“Guess you’ll see,” he said, and though he didn’t smile, she could hear the amusement in his voice.
If it was a sign he was in a good mood—on the inside, at least—now might be a good time to hit him up for Gran’s number. “If you’re staying in the cottage and doing work, you must have a way to contact Helen. Stuff always comes up during renovations.”
“Yup.”
“Okay. Since I haven’t found my passwords yet, if you just give me her cell phone number, I can call her. The only number in my phone is an old landline, but I never cared because we just talked on Facebook.” He didn’t even blink, but he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if he was silently talking to himself. “You’re seriously not going to give me my own grandmother’s number?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she heard how they sounded. Hopefully, he wouldn’t throw back in her face the fact that if she was a good granddaughter, she wouldn’t need to get the number from a veritable stranger.
“I’d like to talk to her first,” he said.
“Why? I mean, we could talk to her together if you want, on speakerphone.” He was quiet so long, she put the pieces together. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’tknowyou.”
That was fair. “Whether she tells you to tell me I can’t stay or I hear it from her directly, it’ll still suck.”
“The difference is that she’ll be honest with me. She might not be able to bring herself to tellyouno.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Oryou want a chance to convince her you can’t work on the cottage with me there. And since you’ve already torn apart the second bedroom, she can’t really tellyouno.”
“That’s not the conversation that’s going to happen.”
She crossed her arms, her eyebrow arching. “Maybe I don’t trust you, either.”
“Okay.”
Frustrated, Lucy took a sip of her coffee. Then she watched Nick pull the salt, pepper and ketchup bottle from the condiment rack.Ketchup?
“I can’t believe I blindly ordered the same breakfast as a man who likes bologna and tomato sandwiches.”
Healmostsmiled.
* * *
Nick should have told Lucy she hadn’t grabbed one of her grandmother’s hooded sweatshirts.
The hoodie was his. Her first clue should have been the size. Helen would have to wear it like a belted dress. And also, the Slater & Sons Construction printed on it could have been a clue, but she might not have remembered he’d given her his last name in the confusion last night.
In the moment, he hadn’t had the heart to mention it. She looked warm and cozy, and it was better than the possible alternative of her walking into Pete’s wrapped in blankets.
What he hadn’t foreseen was how distracting it would be to sit across from a beautiful woman wearing a hoodie that belonged to him. It even had his last name on it. That particular sweatshirt was his favorite, actually, because it was the last of their original order. His brother had found a cheaper supplier and though he insisted the fabric and fit were the same, Nick disagreed.
“You’re staring at me,” she muttered.
Because you’re wearing my favorite hoodie.“You’re sitting across from me. It would be weird if I sat here staring at the ceiling. Hard to drink my coffee that way, too.”
“See? Grumpy.”
He pulled the trifold menu out of the holder and stood it up between them. It wasn’t quite tall enough, but he scrunched down in his seat until it blocked their eye contact.
She laughed as she grabbed the menu and folded it back up. He almost laughed with her, but his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see Helen’s name on the screen. There was no way she’d already heard he was at Pete’s with a redhead who might be her granddaughter.
Then again, news traveled fast in Wayward Harbor.
“It’s my brother,” he lied, sliding toward the end of the booth. “I need to step out and take this really quick.”
She nodded, and he accepted the call when he was halfway to the door so it wouldn’t go to voicemail. “Hey, I was going to call you later.”
