Chapter 15
You sure you’re not the one?
Zoey
Iwas still trying to figure out how I was going to get all the mud out of my hair when Gage brought us to a stop alongside a two-story red board and batten barn with windows. There was another smaller building with garage doors next to it.
“Uh. Where are we?” I asked, frowning in confusion.
“My house.”
Nana hopped out of the back of the vehicle and trotted up to the tiny side porch, where she sat next to the door, tail still wagging.
“You live in a barn? I know we’re not keeping a list of all the reasons we’re pathologically incompatible, but if we were, this would go at the top.”
“It’s a converted barn,” he said dryly.
We climbed out and approached the structure, squishing and sloshing as we went. “How many animals live with you?”
“Just the swamp monster on the porch.” He gestured for me to go up the two steps ahead of him.
“I can’t go in there like this.” I gestured helplessly at myself. “I wouldn’t go inside an actual barn like this.”
“Relax. You don’t grow up on a farm without learning how to contain the mess.” He nudged me up onto the porch and opened the door. Nana bolted inside, and I followed her.
“Is this your laundry room?” I demanded, spying the washer and dryer across from the door. The back wall was made up of natural wood cabinets and a strange-looking sink under a huge window with a striking view of the backyard. There was a long, skinny island in the middle of the room.
“It’s more of a mudroom–laundry room.”
Nana gave another happy shake, sending an arc of muddy water everywhere.
“Literally,” I said under my breath.
Gage pulled a towel out from a cabinet and handed it to me. “Leave your clothes here. You can wrap up in this and go shower. Bedroom’s through there,” he said, pointing at the doorway with the doggy gate across it.
“Uhhhhh.” I looked at the towel like I’d never seen one before.
“Don’t tell me you’re going shy on me,” he teased.
“Pfft. Me? Shy?”
“I can just hose you off outside if you’re more comfortable,” he offered with a wicked grin.
“Shower’s good,” I said, grabbing the towel from him. “So I guess I’ll just strip then?”
He smirked and pointed to the door behind me. “You can change in the bathroom.”
“You’re such a jerk,” I said, opening the door to find a small utilitarian powder room.
“That’s payback for laughing at me while I almost drowned,” he called as he turned on the sink.
I slammed the door on the annoying man and his dastardly dog.
When I came back out wrapped in the towel, Gage had lifted Nana into the weird sink and was spraying her down with the faucet.
“Oh! It’s a dog shower,” I observed.
He glanced over his shoulder at me and gave me a slow once-over. “Comes in annoyingly handy.”
Nana was sitting pretty in the hammered copper sink, tail thumping as Gage carefully washed the mud from her fur.
“You aren’t really mad at her, are you? She was just having fun.”
Gage pressed Nana’s soppy wet jowls together. “It would be nice if she’d have a little less fun so my days wouldn’t be consumed with cleaning up after her. But it’s hard to be mad at this stupid face.”
Nana licked his face in response, then made a horking sound like she didn’t like the flavor of mud she’d pelted him with.
“I’ll just leave you to wash your swamp monster while I go snoop through all your possessions and find your shower,” I said, leaving my wet clothes on the tile.
“Don’t let the pigs out of the living room,” he called as I slung a leg over the doggy gate.
“The what?”
His gaze flicked to me again, and he grinned. “I’m joking, Zoey.”
“I didn’t know you could do that,” I quipped.
I tiptoed over the blond hardwood, trying not to rain mud everywhere. The mudroom opened into a handsome kitchen with dark green cabinets. There was another island with a stack of neatly printed recipes next to a pile of dry ingredients.
Ugh. Of course Gage Bishop was a meal prepper.
The kitchen flowed into a dining room at the front of the house, which in turn opened into a spacious living room anchored by a stacked stone fireplace on the back wall.
Thick wood beams ran the length of the high ceiling.
Stairs with a rustic wrought iron railing led up to the second floor, and at their foot was an open door.
A large sectional faced a billboard of a television.
The walls were a warm honey color. Everything was tidy.
Too tidy. It looked like a model home. He needed some colorful throw pillows, a basket of blankets, some books and photos and art.
Maybe a showstopper chandelier in addition to the functional yet boring can lights recessed into the ceiling.
“Aha. The bedroom.”
I double-checked my feet for mud splatters before stepping onto the creamy, plush carpet.
All matching furniture, I noted, from the four-poster bed to the nightstands and the dresser.
I would have gone with heavy velvet curtains in a jewel tone over the off-white shades he’d picked.
And added a bench at the foot of the bed and a lounge chair in the corner.
But not everyone could have my good taste.
I stepped into the bathroom and nearly swooned when I realized the floor was heated.
There were two full-size vanities with large mirrors, a freestanding tub big enough for an orgy, a linen closet, and a room that looked like it was supposed to be a walk-in closet but was mostly unfinished drywall and a sad single closet rod.
Best of all, there was a tiled shower with body jets.
It was big enough for eighteen muddy Nanas.
“Oh, thank you thank you thank you,” I said, turning the water on and cranking up the temperature.
I ditched the towel and dove under the spray. It took me three rounds of shampoo and half the contents of Gage’s body wash bottle before the water finally ran clear.
When I got out of the shower and wrapped myself in a fresh towel, I found a neatly folded stack of clothing sitting just outside the doorway.
The T-shirt was crisp and white and about four sizes too big.
But it was better than putting my muddy farm clothes back on.
The waistband of the sweatpants came up to my boobs, and the whole outfit smelled like manly dryer sheets.
I padded out of the bedroom and followed the sound of Gage’s voice.
“You really need to put more effort into behaving,” he was saying sternly.
I turned the corner of the dining room and spotted him at the kitchen counter, beer in hand, deep in conversation with a now clean Nana, who was too busy snarfing up dog food to pay attention to him. He’d showered too and was wearing a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt and delicious gray sweatpants.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious with my wet curls, makeup-free face, and bralessness. It would be less weird if this were a postsex kitchen meetup, but this “physically platonic with a side of active attraction” situation was awkward.
“Hey,” he said, green eyes flicking over me in his clothes. “Your clothes are in the washer.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to admire the impressive outline of sweatpants dick. Nana finished her meal and trotted up to me like she hadn’t seen me in months. I leaned down and ruffled her still damp fur. She burped enthusiastically. “And thanks for lending me some wardrobe.”
“No problem. Wine?” Gage offered. He held up a bottle. “Figured you deserve a drink after your unscheduled mud bath.”
“God, yes please.”
His phone vibrated on the counter as he poured a glass. He rolled his eyes. “Mom is concerned that I abducted you.”
“Oh God. If I show up at their house freshly showered and wearing your clothes, it’s going to look like we just had sex. And in this town, the rumors will be everywhere by dinnertime.”
“Or,” he said, handing me the glass, “it’s going to look like my dog is a lovable asshole that ruined your clothes. You forget, we live on a farm. My parents are used to us coming home covered in mud or worse.”
I took a fortifying gulp of wine. “First of all, I forbid you from telling me what the ‘or worse’ entails. Also, I don’t want them to think that we were fooling around while I’m supposed to be here helping them. It looks like I wasn’t taking them seriously.”
Gage leaned against the counter, putting his back to the window above the sink. “Mom and Dad won’t think we were doing anything other than touring the farm. Cam, on the other hand…” He let the sentence trail off.
I groaned. “Oh God. Hazel is going to have a field day with this. Great for Agent Zoey. But for Personal Life Zoey, it’s gonna be a whole pain in the ass.”
“Boo-hoo, baby. So someone thinks you’re hooking up with the hot attorney. I’m the one who’s supposed to be finding ‘the one’ here. How am I going to do that if the entire town thinks I’m fooling around with Little Miss Disco Sparkle?”
My smile was smug over the rim of my wineglass. “I can’t believe you just referred to yourself as ‘the hot attorney.’ I’m so embarrassed for you.”
“Remind me, why did I let you in my house?” he asked in exasperation.
“Between this and the whole ‘you giving me an apartment thing,’ I’m starting to think you’re in love with me.”
“I didn’t give you an apartment. I rented you an apartment,” he argued.
“And you’re clearly in love with me. Now let’s figure out how to get me back to my car without raising any suspicion before you propose marriage.”
“Let’s go over it one more time,” Gage said.
We were hunkered over his hand-drawn diagram at the kitchen island, a bowl of salsa and a bag of whole grain tortilla chips in front of us.
I stuffed a salsa-laden chip into my face. “Okay. You’re going to drive me in your truck back to your parents’ house and park here to block the view of my car.” I parked a chip on the diagram. “Hey, why do you have so many dimes?” I asked, noting a small bowl of them on the kitchen counter.