. What could he offer her?
An apology? Reassurances that he wasn’t the asshole she’d accused him of being? Old lessons from his mother surfaced. In the south, births, deaths, thank-yous, and apologies all involved food. Dinner would be his peace offering. Maybe she would slam the door in his face, maybe she wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure which scenario made the nerves bounce higher in his stomach.
4
The doorbell dragged Lilliana off the couch. She prayed Jessica had decided to come home from Birmingham early. The new Falcon Foods restaurant was set to open in two weeks, and Jessica was slammed with last minute details, but Lilliana could definitely use a friendly ear and a distraction from counting the cracks in the ceiling.
She checked out the side window, took a sharp breath, and dropped the old-fashioned lacy curtain back in place. Alec Grayson’s broad back and amazing butt were on her porch. What was he doing here? Considering she’d called him an asshole yesterday, she assumed this was not a booty call.
He turned back to the door and rang the bell again. Even though she’d been expecting it, the three descending tones startled her a few steps back. They echoed through the open foyer before a heavy silence smothered her. As discreetly as possible, she looked through the side window again.
“I can see you, Lilliana. Open up. Please?”
She jumped again, her nerves shot to hell after three nights of restless sleep. And, was that amusement in his voice? Tendrils of anger turned her panic to ash. “Are you here to finish the inspection?”
“No.”
“Then go away.”
“I hoped we could talk.”
She heard a rustle and checked the window again. He held two bags, one with the local Chinese take-away logo and a blue Walmart bag. He jiggled the food bag. “I brought your favorite . . . beef lo mein.”
Dammit, that was her favorite. How did he know that?
“And spring rolls,” he added in a cajoling tone.
On cue, her stomach growled. She unlocked the door and gestured him through. “Fine. Only because you brought food. How did you know what to order?”
“The guy taking orders called you ‘my Lilliana’ about five times.”
Lilliana grabbed the bag and walked into the kitchen. He could follow or leave for all she cared.
“Are you two an item or something?”
She whirled. “I am offended on so many levels, I don’t know where to start. Firstly, he’s all of nineteen years old. I’m not into corrupting America’s youth. And, seriously, you and I had sex three and half days ago. Would I do that if I were involved with someone else?”
His forehead smoothed and his gaze skated off to the side. “Women cheat all the time,” he said in an emotion-roughened voice.
Someone had cheated on him. The flash of insight doused her outrage, leaving her with an awkward river to traverse. “I wouldn’t ever cheat. Believe or not, I haven’t—” No way could she admit she hadn’t had a date much less sex since she’d moved back to Falcon three years ago. It would be too pathetic. “—been dating anyone lately.”
“Is that why you didn’t mention you weren’t on birth control?”
Even though there was no blame in his voice, her shoulders hunched forward and she backed around the granite counter, her voice hitching. “It’s not like you offered up a condom or bothered to ask.”
Alec’s eyes closed briefly and he shook his head before stepping forward, the barlike counter between them. “Look, I didn’t mean that to sound like this is your fault. I’m equally to blame.”
“That’s big of you.” Her Freudian slip registered a split-second after the words were out. She couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his crotch before skittering off to the side.
“I was . . . You took me off guard. I didn’t think you liked me that way.”
She pressed both hands against her hot cheeks. “I obviously didn’t not like you right then. But, to be honest, I did hate you a little bit after you walked out.” Again, she wanted to add.
“I was confused. I wasn’t sure why you . . . why you . . .” He made a vague hand gesture.
Her internal thermostat ticked up a few more degrees. She had been the one to jump his bones. Admitting that she thought he was the sexiest thing this side of the Mississippi and couldn’t control herself when she was within three feet of him wouldn’t do.
“Look, what happened had nothing to do with the inspection. It was a moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment. A horrible mistake. That’s it.”
“A horrible mistake. Right.” He swallowed and kept his gaze averted. If she didn’t know better, she might wonder if his feelings were a little bruised. He pulled the bag of food toward him. “Why don’t you get cleaned up while I reheat the food?”
She raked a hand through her hair and looked down. She was wearing the same shirt he’d seen her in the day before at Walmart. The only addition was a pepperoni sized circle of grease on her left boob from the last reheated piece of pizza she’d eaten for lunch. Mortification stiffened her walk while pride had her chin in the air as if a little powder on her face would fix everything. “I’ll be quick.”
She flew up the stairs, but once in her room, she slowed and stared at herself. Shadows smudged her eyes, and her nose was red from her too-frequent crying jags. As infuriating as he could be, he was here.
Relief poured into the hollow void in her chest as the hot water of the shower turned the mirror steamy. Something about the determined set to his mouth made her believe he would stick it out with her if things played out like a bad Lifetime movie. He emanated a solid dependability that helped calm her.
Which was the opposite of the image of him she’d cultivated since college. She had followed his first two years at Alabama like a boy-band groupie. He was from Jasper, the town up from Falcon, and she had heard Logan rave about his skills. Talk of the Heisman and a first-round draft pick dogged him by his junior year.
Alec was king of campus while the University of Alabama fit her like a pair of someone else’s shoes. She wasn’t sorority material and felt lost in the sea of freshmen. Her infatuation with the school’s star quarterback had seemed harmless. It wasn’t until her roommate had dragged her to a fr
at party one Saturday night after a big win that her infatuation turned dangerous.
Alec had been standing in a corner with a red Solo cup, surveying the room. A blonde girl on his right had a mouth that moved nonstop, yet he’d seemed isolated as if a wall separated him from everyone else.
She’d worked on building her courage with alcohol, but it turned out unnecessary. He’d approached her, pulled her to his corner, and didn’t take his eyes off her. His damnable eyes had hypnotized her, and she’d followed him willingly into a bedroom smelling faintly of dirty clothes and pizza.
They’d had sex—mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. Afterward, she’d pressed kisses against his neck, the future streaking through her head in milliseconds. Cheering for him from the family section as his girlfriend, pictures taken together, her jealous friends when he came to the dorm to pick her up for dates.
Her future crumbled as quickly as she’d imagined it. He’d rolled off her and she’d watched him grab his pants and yank them on while she lay with her legs still spread. She’d never forget his parting words. “That was fun, sweetheart, but you’d better clear out before my buddy brings his girl back to his room for the night.”
The humiliation brought a lump of tears to her throat even now. Yet, the truth was she was as much to blame for their disastrous hook-up in college as she was for their current situation. She hadn’t tried to get to know the real him in college, she had wanted the hero quarterback. She wasn’t sure who he was now, but she should give him a chance to show her this time.
She showered, dried her hair, and pulled on yoga pants and a Falcon football T-shirt. It was tighter than what she normally wore, but he’d already seen her up close and personal. No need to hide from him.
Whether it was due to the shower, the promise of something to eat besides pizza, or his presence, her natural optimism made an appearance, and she quickstepped down the stairs to the kitchen. Food-laden plates sat side by side in front of two bar stools. He was picking utensils from her silverware drawer.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. Obviously, having a baby would affect her more, but he probably wasn’t jumping for joy at the possibility. Nevertheless, he’d manned up. The decade-old resentments she’d nurtured blurred like a ruined watercolor painting.
He walked back toward the food, separating the forks and knives. Finally looking up, he stopped short, half the kitchen still separating them. The same wide-eyed, mouth-agape expression she’d dealt with since she’d hit puberty came over him.
She crossed her arms half under, half over her breasts. “Seriously? They’re not freak-show big. And you’ve seen them already for goodness sake. Mostly naked even.”
He snapped his mouth shut, and his eyes darted back to hers. “Sorry. You usually wear . . . I mean, I never imagined . . . and now.” The silverware jangled as he gestured toward her. “I’m acting like a jerk again, aren’t I?”
She dropped her defensive posturing and sat down in front of a plate. “Pretty typical response actually. It’s why I tend to wear baggy shirts.”
He joined her, his eyes almost comically averted, fumbling to give her utensils and jabbing her with the fork tines. “I don’t know why I can’t act like a functioning adult around you.”
His reaction tickled her. She’d never seen him be anything but calm and collected, even on the sideline of big games. Now, he was a stuttering mess. That was usually her shtick.
A giggle snuck out. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. The uniform I had to wear when I was bartending in New York had to have reinforced buttons. On the up side, my tips were double the male bartenders.”
She took a bite, and he followed suit. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “I thought you went to school for art.”
“Turns out ‘starving artist’ is a stereotype for a reason. I worked to afford a crappy apartment I shared with three other girls, painted when I could, and sold just enough to keep my hopes alive I was close to getting a gallery opening. It never happened though.” She didn’t elaborate on why it never happened. Her fear of judgment was a hurdle that tripped her up every time she got close to success.
“Why did you come back to Falcon?”
“Daddy died.” The simple words offered a simple explanation, but the reality was complicated. A sense of responsibility had warred with the disappointment of allowing her demons to win, but also relief at giving up the battle. Nevertheless, failure hovered over her like a black cloud.
“You could put this place on the market. Some developer would bite. Hell, I might even be interested.” He half-turned toward her, his eyebrows up, and took a bite of his spring roll.
Her guard went back up. “I’m a Hancock of Hancock County. This is our homeplace. It’s been in the family since the early 1800s. If I sell to you or any other developer, I’d be the family pariah.”
“You can’t spit in Falcon and not hit a Hancock. Sell out to one of them.”
“No one in the family can afford to buy it from me. I could leave it and let it rot, but . . .” She kept her gaze averted and took another bite of lo mein, the noodles tasting like strings of paste. If she failed the old house, what was next?
“Is your dream really to run a B&B? Based on what I saw in your bedroom, you should be pursuing art.”
“Shockingly, I like to eat, enjoy having a roof over my head, and a clean bed to sleep in. My hope was to get the B&B profitable, and I could paint when I had time.”
Alec pushed his plate away and turned the swiveling bar chair to face her, his long legs spread wide. “I’ve overseen several projects in B&Bs around north Alabama, Lilliana. It’s a lot of work and not much profit. A labor of love.”
She turned too and his legs shifted to encase hers, her knees brushing his inner thighs. Anxiety knotted the lo mein in her stomach. “What are my options besides selling out?”
She stared in his eyes, and the longer she stared, the more understanding he looked. His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “You could burn it down.”
The unexpected bite of dark humor startled a slight laugh out of her. A sigh transformed his smile into a long, serious contemplation that made her squirm. She ran her tongue over her teeth searching for anything stuck.
“I could help,” he said finally.
“You got a gallon of gasoline in the back of your truck?”
“Not that. I mean get the wiring up to code in your defunct bathroom. I’m a sought-after contractor, you know. And, I happen to know the inspector pretty well.”
When she’d had hopes of hiring out the work, she had checked his rates and had a good laugh. Sure, he did excellent work, but he was expensive. Which is why she’d taught herself to handle the basics. She could put up drywall, replace washers and gaskets in her plumbing, install tile even, but wiring was beyond her.
She huffed a laugh and pushed back from her chair, staking their plates. “I can’t afford to hire you, Alec.”
“You don’t have to pay me. Consider it a favor.”
Her heart accelerated and her lungs churned air as if she’d sprinted to the sink. She dropped the plates from too high, and they clattered against the old stone of the sink. “You’re only offering because you feel guilty about maybe knocking me up.”
Silence. She wanted him to say ‘no’ with a desperation that unsettled her. For a few minutes, she’d forgotten about the possible consequences of their madness. They’d been two people having dinner. It had been almost pleasant.
“Yes.” His gruff answer cut into her.
“Thanks for the food. You should leave.”
“Lilliana . . .” He threw his hands up and let them fall, his fingers curling over the metal armrests.
“Look, I appreciate the food, but right now, I want you to leave.”
He pushed back and stood. His mouth worked as if he had something else to say, but she walked past him, opened the front door, and waited. With one foot out the door, he pivoted toward her, his normally bland expression dented by worry. His Adam’s
apple bobbed. “When do you think . . .”
She focused her gaze over his shoulder on the long line of oak trees lining the street. “I’ll pick up one of those early-detection tests in a few days. That way we can both get back to hating each other as soon as possible.”
“Unless you’re pregnant,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“It was one time.” Her voice skewed high, panic joining the tumble in her stomach. Her life would become exponentially more difficult if she was pregnant.
He stopped halfway down the porch steps, his back to her, but his face in profile. “For the record, I don’t hate you, Lilliana. Never have.” With his parting words ringing in her ears, he strode toward his white double-cab pickup with Grayson Construction emblazoned on the side and drove off.
The faint aroma of burning leaves tickled her nose. Dusk had fallen. Bugs flew around the buzzing streetlight, and a chorus of frogs rose. Her stomach settled. Evening was her favorite time of the day, and she often lay out on the front porch swing, watching the sun fall below the trees, listening to the teeming life around her even this close to the city. Tonight she felt like curling up into a tiny ball under her covers and crying.
She took a last deep breath and closed the door. Gathering the leftover Chinese food, she walked toward the fridge, her office flashing in the corner of her eye. She stopped and turned slowly as if something big and hairy might jump out at her.
While she’d been showering, Alec Grayson had been busy doing more than heating up the food. Papers were stacked, not with precision but not exploded over the desk as usual, and a brand-new black surge protector was tucked to the side of her computer monitor. Instead of looking like tossed spaghetti, cords and wires had been zip-tied and organized.
She wasn’t the same naive, star-struck girl that had followed him into a dark room that night in college. He wasn’t the same guy either. Should she let him help her with the bathroom?
Melting into You Page 5
