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He set a tall, frosted metal cup and a paper straw on the coffee table. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Before she could respond, he disappeared into the bathroom. A second later, the shower started.
The cup contained a thick, chocolate milkshake. She stuck the straw into the ice cream and enjoyed a long slurp as she continued leafing through the book.
Half an hour later, Grant emerged from the bathroom—Rory attempted unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of his towel-clad body as he went into the bedroom—and came out in track pants and the forest-green T-shirt that turned his eyes the color of emeralds.
As he pulled a hand through his wet hair, the shirt rode up, exposing the ladder-like ridges of his abdomen and a tempting trail of hair leading right down into his pants.
Rory’s breathing increased.
This was nuts. She had to get control of herself. Salivating over him all the time might help her prove to the Taylors that they were a serious item, but it would wreak havoc on her nerves.
She sucked down another gulp of milkshake. “Thanks for this. It’s delicious.”
He jutted his chin toward the book. “You going to take up cooking?”
“Ha ha. Did you know gravlax is basically just raw fish?”
“Cured raw fish.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“If it needed a cure, it must have been sick.” She smirked and closed her lips around the straw again.
“That’s the best you can do?” He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms.
“Well, it’s late.” She glanced around for her phone, mildly surprised to discover she’d lost track of it. “What time is it?”
“Twelve thirty.” He opened the linen closet. “Your phone is on the kitchen table. I need to work early in the morning, so we’ll get your stuff unpacked tomorrow afternoon.”
“Okay.” Setting the book aside, Rory pushed herself up and retrieved the phone. She started toward the door. “See you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the cottage.” She frowned at his snappish tone. “Where areyougoing?”
“To bed.”
“Great.” She pulled open the door. “Sweet dreams.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping here?” He was starting to scowl, as if she were intentionally making things difficult for him.
“Your parents won’t be here until Wednesday.”
“So?”
“So we don’t have to pretend until then.”
“That doesn’t mean you need to sleep in the cottage. All your stuff is already here anyway.” He jabbed his thumb toward the bedroom. “Take the bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“Why would you do that when there’s a perfectly good bed in the cottage?” Rory scratched her chin, suddenly uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t feel right about sleeping in your bed…er, I meanthe bedwhen you’re the one with the early shift.”
“Fine, then you take the sofa.”
And try to sleep knowing he was just in the other room? Yes, she’d have to get used to that very soon, but no need to prolong the stress. “I’ll be fine in the cottage.”
