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Chapter 11
The smell of French Roast coffee wafted through his sleep. Peeling his eyes open, Grant focused on Rory sitting on the table in front of him, holding a take-out cup.
“You look super uncomfortable,” she remarked.
“Looks are not always deceiving.”
With a groan, he straightened his cramped legs. He sat up slowly, twisting his stiff neck. The narrow sofa was neither wide enough nor long enough to allow for a good night’s sleep, but the cottage was too small for a big, cushy sofa that could also double as a bed.
Rory held out the coffee. He grunted a “thank you” and took a gulp. Aches and pains aside, waking up to Rory bringing him coffee wasn’t a bad thing at all.
She was fresh-faced and scrubbed, her long hair curling in damp tendrils around her face and shoulders, and her blue eyes were bright. Clearly she’d slept just fine. She also smelled fantastic, like key-lime pie. She probably tasted like it, too.
A drop of water trailed from her hair into the V-neckline of her powder-blue shirt. He wanted to lick it up.
Warmth flickered through him. At least one part of his anatomy hadn’t been affected by his twisted-pretzel slumber.
“You should’ve slept in the bed.” Rory pulled her hair into a ponytail and took an elastic band off her wrist. “There’s room, and I think we could get past the weirdness of sharing a bed.”
Weirdwasn’t the word he’d use when it came to sharing Rory’s bed.
“I’m okay.” He stretched his arms to the sides, hoping he could make time for a workout to loosen up his muscles.
“Besides, if your mom comes knocking on the door before we get up, she’ll wonder why we’re not sleeping in the same bed.”
Grant glanced at her. As rationales went, that one was pretty weak. And while he was…somewhat secure in his ability to control his attraction to Rory even if they were sharing a bed, he couldn’t help wondering why she was pushing the issue.
The sofa was damned uncomfortable, though.
“Thanks for this.” He lifted the coffee cup, figuring they wouldn’t have to cross that bridge until tonight anyway. “What time is it?”
“Seven.”
“Have you seen my parents yet?”
“No, but the lights in your house were on when I went to Java Works to get the coffee.” She reached for her cell phone and showed him the screen. “I also made an itinerary…tentative, in case your parents have other ideas about what they want to do, but I figured we need to keep them as busy as possible. Boredom is a surefire path straight to Bali, and from the looks of Nathan’s social media pages, he and Alice won’t want anything bursting their glowing bubble of happiness.”
Grant scrolled through the itinerary, which included everything from a tour of the local mission to guided nature hikes and a whale-watching boat ride.
She’d planned for his parents to meet Mayor Bowers, eat at all the local restaurants, attend a Bliss Cove Theater production ofSouth Pacific, take anen plein airpainting class on the coast, spend an afternoon at the boardwalk, and participate in all the Harvest Festival events. She’d even scheduled “down time” if Joanna and Edward wanted to go back to the house and rest.
An emotion he couldn’t define nudged at Grant. It was warm and soft, like a fuzzy little puppy had just settled on his chest and tucked its head underneath his chin.
“This is great.” He handed the phone back to Rory, deflecting a stab of irritation that he couldn’t think of a better word. “Thanks for taking the time to do that.”
“I figure the more they’re enjoying themselves, the less time they’ll have to think about leaving early and catching a flight to Indonesia.” She rose and picked up another coffee cup from the counter. “I’m just on-call at Sugar Joy now, so I can show them around if you have to take a shift.”
“I worked it out so I can drop in when needed.” He stood, lifting his arms above his head for another stretch. His back muscles lengthened. “The other guys will cover the shifts and call me if they need me. I’d better keep a close eye on Mom and Dad all week.”
He headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. A fragrant mist coated the air, smelling like limes and other citrusy scents.
The shower contained matching bottles of shampoo and body wash. He’d never have pegged Rory as a woman who liked fancy personal-care products—he didn’t remember carting anything except bar soap out of her apartment—but maybe it was one of her “secrets.”
He wanted to know more of them. In fact, thinking about Rory and her secrets while he was soaping himself down brought up vivid fantasies that had sparked last night when he’d come back from work and found her sleeping.
Though he’d felt like a pervert, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from looking at her. With her hair spread over the pillow, one slender arm stretched to the other side of the bed, and her body moving in the steady rhythm of sleep, she’d been like one of those fairy-tale princesses that she probably hated.
Butdamn. She’d been wearing a peach-colored tank top that hugged the generous curves of her breasts and displayed her pale shoulders. Her skin was burnished by the moonlight.
