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Aria crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Your apartment is in the opposite direction of Highway One.”
“Thank you, Sherlock,” Rory muttered. “Who in the…oh, hell. Brooke, right? That nosy little reporter needs to mind her own business.”
“Bliss Cove happeningsareBrooke’s business,” Aria said. “Rory Prescott hanging out with Grant Taylor is newsworthy, indeed.”
“I was nothanging outwith Grant, and there’s nothing newsworthy about me being in his car.” Rory turned away so her sister couldn’t see her telltale blush. “But since you’re snooping, I happen to have a date tomorrow.”
“You have adate?” Aria made it sound like Rory had scurvy.
With a scowl, Rory scrolled on her phone and pulled up Max’s confirmation text from early last week. She turned the screen toward her sister. “Max Weatherford and I are having lunch tomorrow.”
“You and Max?” Aria squinted at the screen, as if she were trying to figure out if Rory had somehow manufactured the message herself. “But you don’t like animals.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t likehim.” Rory dropped her phone back into her apron pocket. “By the way, what did Hunter think of that urban development software the design firm was using?”
To her credit, Aria rolled with the unsubtle subject change. “I don’t think he or the designers at Studio Twenty-Five were very impressed. Not enough functionality for what they want to do.”
“Which is what?”
“Well, the whole idea is to create a plan and design that’s consistent with the historical architecture and supports rather than overtakes the street itself.” Aria taped up a box of cookies. “You have to talk to Hunter about the specifics, but there’s a ton that goes into the planning. Data visualization, mapping, geospatial analysis…I don’t even know what else. He said he was going to contact you soon to see if you have any other recommendations.”
“I’ll do some research.”
“Awesome, thank you.”
Pleased at the idea of finding out more about software systems for a field she didn’t know much about, Rory got to work restocking the muffin baskets and helping customers.
After her shift ended at six and she closed up the bakery, she returned to the Mousehole cottage, only to find that all of her stuff was gone.
Whirling on her heel, she crossed the flagstone pathway to the back door of Grant’s house. When he didn’t answer on the third knock, she found him in the Mousehole kitchen, presiding over a dozen burgers sizzling on the grill.
Just a whiff of charred juicy beef made Rory’s stomach growl.
Just the sight of Grant—bare arms flexing, bandana tied around his forehead, skin glistening with heat and sweat—made other parts of her body ache with a different kind of hunger.
“Hey.” She poked him in the shoulder. “What’d you do with my stuff?”
“Threw it out.”
“What?”
“I moved it into my house, genius.”
“Even my computer?”
“Evenyour precious.”
She fisted her hands on her hips. “You didn’t set it up, did you?”
“I’m not that chivalrous.” He flipped a couple of burgers. Steam billowed up from the grill.
Lord, she was starving.
“What about my other stuff?” She was acutely conscious of the fact that she’d left her suitcase open, the messy contents and tangle of bras and panties out in plain sight. Had he touched them?
And how messed up was it that the thought of his big, tanned hands on her unremarkable panties got her all hot and quivery?
“It’s still packed. I’m working late, so I’ll have to show you tomorrow where to put everything.” He slanted her a dark look. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m cooking here.”
