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“It was years ago, but yeah, he’s better. My point is that you need to take care of yourself.”
“Well, owning a restaurant is no low-stress job, from what I hear.”
“No, but the Mousehole was already established when I bought it. Most of the staff stayed on. I made a bunch of changes, but it wasn’t like starting from the ground up. And I still work out and eat right, that kind of stuff.”
Rory rested her chin on her hand as he started washing the dishes. He always wore T-shirts at the Mousehole, usually dark green or blue, but this shirt was a faded, russet-red that had been washed so many times it was practically a second skin, the soft material shifting and tugging with every movement. His drawstring pants rode almost dangerously low on his hips, and by the way…was he wearing anything underneath?
She wiggled on the stool and pressed her thighs together. An even more urgent question appeared in her head.Had he wondered the same thing about her?
“What about a girlfriend?” The question popped out. Heat crawled up Rory’s neck.
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “What about a girlfriend?”
“As far as anyone can tell, you haven’t had one since you moved here.”
“I didn’t know people were speculating.”
“Oh, please.” Rory tugged her nightshirt farther down her thighs. “You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in a fifty-mile radius. People have been speculating about you from day one. Oh. Is that why you didn’t want anyone to know you’re Edward Taylor’s son?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug, even as tension threaded his frame. He set the dishes in the drainer and turned to face her. “Partly, yeah. I also don’t see much of my family anymore, so it’s easier not to be Edward Taylor’s son.”
Rory frowned. “Why don’t you see them?”
He expelled his breath in a sigh. “Unfortunate history. It’s not so much that I care if people know…I am who I am, but being a Taylor doesn’t have anything to do with my life here.”
“And if people do know, they’ll probably look at you differently,” Rory guessed.
Grant studied her through a hooded gaze, then nodded slowly.
“You didn’t,” he said.
“I didn’t what?”
“Look at me differently.” He dried the knife and pan and returned to put them in their places beside the counter. “When you figured out who I am. You’ve been a steady pain in my ass this whole time. Not a single blip on the radar.”
“I am known for being dependable.”
“With good reason.” He turned to face her, his eyes creasing with amusement.
“So why’d you ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” A pang of irritation shot through her. “Why not Madeline Fox, whom I’m sure you would never refer to as apain in your ass.”
“I need reliable, not impulsive and unpredictable.”
“How do you know I’m not impulsive and unpredictable?”And how do you know that she is?
“You work at Sugar Joy five days a week, two morning shifts and three afternoon shifts.” He ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “You have weekly dinner nights at your mother’s every Wednesday, you have drinks with your sisters and friends at the Mousehole every Friday, and you spend the rest of the time on your computer. Not a lot of room for impulsivity, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Rory grumbled, unexpectedly stung by his assessment of her life.
“Yeah, you did. Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings.”
“Please. You could never hurt my feelings.” She crossed her arms and glowered at him. “It was impulsive of me to agree to go with you to the wedding.”
“You agreed because I’m giving you what you want in exchange.” He stepped closer, his green eyes searing right through her. “If you’re being impulsive, you don’t have a plan or agreement in mind. How did you get cheese in your hair?”
Lifting his hand, he pulled a strand of stiff, melted cheese off her hair.
“I impulsively threw it in there.” Rory was still sulky. Maybe because she was beginning to think he was right.
