Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
PIPER
I’d learned nothing from my divorce. Not caution, or independence, or mental fortitude. The moment I walked through the front door of the Lovers Lane house the next morning, I knew last night wouldn’t be the last time I kissed Rhett.
He stood up from the bookcase he’d started assembling, and in three steps he was in front of me.
I was still wearing my jacket with my scarf half unwound from my neck when Rhett wrapped his arms around me and kissed me like nothing else mattered.
My fingers traced his jaw and slid into his hair.
I clung to him like his bulk was the only thing keeping my feet on the ground.
It was reckless and stupid and foolish. He was my boss and my business partner. He could fire me and renege on our deal with the house. A wise woman would keep her distance and stop herself from falling for the wrong man all over again.
But I wasn’t a wise woman—and what if he wasn’t the wrong man? What if I’d judged him wrongly? What if he was as good as he seemed?
He wasn’t afraid of my anger and my stubbornness.
Now that we weren’t butting heads all the time, Rhett championed my ideas.
That was why he’d asked me to attend the town hall meeting and pitch my design to the townspeople, and why he’d run with the local carpenter for the staircase and the upholsterer for the soft furnishings at the lodge.
Jacob hadn’t done anything like that. He’d put me in a box and expected me to do all the things he deemed beneath him.
I could decorate our home and give advice to our friends, but it was just a silly little female hobby, not work that had value.
I couldn’t actually pursue further education or start my own business.
That was nothing but a frivolous idea that would surely pass if he ignored it for long enough.
“Been thinking about kissing you all night,” Rhett mumbled against my lips.
“Me too,” I admitted, even though I’d told myself that I’d keep my distance today. How could I keep him at arm’s length when he made me feel like the world was brighter?
Rhett saw himself as a bad person, but that was crazy.
He’d driven me to the hospital when Nate hurt himself.
He’d suggested we split the house. He was putting up all the money for the renovations and agreeing to split the profits down the middle—a deal that only benefited me.
He’d accepted my design for the lodge and defended it in front of the residents at the town hall meeting.
Actions spoke louder than words, and he did all those things despite having grown up in an abusive home.
I pulled away from our kiss and looked into his eyes, wondering how he couldn’t see that all those things mattered.
He was a good person, even if he sometimes cut the line at the coffee shop he owned.
“When we’re done with the bookcases, you should come to my place,” Rhett said.
I arched a brow. “Zero to a hundred, huh.”
His grin was wicked. “No, but I like the way you think. I meant you should come see if there are any decor items you want to pilfer from it. I had a designer decorate it when I built it, so there’s a bunch of junk all over the place.”
“You’re going to have to stop calling it junk, Rhett. Things can be beautiful for the sake of being beautiful, and that’s enough reason to have them in your home.”
He laughed, sliding his hands down my arms to tangle his fingers in mine. “You’re right. Come on. Let’s get this done.”
When I stopped trying to fight Rhett at every turn, working with him was easy.
I handed him the Allen keys and screwdrivers he needed before he asked, read the instructions, and directed him on what pieces to assemble next.
We got the two bookcases finished and propped up against the wall in an hour, then cleaned up all the packaging and headed to his place to see what goodies his interior designer had chosen.
It was only when I pulled up outside his home that my heart began to thump.
This was somehow more intimate than the Lovers Lane house, and certainly more intimate than the office.
I was about to see a new side of him. Rhett pulled into his big double garage, and I parked my car on the driveway behind him.
I got out, my eyes scanning the pitched roofline and the beautiful cedar shingles that clad all sides of the house.
Big windows looked out on the valley, and the only sound was the wind through the trees.
He lived in a mountain refuge, and I was intensely, unbelievably envious.
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head.
“Come in through the garage. You can leave your jacket on the hooks here,” he said, opening the interior door.
He hit a button on the wall to close the garage door behind us, and we entered a hallway that opened up to a gigantic great room.
Big, comfy-looking couches looked out on the dark view of the forest and the valley while the ceiling soared above, exposed beams holding up the peaked roof.
A big chef’s kitchen was visible behind the couches, with dark charcoal shaker cabinets and beautiful stone countertops.
There were a ton of items we could use. Sculptural lamps and throw cushions.
Textured blankets and beautiful vases. Even the art on the wall was neutral enough to be appropriate for real estate staging.
The place had been designed immaculately, but it was the hint of personal touches that truly intrigued me.
The book left on a side table next to a coaster.
The pair of slippers on the plush rug. The… cat tree?
I stopped so suddenly that Rhett bumped into my back.
“Everything okay?” he asked a bare moment before a complaining meow sounded from the direction of the kitchen.
I spun around, sticking my index finger in his chest. “You!”
His brows slammed down. “What did I do?”
“You lied to me! You told me you got rid of the cat!”
“Well, I wasn’t going to admit I kept him, was I?”
A peal of laughter burst out of me, and I shoved at his solid chest. “I can’t believe you!”
“I’m going to get rid of him,” Rhett grumbled. “Just as soon as I have time.”
“Liar,” I replied, shaking my head as I smiled.
This man—I couldn’t get enough of him. He acted like the town benefactor, then pretended like it was a persona he put on to manipulate his fellow townspeople.
But then when he did something truly good, like taking in a stray cat, he hid it.
If he were actually intent on manipulating people and putting on a mask, he’d be telling everyone and their dog—or cat—that he’d adopted an injured stray. But he kept it to himself.
My feelings for him swelled so much I had to duck my head and turn away. The orange came padding daintily toward us, tail sliding along the corner of the couch as he passed it. Then he sat down and complained again.
“Your food bowl dispenses kibble on a schedule, cat,” Rhett grumbled. “I know you’re not hungry.”
“How’s his paw?”
“Damn cat was faking it,” Rhett said, crossing the space toward the kitchen. The cat followed, and I wasn’t far behind.
“What?”
“Nothing wrong with him at all. Drink? I’ve got wine, beer, water, and a few cans of orange soda.”
“Water’s fine. Thank you.” It was still early, and I’d have to pick the boys up from school in a couple of hours.
He nodded, ignoring the cat slinking between his feet even as he was careful not to step on any paws or swishing tails.
Rhett filled a glass of water, then opened the pantry and grabbed a bag of cat treats.
The cat sat back on his haunches and followed the movement of the treat bag with great interest.
My attention, however, was caught by something else. I ignored the glass of water on the countertop and crossed the space to get a closer look at the pantry, and my heart did sixteen cartwheels in a row.
“Rhett,” I said, and I pointed.
He stood up as the cat happily munched his treat and followed the direction of my finger. “What’s up?”
“You have a whole shelf of hot mango chutney here!”
Confusion and something else flitted across his face.
Embarrassment? “I know I poached the last one at the market that time—take a couple jars home with you. I was… I don’t know.
Sometimes you drive me insane, Darling. I can’t think straight when you’re around.
” He ducked down and scratched the cat behind the ears, and I suspected it was so he could avoid my gaze.
I stood there, gripping the pantry doorframe, feeling the world shift under my feet. “You really do buy a jar every week,” I said with wonder, staring at the masses of jars lined up on the shelf. “Do you even like it?”
“It’s delicious,” Rhett said, “but a man can only eat so much hot mango chutney. I just…” He blew out a breath.
“Florence was taking care of her mother, who was starting to show signs of dementia. They couldn’t afford to put her in a care home, and Florence was trying to make ends meet.
She started that stall at the market, and she’d put the last bit of her savings into all the jars and labels and the stall rental fee.
I started buying a jar whenever I went to the market because I could see how much it meant to her.
And then her face would brighten every time I walked by, so I felt like I had to keep buying them, and somehow it snowballed into every single week.
Now she saves one for me, and I don’t have the heart to let her down.
It’s only a couple bucks, and I know it makes her day. ”
He still wouldn’t meet my gaze, and a flush had grown over his cheekbones.
I stood there, both feet on his kitchen floor, and I tumbled and fell right into love with him.
It wasn’t a mask. He wasn’t pretending to be the town benefactor. He really did care. Maybe Rhett didn’t realize it himself—he thought he was just hiding from his past. But no one adopted a cat and filled their pantry with chutney just to fake their way into a good reputation.