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“Well, if you insist…” Joanna bit her lower lip worriedly. “It would be nice to have some space and a comfortable bed. And it’s not good for your father’s eyes to watch CNN on his laptop.”
Time for an exclamation point.
“Of course not!” Rory smiled and glided across the small space to the door. “Grant, bring your parents’ suitcases into the house.”
“Where’s my other one?” Joanna tapped the Louis Vuitton case. “And my toiletries bag? You did tell Marcus to put them in the car, didn’t you, Edward?”
“Far as I can remember.”
“I’ll get them, Mom.” Grant hefted the suitcases to the house, then returned to the car to get the rest of the luggage—which was more than all of Rory’s assets combined.
After he’d situated his parents in the house, ensuring they had everything from the TV remote to instructions for the coffee-maker, he and Rory grabbed a few clothes and toiletries. They walked back to the cottage.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter.” Rory shrugged. “I’m not big on creature comforts, and it’s no surprise that your mother is. When I got my first job in San Jose, the housing was so tight and expensive that I rented an unfinished basement room. Had a cot right next to the washing machine and dryer.”
“That can’t have been comfortable.”
“It was fine.” She sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled off her shoes. “I spent most of my time at the office, anyway. I had super clean clothes, too.”
He chuckled and opened a cabinet. “You want some tea or coffee?”
“I thought there’s no coffee-maker here.”
“There isn’t.” He indicated the hot plate. “The coffee’s instant, and I can boil water. Or I can grab some from the tavern along with a piece of pie.”
“No, but thanks.”
Rory dragged her hands through her hair. A wave of fatigue hit her. She recognized it as a ghost from all her tech jobs—the intense, frantic work of finishing a project had invariably been followed by a crash after she’d met the deadline. Though getting ready for Edward and Joanna’s visit wasn’t the same thing, it was definitelywork.
She flopped down on the bed. “Hey, this is pretty comfortable. Your mother should have tested it out.”
He didn’t respond. She glanced up. He stood beside the kitchenette counter, his arms crossed and his pensive gaze on her. The cottage was small by any standards, but with him here, it seemed to shrink to minuscule proportions. Even now, only a few steps’ distance separated them.
“You’re getting the short end of this deal,” he finally said. “Are you sure Bob the Fish is worth all this trouble?”
“I’d let your mother take me away for a spa weekend, if it meant I could get rid of Bob.”
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t go that far, but I don’t mind helping you out. I do intend to start cashing in on my free meals soon, though.”
“Just say the word.” Unfolding his arms, he opened a small closet and took out two pillows and a blanket. “If you don’t want anything now, I’m going to head over to the tavern for the rest of the night shift. I’ll be back around midnight.”
He dropped the pillows on the bed at her side.
“Hey, Grant?” She sat up, running her hands over her thighs. “Why cooking?”
He twisted his mouth with discomfort. “It sounds like another poor little rich kid story.”
“But it’s not. It’s your story.”
“When I was a kid, I had a nanny. Of course.” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “Lupe. I spent more time with her than my parents, both before and after Nathan came along. My parents had a trained chef on call, but Lupe did a lot of our daily cooking for us, so I was in the kitchen every day. I did my homework at the kitchen counter, then she’d take me to baseball or football practice before we came back to start dinner. She’d always let me help, no matter what we were having. Before long, I was learning how to make everything from pot roast to chili rellenos. I loved being in the kitchen—the smell of frying onions, the sizzle of oil, the thunk of Lupe’s knife as she chopped peppers. Best time of my day.”
“That sounds nice.”
He shrugged. “I had it good compared to a lot of people. And there was…well, whenever Lupe served my parents and whatever guests they had over…they were always so happy. Their faces would light up over perfect sea scallops or tamales. Everything was good. I guess I wanted to make people feel that way, too.”
“Aww.” She nudged his leg with her stocking foot. “That’s so sweet.”
