Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-six
CASSIDY
Initially, I was afraid that I’d rise and shine to Vespa’s company, but it is Isaiah I find in the kitchen each morning. Like yesterday, and every day before, a fresh pot of coffee is brewing. He sets out two mugs and the sugar for him. He even remembers to pour cream into a creamer and put the carton in the fridge.
He doesn’t speak until he’s doctored both cups and he offers me mine, repeating an identical phrase each time, “Your fuckoffee , milady.”
“You say that intentionally so that I won’t tell you to fuck off.” I tilt my chin down, smirking.
His feet are bare and he’s wearing the abs t-shirt I gave him for Christmas. He’s also developed a perpetual three-day shadow that makes my nipples contract and my lady parts sing, longing for the attention of his mouth.
When I look back up, Isaiah winks, taking his drink to the table to sit and scribble lyrics in his notebook.
I laugh through my nose, shaking my head. This was our routine before, except Isaiah brought the coffee upstairs. It was only when he’d gone away overnight that it didn’t happen. It wouldn’t have gone unnoticed if the day itself wasn’t so mixed up. Yet now, no matter when I wake up, he’s here, using a silent baby monitor as a timer for how long he can stay and watch me putter.
I grab a mixing bowl and preheat the oven. Then I pick through the cabinets for the dry ingredients to make muffins.
“You don’t have to go through all that trouble, you know? We’re hardly a houseful.” Isaiah’s voice startles me.
We don’t talk much in the morning—we never really did; I lounged in bed next to him while he wrote—so the silence in the room is insignificant in that regard. Though I often feel the burn of his eyes on me and wonder what he’s thinking. Maybe because so often I bite my tongue to stop myself from slipping into the ease of our interactions. Since he booked the entire inn, all I’ve wanted to do is commit to my job and, no matter what I have to say to him, I second-guess what’s coming out of my mouth.
I don’t think Isaiah ever wanted my pity over the loss of his wife, but I’m not sure what he expects from the situation he’s put the two of us in.
In the dark recesses of my mind, an evil-spewing bitch tells me his intent was to keep me on my back for the next two months. My lady parts have their own reasons for voting for that kind of crazy because the sex was phenomenal. Then what? I don’t know. The ugly voice is unwilling to view the end of us any better than the way it already stands. I have no reason to believe there is an “us” anymore.
In any event, whether guests need a lot of food or a little, cooking for the people who stay here is my job.
Vespa mainlines coffee. Monty prefers what I serve at brunch. That leaves Isaiah’s other security guy Steve, who arrived yesterday, and Isaiah to feed.
I overheard a snarky comment Vespa made to Isaiah suggesting he’d put on weight over the holidays. Having been the one to see him naked most recently, I wanted to disagree. Except, coming to Isaiah’s defense would’ve been hella awkward.
Plus, there was another instance that I sprinkled the c-word into a conversation when she took the-customer-is-always-right tone with me. The woman is trying my patience. If she can’t get over whatever’s up her ass soon, I’m using those laxatives in the medicine cabinet to get a break from her.
Instead of replying to Isaiah, I show off a six-hole muffin pan as if he’s part of a studio audience that oohs and ahhs . I whip up the half-dozen muffins, set them in the oven to bake and start washing my first load of dishes. After that, I take the pastry shells I thawed overnight out of the fridge along with a fresh head of broccoli, yellow onion, and shredded cheddar. I chop and scramble eggs for puffed pastry bundles.
All too soon, the red light flashes on the baby monitor.
Isaiah cleans up the spot he sat in, stuffing his notebook and pen into his back pocket. Glowing monitor in one hand, he opens the dishwasher and puts his mug on the top rack.
“Do you want a refresh?” He motions to the last swallow in my cup. “I can fill’er up or bus it?”
“No, thanks.” I’ll down the last cold sip once I wash my hands.
“Okay. I was hoping to get Aria out for some fresh air later on. Maybe you’d want to join us?” I see a newfound hesitation in Isaiah’s face.
I probably haven’t noticed because I avoid him whenever possible.
My emotions are all over the place, but the one problem I don’t have? Jealousy. I don’t begrudge Isaiah’s attention to Aria. As a matter of fact, I welcome it. The distractions the baby makes put less pressure on me. I’m glad he’s making her a priority, and I doubt it’s for show. With a heaping dose of humility, Isaiah has been stumbling through figuring out how to care for an infant. Oftentimes, he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get it right.
I don’t even really care that Aria is his late wife’s child. If anything, it helps me understand any resentfulness Isaiah might harbor. Though I haven’t given him another opportunity to speak about the humiliation of her affair.
“I’ll have to see what my plans are after I’m done with the afternoon hors d’oeuvres. If nothing comes up, I’ll tag along,” I reply, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but hoping I get too busy.
The version of Isaiah who slept in my bed isn’t a man who lacks confidence. Celebrity alter ego Isaiah asks me everything timidly. It confuses me even more about who he is.
“There’s always tomorrow. We’ll be here,” he reminds me with a sweet, sheepish grin.
I risk temptation watching him pad out of the kitchen. The songbook in his back pocket draws my eyes to his firm backside. Heat pools in my lower belly.
It’s impossible for me to deny I’m still attracted to Isaiah. When he opened his suite door in nothing but a towel, I wanted to touch him. To tease him. To drop to my knees, tugging the knot at his waist and taking him in my mouth.
No man has lingered in my thoughts like Isaiah does. I chastise myself for my inability to move on. I’m no stranger to short-lived relationships. They make break-ups a snap. I hate admitting I still feel the sting of New Year’s Eve despite Isaiah’s problems outnumbering my own.
As I’m putting the final touches on brunch, I decide I need some space and will run errands after making this afternoon’s appetizers.
The sound of work boots stomping on the morning porch and scuffing at the mat hits my ears. About to bring the tray of puff pastry bundles and yogurt with a simple berry fruit compote to the dining room, I pause as my father walks in.
“Heya, Daddy.” I smile brightly. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”
“Jelly Bean.” Dad tips his chin as a way of hello. He’s got an envelope in his shirt pocket. “It wouldn’t entirely be a lie to say I was thinking of you.”
I harrumph as he bends to place a kiss on the top of my head.
“I have some papers for your big sister. Gracyn in?”
“Check her office.”
“Mind if I hang about a bit beforehand? It’s chilly out. Got some coffee on?”
“New pot’s just finished perking.” I toss a thumb over my shoulder. “Lemme run this out in case anyone is waiting for the buffet and I’ll fix you a plate.”
“Lighter fare for brunch than usual.” My dad pours himself a cup. He peruses the decorative tray on its way to the dining room.
“Small crowd. They’re grazers more than hearty eaters and they order take-out a lot.” I shrug. “I won’t be long.”
I had set the china teacups and the silverware out earlier, along with a coffee carafe on a trivet. All I have to do is grab some plates and I can skedaddle. Back in the kitchen, I serve my dad and sit down with what’s left of my cold coffee to chat.
“Timed this perfectly,” Daddy says with smug satisfaction.
“Better than the healthy greens shake Mama makes you choke down?”
Across the table, Daddy sticks out his tongue and makes a sour face. I giggle. Testing out new recipes, I fed Colton Cavanaugh some truly awful concoctions. My daddy ate every last bite. His support means the world.
“Rumor is you have an unexpected houseguest.” Daddy doesn’t beat around the bush.
My lips flatten to a firm line.
Daddy removes an envelope from his zippered vest pocket and taps it on the tabletop. “I think you know what this is. Each family in the trust got a non-disclosure. Isaiah personally brought mine by. I’m simply returning it… In person. Making sure you were okay with all of this since I hadn’t heard from you, and I know my girl well enough to notice that when you’re overwhelmed by something, you go quiet.”
I wring my hands in my lap. My dad places his on top of mine. I look up.
“Cassidy, before I met your mother, I didn’t understand the lengths a person would go to protect a child. I hadn’t known your sister for a very long when Keely and I got involved. A wild ten-year-old was a lot to handle, but Gracyn wormed her way into my heart. By the time I realized I was in love with your mama, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her daughter. It didn’t matter who her father was because she was already my daughter, too.
“But don’t you believe for a minute it didn’t hurt like hell that your mother’s first instinct was to take you girls and run away from me when the going got tough. Don’t paint yourself a pretty picture of me sweeping away a decade’s worth of lies she told, like brushing away breadcrumbs. I’m not that good a man. The one thing I understood, though, was your mother had no one to trust with a secret she worried would threaten her child’s well-being. She sacrificed. Lived like a pauper. And she gave Gracyn the best life a single parent could. When your great-grandmother passed away, Keely had no one to rely on. Whereas everyone here at Kingsbrier… Well, when have you ever felt truly lost, Jelly Bean? When has there never been a single person at the ranch you couldn’t confide in?”
There’s been one time, but it’s my choice to keep how I feel about not creating the menus at the banquet hall locked inside because I don’t want to come off as whiny. If I confided those secrets, countless people would offer to listen. Though, I’m positive the responses I’d get include I’m young and I’m getting the practice I need at the B&B. Otherwise, I’m ashamed to admit my dad is right.
“Never,” I reply.
He shakes my knee soundly. “We had a lot of problems to work out even after you were born. But it was worth it. So, ask yourself what Isaiah’s first instinct was? It sure seems to me he ran toward you. Think about what that says about what kind of woman he thinks you are.”