Chapter 46
Bridlepath Farm — Morning
Grant woke to the smell of bacon.
Real bacon.
Not the microwaved kind he occasionally burned when Naomi wasn’t around to judge him for it.
Then coffee hit him next.
Strong.
Fresh.
And something sweet underneath it.
Pancakes.
He frowned, still half asleep, then pushed himself upright.
The farmhouse was quiet except for the faint clatter of dishes downstairs.
For one second, he forgot Izzy was there.
Then he remembered everything at once.
The gala.
The men from Florida.
Tessa Quinn confirming they belonged to Varga’s detail.
The black SUV parked outside City Limits Café yesterday while those same men watched Caitlin and Izzy through the window.
Watched Izzy.
Grant’s teeth clenched once.
He shoved out of bed and headed downstairs.
The second he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped cold.
Izzy stood at the stove in soft morning light, flipping pancakes while bacon crackled nearby. She wore one of Caitlin’s oversized Bridlepath sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up, dark hair twisted loosely on top of her head.
The kitchen looked…alive.
Coffee steaming.
Butter melting.
Plates stacked on the table.
Home.
Grant stared longer than he meant to.
Izzy glanced over her shoulder. “Morning.”
He blinked. “What is all this?”
“Well,” she said lightly, “I figured if you and Burke are going out to hunt down Hollis properties all day, the least I could do was make sure you had an actual meal first.”
Grant looked at the table again.
Pancakes.
Eggs.
Biscuits.
Bacon.
Fruit.
Jesus Christ.
“You cooked all this?”
“Yes, Grant. Pancakes don’t magically appear in mountain farmhouses.”
He huffed a laugh under his breath and moved farther into the kitchen.
The smell alone nearly killed him.
“You trying to make me fall in love with you or something?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Izzy looked at him.
Grant immediately reached for the coffee pot like it had personally betrayed him.
“What I meant was—”
“I know what you meant,” she said, trying not to smile.
He muttered something under his breath and dragged a hand across the back of his neck.
“Sit down,” Izzy told him.
“I can fix my own plate.”
“I’m aware. Sit anyway.”
Grant obeyed mostly because she smelled like vanilla and coffee and looked entirely too comfortable standing in his kitchen.
He dropped into the chair while she carried over a loaded plate.
“Good Lord,” he said.
“You haven’t even tasted it yet.”
“I’m already emotional.”
Izzy laughed softly and set the plate in front of him.
Grant watched her move around the kitchen while he took the first bite.
Then another.
Then another.
His eyes closed briefly.
“Oh, damn.”
“Told you.”
“No, seriously.” He pointed his fork at her. “If Naomi finds out you cook like this, she’s gonna try to adopt you into the farm permanently.”
That earned him another smile.
And there it was again.
That dangerous feeling low in his gut.
The ease between them.
The warmth.
The way she already looked like she belonged here.
Grant leaned back slightly, watching her pour more coffee.
He cleared his throat roughly.
“You remember what we talked about last night?”
Izzy’s expression softened immediately because she knew exactly what he meant.
The Florida men.
The watching.
The feeling of being tracked.
“I do.”
Grant set his fork down.
“I’m serious, Izzy. Tessa confirmed those guys belong to Varga. That means this isn’t random anymore.” His voice lowered. “Those men were watching you at the gala. They were watching you and Caitlin at City Limits yesterday. I don’t like it.”
The nervousness flickered across her face before she hid it.
But he caught it.
Good.
Maybe she finally understood how serious this was.
“I told you last night,” she said quietly. “And I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Grant held her gaze.
“Izzy—”
“I’ve gotten the message.” She gave him a small, reassuring smile, even though he could tell she was unsettled now, too. “I will be right here when you get home.”
Something in him eased slightly.
He nodded once. “Good.”
Neither of them looked away.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Grant stood before he did something stupid like cross the room and kiss her against the counter.
Instead he grabbed his coffee mug.
“You keep feeding me like this, I’m never leaving.”
“That’s probably the pancakes talking.”
“No, sweetheart. That’s definitely me talking.”
The words slipped out low and rough.
Izzy went very still.
Grant cursed himself internally.
Then the screen door opened before either of them could recover.
Naomi walked in carrying a clipboard and immediately stopped.
Her eyes moved from Grant.
To Izzy.
To the breakfast spread.
“Well,” Naomi drawled slowly, “this looks domestic as hell.”
Grant groaned.
Izzy burst out laughing.
And for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, the knot between Grant’s shoulders loosened enough for him to breathe.