Chapter Nine #3
“No problems with the customers?” If somebody was going to do a deep dive on just why Iris was a sore subject in Wayward Harbor, it would probably be somebody who’d had too much to drink.
“Nope. I mean, I could tell they were giving me looks and talking about me sometimes, but trust me when I tell you that’s nothing compared to what it used to be.”
“Good. Did you eat? There’s extra grilled chicken in the fridge.”
“I did, but I’ll eat it for lunch tomorrow before I go in if you’re not planning to.”
“It’s all yours.”
Nick made himself wait while she took off her shoes and the coat she’d borrowed from Helen’s closet. And while she poured herself a glass of water and drained half of it.
Then she looked at the couch, frowning. “Did you steal one of my blankets?”
He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “Did you actually count them?”
“Of course not.” Her sheepish glance in his direction made him chuckle. “But I have favorites, and one of my favorites is not where I left it.”
“I took it,” he said without smiling, curious to know how she’d take that information.
“Oh.” She took another sip of her water, staring at the couch over the rim of the glass.
He waited her out, knowing she wasn’t going to leave it at that. At the very least, she’d try to get him to return one of her favorites for one of the blankets that didn’t make the cut.
“You’re never cold,” she pointed out. Then she jerked her gaze to him as she gasped. “You didn’t use it to…like, put in the bed of your truck to protect the paint or use it as a drop cloth or anything like that, did you?”
“Even if I needed a cloth for some reason and was willing to sneak one from your dragon’s lair of hoarded blankets, I would never use something of Helen’s for that purpose.”
“To be honest, I’d believe that before I believed you were cold and needed a throw blanket.”
“Fine. Come on.” He walked to the door of the second bedroom and turned to make sure she’d followed before opening it and flipping on the light.
This time her gasp was one of surprise and not outrage, and he stepped aside so she could enter.
“You finished it!”
“Gray came over and finished off the electrical, and then he helped me put the furniture back in.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Didn’t seem right for you to sleep on the couch after being on your feet all day.”
“Thank you, Nick.” She looked around, her hand on her chest. “It’s so pretty. And you even made the bed.”
“Now close the door and turn the light off.” When her eyebrow arched, he laughed. “Yeah, I hear it now. But trust me.”
Once the door was closed and she hit the switch, plunging the room into darkness, he turned on the machine on the bedside table. Soft white noise filled the room as the lights on the tiny branches of a wire tree sculpture twinkled in a random pattern.
The tree’s branches gave off just enough of a glow so he could see the joy in her face as she watched the lights.
Suddenly, all the time he’d spent looking up items and reading reviews on the retailer sites was worth it. “I thought it might help you sleep.”
“It’s perfect. I love it.”
“It has a little remote control, and I put the instructions in the drawer of the nightstand. You can have the noise on and the lights off, and vice versa. And there’s different settings for the lights.”
“I love it so much.” Before he had time to brace himself, she threw herself into his arms. “Thank you.”
The hug broke through the scraps of willpower he was able to summon, and when she pulled back and her gaze went to his mouth and her lips parted, he couldn’t help himself.
It was the kiss of a parched man who’d finally been given water, and she moaned as her body arched against his. Her mouth was demanding, and he gave until his knees were weak and he wasn’t sure if he even remembered how to breathe.
He wanted to back her up to that bed, lay her down, and then take his time stripping her clothes off as he got to know every inch of her.
But then what, the voice in his head that still had reason wanted to know. This thing between them was a dead-end road—she was leaving town—and every mile they went down this path would just make it harder to turn around.
“Still a bad idea,” she said softly when their lips parted and their breathing had slowed.
“A very bad idea,” he agreed. “I should go to bed. My bed. The bed in the other room.”
“Probably.” Her fingers still rested on his shoulders. “Definitely.”
He forced himself to step back, and her hands fell to her sides. “I replaced the doorknob, by the way. It has a twist lock now.”
She laughed, her expression softening. “To keep you out or keep me in?”
“Both probably,” he said. “Whatever keeps us from messing up this good thing we’ve got going on.”
She nodded. “Good night, Nick. And thank you again for my gift.”
The smile he gave her was tight, but it was the best he could do. “Good night, Lucy.”
When he was stretched out on the bed, staring up the ceiling, Nick had to admit to himself that he was worried about messing up this good thing. But every day he grew more certain kissing Lucy was the good thing.