Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The morning after the tornado, Jeff felt like a poor slob on a medieval torture rack. Torn in different directions. And helpless.
Right now, he was at the mercy of half a dozen people. Getting professional help after a natural disaster was a humbling lesson in waiting. Waiting for roofing guys. Waiting for the inspector. Waiting for insurance approval.
Truth be told, he didn’t mind dealing with decisions and forms and questions. It kept his mind off Marisa. And whether she was prepared to give him another chance.
He hadn’t slept at her house last night. He couldn’t. Instead, he had crashed on a friend’s couch. The sofa was lumpy and too short, but it kept him away from temptation.
Tonight, though, Marisa was expecting him.
It was 6:00 p.m. when he made it to her place and parked at the curb. She had asked him to pick up pizza. The box resided in his back seat now, the smell making his mouth water. He’d known how to get here, of course. From the one time he had taken her home after their Valentine’s Day date.
Back then, he had been in a hurry to go. Tonight, he studied her small house carefully. It was on a side street where the homes were modest and the lots small. Definitely a fixer-upper. He might have expected a woman in her midtwenties to choose an apartment, but maybe Marisa was renting this house.
His stomach flipped and flopped as he walked up the small path. Begonias and peonies bloomed in unrestrained profusion on either side of the front door. When he rang the bell, Marisa answered almost immediately.
Her face was flushed, her forehead damp. “Hey,” she said. Her smile hit him deep in the gut.
“Hey, yourself.” He kissed her casually, pretending not to notice when she became flustered.
She motioned him toward the kitchen. “I know it seems silly that I’m a caterer and I asked you to pick up pizza. But it was a busy day. I did make us homemade dessert, though.”
He took a strand of her sunshiny hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “I don’t expect you to cook for me,” he said. “You’re giving me a room. That’s plenty.”
Tonight, she was wearing shorts—neat khaki shorts that showed off her amazing legs. A pale pink T-shirt clung to her breasts in distracting fashion.
Marisa was uneasy. He could tell. She buzzed about her kitchen setting out napkins and silverware and small china plates.
“We can eat off paper,” he protested.
She shook her head. “Food tastes better when the presentation is good.”
“If you say so.”
When they were seated at the table, she cocked her head and smiled. “You look frazzled. How did things go today?”
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Not as quickly as I had hoped. But reasonably well. The insurance is going to cover everything. If I’m lucky, they’ll be able to do the roof soon. No rain in the forecast for the next week.”
Marisa beamed. “That’s wonderful.”
Because he couldn’t handle having her smile at him amid their platonic arrangement, he surveyed her kitchen. Now he understood why she had picked this house. The kitchen was spacious. Marisa had clearly done renovations in this room, even if the rest of the place still had a 1970s vibe.
Two high-end stoves were stacked in a wall unit. The dishwasher was a fancy model with plenty of cubic capacity. And her countertops offered ample room for food prep on a large scale.
He finished his first slice of pepperoni and started on a second. “I’m impressed with your setup,” he said.
“Thanks. I’ve changed my focus these past few months. I’m doing more small events and individual family dinner parties. I think that’s my sweet spot. By this time next year, I will have paid my parents back the money they gave me while I was in Atlanta.”
“Was that part of the deal?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “There were no strings attached to the cash. But I want to be free to make my own choices without feeling obligated. Mom and Dad are wonderful. But they thought I was going to do large-scale catering. That’s how I started.”
“So why the change?”
She shrugged. “I was already getting burned out. Cooking three hundred pieces of chicken all at once...or six pans of mashed potatoes. It’s not easy without an industrial kitchen.”
“Is that something you want? The bigger space?”
Her grin was wry. “Not really. And I’m as surprised as you are by that. But I suppose self-discovery is a bumpy road.”
He poked at a burnt piece of cheese. “Am I one of those bumps in the road?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Marisa’s expression was solemn. “More like a ditch,” she said. “A serious fender bender.”
“You are hell on my ego, woman.”
She patted his hand, her fingers lingering to trace his knuckles. “Your ego is just fine. I have it on good authority that you’re one of this town’s most eligible bachelors. Especially since Luscious Lucas is off the market.”
“You know about that nickname?”
“Every unmarried woman in Blossom Branch knows that nickname. Too bad you don’t have one.”
“I’m just Jeff,” he said. “What you see is what you get.”
“Maybe.”
While he finished his third slice, Marisa cut generous servings of something he didn’t recognize. But it smelled amazing. She set a small plate in front of him. “I remember you said you were allergic to chocolate, but that you loved anything with lemon. So I dug out this recipe of my grandmother’s. Lemon bars. Not a fancy name.”
He took a bite and groaned. “These are incredible.” The delicate crust was homemade, flaky perfection. The filling was addictive—much like the woman who baked it. He was touched that she remembered a throwaway comment from a year and a half ago.
She refilled his glass of cola and put the leftover pizza in aluminum foil. “Please make yourself at home,” she said. The words were stiff. “Your room is down the hall, second door on the right. You have your own bathroom, though I warn you, it’s very small.”
“I’ll manage,” he said. “Sit down, Marisa. Let’s talk.”
“I can’t. Prep work for tomorrow. You know.” Her gaze landed everywhere but on him.
“Anything I can help with? I’m good with a potato peeler.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Alarm flared in her eyes. “Oh, no. Feel free to watch TV or check your email. I have everything under control.”
“I’m glad somebody does,” he muttered. He got to his feet reluctantly. She could barely wait for him to leave the room. Her unease was palpable. Perhaps it was best to give her what she wanted.
For the next half hour, he brought his suitcase inside, unpacked and explored her small house. His assigned room was spotlessly clean and tidy. Even the bedspread was pulled taut, nary a wrinkle in sight.
All the while, he could hear Marisa in the kitchen. Pots and pans banged. He noticed when the dishwasher clicked on. And then she was singing. Singing.
Here he was, fixated on what happened next between them, and Marisa was singing as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Glumly, he found himself on the sofa flipping channels on the television. Her cable package was limited. Finally, he landed on a ball game he wanted to watch.
One hour passed. Then two.
Slowly, it began to dawn on him that Marisa wasn’t going to come out of the kitchen until he had gone to bed.
At nine, he sighed and shut off the TV. She had asked for a week. He’d been arrogant enough to believe he could change her mind. But he was clearly wrong. It looked like he’d better concentrate on repairing his home instead of fixating on a woman who might or might not want the same things he did.
The day after her pizza dinner with Jeff, Marisa searched for a sign from the universe. Shouldn’t there be one? When a woman was on the verge of a major life decision?
Having Jeff in her house overnight was a bigger strain, a bigger test than she had imagined. Once, when she got up to use the bathroom, she found herself standing in front of his door, listening. She thought she could hear a gentle snore, but she wasn’t sure.
The poor man had to be exhausted. Stress was draining. She had a hunch that he’d already started getting rid of his ruined belongings. Physical labor combined with the mental aftermath of a disaster would tax even the strongest of men.
Fortunately, her plate was full today. One of the clerks at the courthouse was going on maternity leave. Marisa was catering the baby shower.
It was a fun, completely feminine activity. Marisa found herself envious of the honoree, who was clearly fertile and happy. What was it like to be so sure of the future?
As the event wound down, the father-to-be showed up to carry gifts to the car. When he kissed his wife and they smiled at each other, Marisa felt as if she had witnessed something incredibly private and personal.
Would there ever be a man who looked at her like that? Jeff Grainger was in lust with her, but that would burn itself out eventually. Wouldn’t it?
She had never once let herself consider the possibility that she might have fallen in love with him. How could a woman love a man on such short acquaintance?
Besides, after that first night they were together, he had eased her out of his life quickly and finally. The message was clear. He didn’t want the responsibility of her innocence, and he didn’t want her.
Yet here he was. Back in her life. And he seemed happy about it.
The week progressed slowly.
Oddly, after the first night they shared pizza, he started coming home very late. She had given him his own key. The second night, she heard the front door open and shut at midnight. The third night, eleven thirty.
It had now been four nights since the tornado. Which meant she had three more days to make up her mind.
What did she want from Jeff? A hookup? Something longer? Friends with benefits?
Or did she want a full-blown adult relationship with the possibility of marriage and babies and a future?
The trouble was— her wants were only a piece of the puzzle. She had to know what Jeff was thinking. What he wanted. Beyond sex. She knew where he stood on that point.
If she were a different woman, she might have met him at the front door wearing nothing but a smile to see where things ended up. But she didn’t have that kind of sexual confidence. Not yet. Getting there, but not yet.
The fifth night came and went. Jeff never showed up. When she peeked into his room the next morning, the bed hadn’t been slept in. No Jeff.
Was he avoiding her? Had he changed his mind?
Her heart shriveled in her chest. She had been so sure the flame was still alive, even after all this time. In Jeff’s storm shelter, it had seemed that way. They’d been hungry for each other.
Or was the heat they generated simply heightened emotions from their precarious situation? Everyone knew that adrenaline produced from facing danger could make people do strange things.
On night six, she gave up hiding in her room. If her houseguest wasn’t coming back until late, she might as well enjoy her favorite Netflix shows and pretend Jeff Grainger was no more to her than a passing acquaintance.
After taking a shower and feeling sorry for herself, she grabbed a bag of potato chips and curled up on the sofa wearing a ratty chenille robe that was blue with pink flowers. The familiar clothing was comforting in the same way it was when she had the flu or a cold or cramps. The robe was an old friend.
At nine thirty, she decided she’d had enough. Her heart ached. Clearly, Jeff wasn’t hung up on her. He was busy with his life.
In a painful burst of self-honesty, she admitted to herself she had offered him a room because she was hoping they might end up in bed together.
Picking at a loose thread on her robe, she sighed. Maybe she should try to be honest with herself about what she wanted.
She had just stood up to go to her room when the door swung open. Jeff sauntered in on a burst of damp wind and raindrops. His hair was wet. His eyes smiled, but his face revealed exhaustion.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she said, feeling the lump in her throat and the knot of uncertainty in her chest. “Are you okay?”
He closed the door and shrugged out of his rain jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Yeah. I’m fine. They’ve been predicting this rain for seventy-two hours. Me and a couple of my guys finally got the front of my place covered and secured.”
“New windows?”
“No, that will take some time. Those glass panes are huge specialty items. I have to get them delivered from Atlanta. We used heavy tarps and industrial grade tape to hold them in place.”
“And the roof?”
“It’s a work in progress. The company I’ve hired got everything covered in those blue plastic sheets you see after hurricanes. Hopefully, that will hold until the rain stops.”
He sat down in an armchair and raked his hands through his hair. “Sorry I’ve been MIA. It’s been a blur.”
Marisa stood behind the sofa, gripping the back so tightly her knuckles turned white. She also deeply regretted her choice of wardrobe. “I was just heading to bed,” she said, the words chirpy and overbright. “Help yourself to any of the leftovers in the fridge.”
“Don’t go,” he said quietly. “Stay and talk to me. Please.”
She bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste the tang of blood. It would be a mistake to misread the situation. Jeff was tired and probably dispirited. The job he faced was a huge one.
“Okay. But let me get dressed first.”
His sexy smile was a fraction of its usual wattage, but sweet and potent, nevertheless. “Not on my account. You look cute, Marisa.” He crooked a finger. “Keep me company.”
She chose the end of the sofa farthest from his chair. When she sat down, she was careful to tuck her ancient robe beneath her so there were no embarrassing gaps. “Okay, I’m here. What do you want to talk about?”
His smile was mysterious. “I know you asked for a week, but I’ve been giving our situation some thought.”
“Our situation ? Should I be alarmed?” Her tart question was a cover for the butterflies in her stomach.
“I don’t think so. I hope not.” He shrugged. “I think you should move in with me.”
There was a roaring in her ears, but it wasn’t a tornado this time. Move in with him? “I don’t understand. Why?”
For the first time, Jeff looked nervous. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. When he lifted his head to stare at her, his expression was part defiant determination and part unease. “We have something. I don’t know that I believe in love at first sight, but whatever happened between us that Valentine’s night hasn’t gone away. We’d be foolish to ignore something so powerful.”
Goose bumps bloomed across her skin. “You’re not saying you love me.” She made it a statement.
He grimaced. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t want to lose you for another eighteen months. If you move in with me, we could gut this house and do a remodel for a larger food prep area and a bakery. You told me you had thought about doing that.”
The bakery had been a passing comment during their first date. “That’s true,” she said. She had dreamed more than once about baking cakes and pies and cookies with her own spin on them. Or maybe specializing in wedding cakes and special orders.
She sucked in a breath. “And what if I love you?”
He went white. “Do you?”
Did she? “I don’t know. Maybe,” she said, echoing his answer. “I guess it wouldn’t be smart if I did. You haven’t even told me your favorite color and whether you’re a beach or a mountain guy.”
“Blue,” he said huskily. “Like your eyes. And both.”
Something about his intense regard dried her mouth. “So this idea of yours is all about convenience and my future business plans?”
He stood to face her with only a large sofa between them. “No,” he said evenly. “It’s about having you in my bed. Every. Single. Night. It’s all I can think about.”
Tremors made her legs wobbly and her stomach shaky. “A breakup would be harder if we were living together. Blossom Branch is a small, gossipy town.”
“Then we won’t break up.”
She wanted so badly to say yes. She wanted him . What he was suggesting was both exhilarating and terrifying.
There was just one problem.
She sucked in a breath. “I think I may have lied to you,” she said.