Chapter 6
Katie had just finished grilling vegetables and was about to eat when she heard the engine. No one bothered to come out this way unless it was Uncle Jack making a delivery or picking up soups. But her gut told her she knew who it was, and her ridiculous heart flip-flopped. Three times.
She peeked out the window, spotted Ian Finnegan’s long, lean body moving toward the cabin, a delivery bag in his right arm.
She waited for him to knock before she opened the door, made certain she didn’t smile.
“Again? What do you want now?” That comment was meant to let him know she didn’t want him here, didn’t want whatever he was offering.
Not groceries. Not his smiles. Not extra conversation.
But the darn guy’s blue eyes lit up as a smile pulled across his face, making him way too attractive. “Is this you in a bad mood? Because if so, I think I might have just the thing to get rid of it.”
“I’m not in a bad mood. This is me telling you that I don’t like you showing up, bombarding me with your presence, and–”
The laugh made her realize how ridiculous she sounded, and that brought out a full-on scowl.
“Bombarded? I’ve been accused of a lot of things but bombarding someone has never been on the list.” Another laugh. “I brought dinner. I thought maybe we could sit out on your deck and–”
“No. No, we can’t. You need to leave.” Dinner? That was a kind gesture, but Ian Finnegan didn’t seem the type to do anything for the sake of pure kindness. No, the guy had a motive. What did he want? What–
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I would have, but I don’t have your phone number.” His voice shifted, turned low. “Can we at least exchange phone numbers? If we do that, then I can text you and make sure I’m not bombarding you with my presence.”
There are moments in a person’s life when they realize their next action or reaction could change the course of their future.
Katie sensed this, opened her mouth to tell him she would not give him her phone number or anything else.
Certainly not her time, but what fell out was something completely different.
“Why are you really here? You could knock on just about any door in town, and word has it you’d get an offer for dinner, a drink, and everything in between. I’m not offering anything. So why me?”
His dark brows pinched together, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.
“Damn if I can figure it out. I’ve never met anyone like you, and for some inexplicable reason, I want to get to know you.
Spending time with you the other night was one of the first times I’ve been able to just be myself.
Do you know how exhausting it is to always be ‘on’? ”
Yes, she did. “Keep talking.”
“I think you know what it’s like to have to act a certain way and you know the cost of that.
Of course, you took the better road and turned into a saint.
Not me. I chose the sinner route, but that gets old, and I’m tired of it.
Maybe I want to find a way out. And maybe—” his eyes burned into her, seared her soul, “—you can help me. Maybe we can help each other.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, tried to sort fact from possibility, truth from lies.
Maybe they could help each other. Katie didn’t consider why they couldn’t just be friends, or what would happen if they were more than that.
When he was around, her world shifted, blurred promise and possibility, light and dark…
truth and lies. She didn’t consider the many traps and dangerous risks awaiting if she let Ian Finnegan into her life.
And she definitely should have.
“Does anyone ever say no to you?” She meant it as a joke and an observation that she doubted anyone did. But his answer surprised her.
“Not usually, but sometimes I wish they would.” His voice downshifted to a rumble, no doubt similar to the sound of the car engines he worked on. “Except for you. I’m hoping you’ll let me in.”
Let him in? To her home…to her life…into her heart?
She’d never been good at playing games or being clever, especially where guys were concerned.
There’d only been one quasi-boyfriend her senior year in high school, but she broke things off when he began recommending clothing choices and how she should spend her free time, which was not in a garden or creating soups.
Don’t you ever get tired of digging in the dirt and stirring pots in a hot kitchen?
Don’t you ever want to have fun? Go to a party? Live life?
She had been living life and she was happy. And the fact that he couldn’t see it was enough for her to end things. Why had he thought it necessary to change her? Why did people always want to change each other instead of accepting the quirks, the failings, the good and bad?
“I just grilled some vegetables and I was about to fix the rest of my dinner.” She peered at the bag, spotted the logo for Harry’s Folly. “But something tells me what you brought is way more interesting than zucchini and mushrooms.”
He laughed. “Does that mean I’m invited inside?”
She couldn’t hide the lightness in her voice when she spoke. “Food from Harry’s will get you an invite every time.”
“Good to know.” He stepped inside, headed toward the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with zucchini and mushrooms. Add these to one of Harry’s pasta dishes, and it puts a whole different spin on the meal.”
He did have a point. “I take it you’ve been working your way through Harry’s menu?”
“Of course. I’ve visited six times so far.”
Katie removed the container labeled mushroom ravioli. Definitely one of her favorites. She went after the second, lifted it from the bag. “You can never go wrong with shrimp and risotto.”
“Harry said these are two restaurant favorites.” He reached around her, so close she could smell his designer cologne. “He also told me to try the hot peppers and—” he pulled out the last two packages, “—New York style Cheesecake with raspberry sauce and cannoli.”
“All great choices.”
He carried the containers to the table, set them down while Katie gathered plates and silverware. “Next time we’ll try the…” He cleared his throat, corrected, “I meant next time, I’ll try the hot peppers.”
That was so not what he meant. He wanted to share the hot pepper experience with her, which meant he wanted to see her again. Which meant…? What did it mean? Maybe the better question should be, what did she want it to mean?
Katie studied the back of his dark head as he bent over the containers. Ian Finnegan was the most confusing yet intriguing person she’d ever met, and she might as well be honest—she wanted to learn more about him.
Sure, she could rely on gossip or listen to speculation, and she could even ask Aunt Dolly for details regarding her “nephew”.
The woman would share way more than necessary.
But the best way to learn about a person was to spend time with them, ask questions, listen to what they said and didn’t say because it all meant something.
And it was the curiosity and the intrigue that prompted Katie to forgo caution and let Ian know she’d like to see him again.
“Next time, I’ll place the order, and you better be ready for some serious spice. ”
He turned to face her, his gaze intent, searching, as though he weren’t one hundred percent certain what she was offering. “Next time?”
That look made her hot and cold. “How else will we see who can tolerate the hottest dishes?”
His features relaxed, pulled out the dimples on either side of his cheeks. “A challenge I accept.”
Katie raised a brow, enjoying the lightheartedness of their banter. She’d never been one to tease, but it felt natural and fun. “A challenge you’ll lose.”
“Maybe.” His words wrapped around her like an invisible web pulling her close, closer… “Or maybe we’ll both win.” He stepped back, away from her and whatever “moment” they’d just shared, and when he spoke again, his voice was cautious, his expression unreadable. “I’m really hungry. How about you?”
“I’m always hungry.”
Reference to food provided the perfect segue from talk of challenges, winning, and whatever subliminal messages may have been thrumming between them. As they ate their meals, Katie asked about a curious story floating through Lina’s Café this morning. “I heard you fixed Uncle Jack’s sister’s car.”
Ian forked two raviolis, nodded. “Edith Finnegan? I did. That woman’s car is as old as you are.
The fuel injectors were filthy. I told her she needed to drive it more and get it over twenty-five miles an hour, but you would’ve thought I told her to take it to the racetrack.
” He popped the ravioli in his mouth, chewed.
She watched the cleft in his chin move as he chewed, slid her gaze to his jaw. While she didn’t like to admit it, he was definitely movie-star handsome. “Edith Finnegan is a bit of a…recluse.”
“Ah. I know someone else who’s a bit of a recluse.”
An eyeroll and a huff. “I am not a recluse. That woman barely comes out of her house. Uncle Jack says she spends her life behind the curtains in her living room. Always peeking into other people’s lives and making them her own. It’s kind of sad. I’ve often wondered why she’s like that.”
Ian had worked his way through half of the ravioli on his plate. “My guess is some guy burned her, and she shut down.”
The thought of prune-faced, miserable Edith Finnegan ever looking at a man was hard to picture. “You think?”
The look he gave her said definitely possible. “Just my guess. She was pretty fidgety, didn’t look me in the eye, only said a few words. I pulled the car out of the garage so I could work on it, and I swear she was watching me.”
“Oh, she was watching you. People comment about the curtains moving when someone goes by, and how she sits there all day waiting for activity.”
“Wow. She left some sugar cookies on a card table in the garage. Store-bought, but a cookie’s a cookie, right?”