10. Hadley
My sides ache. And it has nothing to do with the work Quade’s grandmother—call me Gram—has had me doing for the last few hours. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard in years.
Aunt Millie and Aunt Maude have kept me entertained with tales of their exploits for the whole time we’ve been in this room.
Somehow they managed to rope me into helping them and I’ve been sorting out supplies and bagging them with little help and lots of direction from the two injured women. Not that I needed any assistance in working out how to get the supply bundles ready to be delivered to the elderly and less mobile members of Love Beach over the next couple of days.
“Once all these are filled, we’ll get young Quade to bring the truck and trailer out of the garage and load them up,” Aunt Maude says with a wave of her hand over the rows of stocked bags. I’m not sure what amuses me more, her referring to Quade as young or her confidence he’ll do as she says.
“Yes, if we load up tonight, the two of you can get an early start tomorrow.” Aunt Millie looks at her phone. “It’s too late to start delivering today but having it ready to go in the morning will mean we can get most of this out to those who need it before sundown tomorrow, the last of them the day after if necessary.”
“Hopefully the tropical depression won’t develop into a hurricane and best case, it will change course and not come near us at all.”
“Wishful thinking, Maude. My bones are telling me this is heading our way. And you know this old skeleton don’t lie.”
I hide my smile by ducking my head as I take another bag and walk along the table covered with boxes, packets, and cans of non-perishables, grabbing one of everything as I go.
“Oh, I feel you. Mine are aching worse than a hangover after a night of tequila shots but there’s nothing wrong with hoping. Didn’t we all hope Quade would find himself a woman worthy of him? And look, here she is.”
I look up to find Maude pointing her finger at me. “Oh, I’m, um…” I can’t argue. I’m supposed to be exactly what she’s saying.
Aunt Millie’s laughter rings out through the room. “You’ve flustered her, Maude. I like it. Men love it when their women blush. Makes them feel manly or something. Who knows why things trip their switches, but I’ve always found they get more amorous when they see that rosy color in my cheeks.”
I’m choking on a breath, a laugh, embarrassment, I can’t tell because these two women have had me running through numerous emotions since we arrived in this room.
“What are you two up to?” Quade strolls through the door behind me like he owns the place. And he probably does.
I’ve learned he’s the number one Sanderson heir and will inherit this estate upon his grandmother’s death. Something about it skipping a generation for generations because of young blood. I’m still confused by that but I wasn’t about to ask his aunts to explain it further because I didn’t want to listen to them go on about how he needs a wife and children to fulfill his obligation to the family name.
I was more interested in their adventures anyway. And they were all too eager to share their exploits.
“We’ve been putting all this together.” Aunt Millie sweeps her hand wide to indicate the bags lining the floor like carpet.
“You mean you’ve been telling stories while Hadley put them together?” Quade asks with a raised brow.
“Well, sure, but it’s not like we can help,” Aunt Maude grumps with a cross of her arms.
Holding up a hand, Quade moves toward the two women. “You both have to be frustrated with your physical restrictions. Maybe now you’ll stop acting like a pair of twenty-year-olds?”
Both women cackle like mischievous children.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Turning to me he offers me a hand and says, “I’m here to rescue you. Dinner is ready.”
My gaze cuts to my workmates. “But?—”
“Don’t worry, Gram is sending down help for these two to get them upstairs.”
“I didn’t realize it had gotten that late?” I haven’t looked at my phone since we came down here and there are no windows in this below ground level room to see outside.
“Not that late, but Gram has a feast set up on the back patio for everyone.”
“Can I finish the last couple of bags and wash up first?”
“Of course. I’ll help you.” He picks up another bag and follows along behind me as he asks, “After we’re finished, do you want to go back to the cottage to get changed or just wash your hands?”
I glance down at my jeans and shirt. “I’m probably clean enough to sit outside. I wouldn’t risk eating inside though; I don’t want to mess up your grandmother’s house.”
“You wouldn’t be the first if you did. But we’re eating on the patio so you’ll be fine, dusty jeans or not.” He holds out his hand for me to pass him the last bag. “Come on, let’s get this done. We can take turns in the bathroom then get some of the good food before the vultures pick over it. We haven’t eaten since that burger we grabbed before leaving Charleston and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
As if on cue my stomach rumbles. Loudly. Pressing a hand to it I feel my face flush with embarrassment. “Ah?—”
“That’s it! Get him riled up when he can’t do anything about it!” Aunt Millie crows. “Best if you leave them wanting, in my experience.”
A deep red fills Quade’s cheeks. “Dear God. Are you giving Hadley seduction tips?” With a shake of his head, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward him. “Let’s get out of here before either of them start talking about the best positions for penetration orgasms.”
I’m sputtering and laughing as he urges me along the table of supplies.
“Don’t laugh. It’s happened before.”
I glance up to gauge his seriousness. “You’re joking?”
“Nope. Wish I was.” He picks up a box of mac ’n’ cheese and drops it in his bag. “I think it was the summer before Littlest finished high school. They wanted all of the girl cousins to be in charge of their own pleasure and us boy cousins to know what to do to please a woman the right way. Their words.”
“Oh my, they’re a riot,” I manage to say through my laughter.
“They sure are something,” he says with a chuckle.
Once we reach the end of the table, he takes my bag and his to put them with the rest and I can’t help but admire the muscles in his arms as they flex with his movements. The smile he offers me when he heads back to my side has my stomach swooping and I duck my head because I can feel my cheeks heating with the zap of arousal that grin gives me.
We’re quiet as Quade leads me by the hand out of the room and back through the house. The comfort in his grip, the rightness of my hand in his, has me wondering how I’ll make it through the next few months without falling for the man I’m pretending to be falling for.
It’s a complicated situation and my suggestion to stop pretending and actually date may be my downfall because with the little time I’ve spent with Quade I already know he’s a man I could easily love. And in spite of the fake dating thing, he’s one of the most genuine men I’ve met in recent years.
Quade tugs me toward a flight of stairs, pulling me from my thoughts. “This way.”
I don’t recognize where we are. “We didn’t come down this way when…”
“No, these are the back stairs.”
Back stairs?
I’m going to need a map for this place. I needed to use the bathroom earlier and if it wasn’t for the one situated at the far end of the room I’d been in, I would have crossed my legs and held on because there was no way I’d find my way to one, never mind back again in this huge mansion.
“Okay.” I make a mental note of that only for Quade to erase any hope I have of navigating this building without him with his next words.
“There are six sets leading up or down from the ground level.”
“Six sets? Of stairs?”
“Yes.”
Shit!I’m never finding my way around without his help.
“Don’t worry. You won’t need to know where they are or where they go without me.”
“Oh?”
“I know how confusing it can be. I think I was a teenager before I stopped getting lost at least once every time we stayed here.”
His words make me feel better, but I’d prefer to know how to get around without help. Or yelling my head off for someone to find me if I get lost.
Quade looks over his shoulder at me, a smile curling one side of his mouth. “I won’t leave you.”
In spite of his mischievous smirk, the seriousness of his tone makes the words sound like a promise—a vow—and the thrill that surges through me has my legs shaking, my stomach dipping.
I know he means them in a superficial sense; he’s not saying he’ll never leave me, just that he won’t leave me here, for the next three months.
It’s something I need to remind myself of. This thing between us, while kind of real, isn’t. We’ve agreed to the summer. Nothing more.
So why does the thought of leaving here at the end of August make me feel gutted almost as deeply as the loss of my mother and siblings did?