Chapter 8 #2
She looked as if she might be wavering, so he sweetened the pot.
“You can help me with everything. I’ll teach you.
It’ll give you time to think about the future of the Bay Breeze.
Whether you want to sell it or keep it. You don’t have a job to rush back to.
This way, you’ll be a part of the renovation.
Pick up a few new skills. You won’t be rushed to make any kind of decision. ”
He lifted her chin with a finger. “And we could get to spend time together. I’d like that. Would you?”
Her eyes widened at his bold declaration. “I would,” she said firmly, pleasing him.
“Good. It’s settled. We can start Monday. I’ll map out a plan for us. Make a list of the supplies we need. Most we can buy in the Bay, but for things such as the furniture and curtains, that’ll most likely mean a trip into Corpus.”
“I’m fine with that. I can work on a budget on my end.”
“I may hire a few day laborers for the painting outside and inside. That can be time consuming. All the rest, though, I can handle.”
“We can handle,” she corrected.
“We,” he agreed.
Keaton wanted to kiss her. Instead, he took a step back, disengaging from her. For a moment, he saw disappoint flash in her eyes.
And that gave him hope.
“Wait. I just thought about something. One thing I can’t do is assess the HVAC system. Do you know how old it is?”
“I have no idea. Dad never mentioned things like that to me.”
“We’ll need to have someone come in and look at the system then. I think we’re done here for now. Have any plans for Christmas Eve, Miss Larson?”
For a moment, she looked startled. “Oh, it is Christmas Eve. I shouldn’t have taken up so much of your time, Keaton.”
“Don’t apologize. I wanted to be here with you.
But it’s almost five o’clock, and I’m getting hungry.
Want to come back to my place and put together some dinner?
In fact, I think you should stay over. I’ve got a second bedroom,” he added quickly.
“That way, you could help me make my contributions to Christmas dinner tomorrow, and we could go straight from my place to the Perry house. What do you say, Layne?”
More than anything, Keaton wanted to be with this woman. He knew it was already hard enough for her to be alone in this rambling inn, and he wanted to smooth the way for her.
She nibbled on her full, bottom lip, making him want to jerk her to him and sink his teeth into her. Quickly, he tamped down that thought.
“Okay. Let me pack a few things. Give me ten minutes.”
“Will do.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll start making a list of supplies we need.”
Good to her word, Layne was back in under ten minutes. He took her suitcase out to his truck and placed it in the cab.
“Leave your car here,” he advised. Not that he cared if his neighbors knew she was staying over, but Layne might. He’d already learned during the months he’d spent in the Bay that the gossip mill churned twenty-four/seven in a small town.
They returned to his house, and he pulled into the garage, closing the door before they got out of the car. He retrieved her suitcase and carried it into the spare bedroom he’d never used.
“It’ll be Mexican food for dinner tonight,” he told her. “Miss Peggy’s next-door neighbor always brought us homemade tamales on Christmas Eve. That’s what I make every year. I like honoring that tradition.”
“Is that very complicated to make?” she asked, looking worried.
“It’s more time-consuming than anything,” he told her. “You have to cook the pork and make the sauce. Soak the husks and make the dough. Combine everything and then steam the tamales. Usually, it takes about three-and-a-half hours or so from start to finish.”
Layne giggled. “Then by the time you’re done, we can invite Santa Claus to sit down and have some tamales with us because it’s going to be late.”
“I’ve already done everything but the steaming yesterday. It’ll take about an hour for that. While they’re steaming, we can make some guac. Toss a salad. Heat some refried beans. That is, if you’re game for that.”
Her radiant smile warmed him down to his toes. “It sounds wonderful, Keaton. I haven’t had tamales in forever, much less had a man cook for me. In fact, I don’t ever think I went out with a guy who made a meal for me.”
He flashed a devilish grin. “Then you’ve been going out with the wrong kind of men, Miss Larson. Come follow my lead.”
Removing the prepared tamales from the fridge, Keaton put them on to steam. He halved several avocados and scooped out the fruit, teaching Layne how to mash the avocados with a fork while he diced tomatoes and minced onions and garlic.
“I don’t have a recipe for guac. It’s a bit of taste and test,” he explained, tossing in what he’d chopped and having her stir everything together.
Taking out salt, pepper, and lime juice, he added all three to the mixture, and then she stirred it thoroughly.
Keaton lifted the spoon with a bit of the guacamole and held it to her lips. She tasted it.
“Mmm. Very good. Maybe a touch more salt, though.”
He did as she requested, sprinkling a dash of salt, and allowed her to sample it again.
“Perfect,” she complimented. “And you were right. That wasn’t hard at all. Even I could do that.”
“I think you’ll see most cooking is pretty easy. It’s just getting familiar with things.”
“No, calling for takeout is easy, but I do like how fresh this guac tastes.”
He covered it with foil and placed the dip in the fridge to chill a bit, removing the makings for a salad. They prepared it together, and then he blended margaritas for them.
Layne took a small sip of hers. “Wow. If this art thing doesn’t work out for you, you definitely have a future in bartending. This is the best margarita I’ve ever tasted.”
She watched as he opened a can of refried beans and grated fresh cheese atop it.
“Microwaving this. Some cooks look at using a microwave as cheating, but it’s a real convenience to me.”
Ten minutes later, they were seated at his kitchen table, a feast before them.
Layne held up her margarita glass, now half-empty. “A toast. To my new friend, Keaton. Thank you for opening your home and heart to me.”
She tapped her glass against his, and they both drank.
Digging into the tamales, Layne sighed after chewing her first bite. “These are amazing. Forget the bartending. You could be a chef.”
“I’m pretty decent in the kitchen. I can teach you how to be, too.”
Her eyes softened. “I’d really like that, Keaton. I think you have a lot to teach me. And I have a lot I need to discover—and rediscover—about myself.”
This time, he was the one to hold his glass up. “To new discoveries,” he said, and she echoed his toast.
They finished their meal, and Layne insisted she clean up the kitchen.
“You’re my guest,” he protested
“No. I’m a friend. That’s different.”
“My house, my rules. I’ll help you,” he insisted.
They moved to the sofa after the kitchen was spotless.
He turned on a channel where an orchestra played Christmas carols, and they talked idly about things in the Bay.
He caught her up on gossip, while she gave him background on people and places which helped him put several things into perspective.
Then Layne yawned. “Sorry. You’re not boring me. I’m just tired. And the margarita made me a little sleepy.”
“Hope you don’t mind having to share a bathroom,” he said. “This rental is small. Only one bath with the two bedrooms.”
“Are you thinking about settling down in the Bay?” she asked. “I would think you would need more room if you do.”
“As a matter of fact, I bought a house yesterday. That’s why I stopped by Pelican Porch. I wanted a celebratory drink to mark the occasion of purchasing my first home.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Keaton. You’ll have to tell me all about it.” She yawned again. “Tomorrow. When I can stay awake and actually remember what you share about it.”
“You can have the bathroom first,” he said, trying to be a generous host.
He remained on the couch as Layne retreated from the room. She was only in the bathroom a few minutes, and then he took his turn before stripping off his clothes and climbing into bed.
Sleep wouldn’t come, though. A thousand thoughts swirled in his head.
Most of them concerned Layne.
Then he heard a soft tap on his door. For a moment, he held his breath, then he called out, “Come in.”
In the moonlight, he saw her silhouette enter the room.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, coming across the room, causing his heart to pound against his ribs.
“Neither could I.” He held up the covers. “Climb in.”
“Thanks. I promise I won’t make a habit of this.”
Hell, he’d take Layne Larson in his bed any night.
She turned on her side, facing away from him. Automatically, he rolled to spoon with her, his arm going around her waist, the familiar scent of lavender tickling his nose.
“Goodnight, Keaton,” she said sleepily.
“Goodnight, Layne,” he responded.
He wanted to stay awake, just to enjoy the feel of her against him. She was all soft curves to his male hardness. But the curtain of sleep quickly fell.
Keaton went to sleep with a smile on his face.