A New Day
Greer
Yesterday was another one of those days that I’d prefer to forget, yet somehow changed the course of my life.
It also left me questioning everything in my fridge. The meal plan from the nutritionist has to go, but what do I do to replace it? I’ve never made a meal plan, let alone shopped for myself.
Where do I even start? Creed is going to love the crepes I’m making stuffed with roasted vegetables and herb cheese.
Creed’s father probably shops all the time. He’d know where to start. Would he actually help me or was him being pleasant a one-night kind of thing? Creed loves good food. Maybe his father does too.
The worst he can do is yell at me again and toss me out of his house.
With a plateful of warm crepes in hand, I knock on his door and hope for the best.
Creed opens it, smiling. “Hey, Greer. What’s up?”
This was a bad idea.
“What are those?”
I glance down at the plate like it changed in the last five minutes. “Crepes. Um, is your father busy? I wanted to talk to him for a minute.”
“Sure, come on in.” Creed opens the door wide and takes the plate. “These smell amazing.”
The layout of his house is similar to mine, but the vibe is very different. Hardwood floors, leather couches, and metal accents scream bachelor.
“Dad, guess what. The hot neighbor came over for breakfast.”
What did Creed just call me?
“Don’t even joke like that. How many eggs do you want?” His dad’s deep voice rumbles through the living room.
“Six, I need to save room for the crepes she made us.”
“Us?”
I guess I can’t hide anymore. I poke my head into the kitchen. “Good morning.”
“Creed.”
“Dad, I told you she was here for breakfast.”
The two men fight with their eyes while I gape at Creed’s father.
Mother would definitely tell me I’m not being ladylike, but I don’t really care at the moment.
We’ll call this lapse pregnancy hormones.
Because staring at a man’s chest isn’t a thing I do…
ever. Why does this man hide his abs under clothing?
I mean, if I looked that good, I’d consider walking around naked…
No, I wouldn’t, but still, he should think about going shirtless more often. It makes sense now why Darrel always wore a shirt to bed. His pasty-white and slightly flabby, hairless chest probably knew a man like this existed and felt inadequate just knowing.
That was unkind. He cheated on you. You can think unkind thoughts. When you thought you loved him you liked his pasty body.
I don’t need to love this guy to drool over his body. I don’t even need to like him.
We won’t even think about trailing our fingers along those tattoos.
Pregnancy hormones must be a thing.
He literally hates you.
But he seemed nice yesterday.
What does that matter? You swore off men to live a life of solitude, raising your son.
This visit was to ask about shopping, not stare at a man’s body. Doesn’t he worry about grease splatters?
Does roped steel feel anything? The cold certainly isn’t bothering him. “Technically, I am not here to eat breakfast.”
Creed looks down at the large platter, then back at me.
“Those were meant to smooth the way to asking your father a question.”
“I can’t be bribed.” He glares at me.
“I can be.” Creed pulls the plate closer, grabbing a fork. “What do you need?” He nods to the stool next to him.
Why I sit down, I don’t know. “It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s something, or you wouldn’t have cooked,” the sexy man growls.
Mostly, I foolishly thought it would keep you from being this grumpy, but I should have learned that if Cordelia’s cake recipe didn’t work, nothing would. “I was going to do that, anyway.”
The sexy man raises an eyebrow at me.
“I just wasn’t going to bring it over for you, too.”
He nods.
Ruthless honesty seems to be his thing. Good to know. “I was just going to ask where you purchase your food from?”
The spatula in his hand clatters into the pan as he turns to gawk at me. “You were serious about that nutritionist thing.”
“Of course. Why would I joke about a nutritionist?”
“You’re crazy.”
Fair. I shrug.
“Dad.”
“It’s true. What woman her age hasn’t been to the supermarket?”
“You haven’t been to the supermarket ever?” Creed gapes at me. “Where do you buy your potato chips and candy?”
How do I tell him that the only time I ate junk food was with friends and they bought it…almost like they were my dealers?
“Do you think a woman who looks like that eats chips or candy?” Creed’s father asks.
“I’ve eaten chips and candy.” They were an integral part of our club meetings in the beginning, before Cordelia began to bake.
“Oh, really? What is your favorite kind?”
“Well, I like this European chocolate—”
Creed laughs.
That did sound a little snooty. “—and the orange chips.”
“Orange chips?” Creed chokes out between laughs. “Orange chips.”
“You know what I mean. The ones that pretend to taste like cheese but really don’t taste like cheese, but they’re really good.”
“Was that because you went to private school? Dad, did you know that Greer went to an all-girls school? We need one of those in Silent Valley. Then maybe I could find a girlfriend.”
“Or you could just visit Willow Street.”
Both men turn towards me. One with anger and one with interest.
Did I really blurt that out? It’s just that Mindy is always talking about all the teenagers who live on Willow Street. After what they’ve been through, the girls there could use a good guy like Creed. “Never mind.”
“You can’t just drop that bomb and then step away. Tell me about this mecca of women.”
“Creed, respect.” His dad flips over the eggs. “How do you like yours, Greer?”
“Seriously, I didn’t come over for anything except directions to the local market. Nothing came up when I searched.”
“That’s cause Mr. Timmons hates the internet. He basically hates all technology. He won’t even use a calculator. Waiting for him to figure out your total can take half an hour.” Creed grins and slides two crepes onto his plate.
“Why do you go there?” People want to check out faster, not slower.
“Because it’s Mr. Timmons. He’s owned the grocery store since before I was born. You’ll understand when you meet him. I can take you shopping after school if you like.”
What? No. That’s pretty pathetic. A teenage boy thinks I need someone to take me to the supermarket. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I just need an address.”
“I’ll take Greer.” Creed’s dad takes the frying pan off the burner and puts the eggs on Creed’s plate.
Um, what? No. “That’s okay—”
“We can go right after breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”
“Seriously, I wasn’t—”
Creed shakes his head.
“How can you expect me to go shopping with a man who I haven’t even been introduced to?”
Creed spits his bite onto his plate. “She’s got you there, Dad. Greer, this is my father. He only likes to be called Havoc. Dad, this is our hot neighbor, Greer Hestons.”
“Does that work for you?” Havoc raises an eyebrow at me.
No. Not at all. But he hasn’t yelled at me. And there’s no way I’m finding the supermarket on my own. I nod.
“How do you like your eggs?” he repeats.
“Over hard.”
He nods and turns back to the stove.