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Chapter 4
Alison unpacked kitchen supplies and groceries into cabinets and the fridge, marveling at the fact that she hadn’t been able to get even one of her normal brands at the small market in town. This was Valentine Bay, after all, not the upper west side. She knew, in this small Oregon coastal town, she couldn’t count on getting her favorite kind of local, small-batch roast coffee beans. Or the kind of cold pressed juice that she liked, from the little place on Columbus and 71st. That was a given.
But the shock had set in when they hadn’t had any of the foods that she normally ate. Not her brand of pasta sauce, not her favorite gluten-free pasta. No granola to sprinkle over her Australian yogurt in the morning.
Hell, no Australian yogurt.
No Irish grass-fed butter for her bulletproof coffee.
No 21-grain fresh-baked bread.
No coconut milk-based gelato sweetened with agave.
She surveyed the contents of the fridge and cabinets, eyeing the food she’d already unpacked.
Blue Bonnet margarine, Oroweat bread. Oscar Mayer lunch meat. Hamburger Helper.
Well, there was no other recourse. She was going to have to learn how to cook her own fresh, healthy foods starting with (gasp!) nothing but fresh meats, vegetables, herbs, and spices. Nothing pre-prepared. She wasn’t sure she had the capability. “Homemade” to her had always consisted of popping a pre-made meal from the gourmet grocery store into the oven and then plating it on Fiestaware as opposed to ordering take-out.
But what the hell? What was this time for, if not developing new skills and exploring parts of herself that she’d never dived into before?
As she continued to lift things out of the bags and onto the pantry and refrigerator shelves, she found herself humming. It just rose spontaneously out of her, and then soon after that blossomed into a full-fledged song.
Singing as she worked was something she’d always done, ever since she was a little kid. It was an expression from deep inside of her. Whenever she felt particularly content with her life, lit up down to her very core by the beauty of the world and all the possibilities laid out in front of her, it came out in the form of a song.
She hadn’t been doing a lot of spontaneous singing lately. In fact, it’d been years.
She took that as a good sign. Already, the trip was serving its intended purpose, washing away the layers of protective armor she’d been forced to wear in a cutthroat industry and bringing her back to her core self again. And it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.
But is it the trip that’s doing that? The town? Or does it maybe have a little something to do with the construction hottie next door?
She put that thought out of her mind. She didn’t accept that she was the kind of woman who could be kissed back to life by a handsome prince. It didn’t happen, poof, just like that. Not in the real world.
“God, you have a beautiful voice.”
The words from the back door startled her, and she whirled around, letting out a high-pitched squeak. The thin plastic bag of apples she’d been carrying across the kitchen went flying from her hands as she spun. The tenuous seams holding the produce bag together split wide open immediately when it hit the floor and apples rolled every which direction.
“Oh, damn, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Alison couldn’t help but laugh as she watched the apples roll toward all four corners of the kitchen. She felt like she was on stage in a French farce. She pressed her hands to her cheek to cover the hot blush that was creeping up her skin. “Wow, I can’t seem to keep anything in my hands when I’m around you. At least this time it wasn’t something breakable.”
Troy stepped forward, holding something out to her as he spoke. “I really am sorry. In fact, that was the whole reason I stopped by. I glued your mug back together. I know you’d said to keep it, but I wanted to return it.”
She took it from him and turned it around in her hands, inspecting it. Aside from one thin hairline break running down the side, there was no indication that it had ever suffered at all. “Wow, Troy. It’s good as new.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’d be careful before putting any hot liquids back in it. But you can still use it to, I don’t know, hold pens or something.”
“Thank you.” She smiled brightly and set the mug on the counter, then rose on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. It wasn’t calculated. She was an artist, and she lived in an artistic community. Cheek kisses were a common currency there.
She hadn’t thought about the fact that her soft lips would be coming in contact with his rough, stubbly cheek. She hadn’t thought about the fact that her fingers would rest lightly on his bulging arm muscles.
She hadn’t thought about the lightning bolt that the physical contact would send through her, making her knees weak and causing her to stumble back a couple of steps, overcome by lightheadedness, and nearly tumble ass over teakettle when she stepped on a firm, round apple.
“Don’t worry, I gotcha.”
Alison heard Troy’s voice cutting through her brain-fog, and then his strong arm caught her firmly around the waist. Before she knew it, she was planted back on solid ground, but he didn’t take his arm from around her, and she made no move to walk away.
The air around them seemed thick as she pulled it into her lungs, and time slowed to a crawl. She was aware of nothing aside from the deep brown of his eyes, so close to hers, and his raspy breath gently ruffling the hair at her temple. It sent shivers skittering over the top of her scalp and down her back.
