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Chapter 12
The Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses” blasted from Rory’s media player as she sat on the sofa in the cottage later that evening. She bit into another gummy worm and scrolled through the search results on her laptop, examining the details of the urban planning and development software she’d found.
Hunter, Aria’s significant other, had emailed her a list of what he was looking for to assist with the renovation of Mariposa Street. Rory had also contacted several friends and former colleagues for recommendations, though no one knew of a program that fit all of Hunter’s and the design studio’s requirements.
She set the laptop aside and rubbed her eyes. After the contentious breakfast with the Taylors this morning, the rest of the day had been thankfully conflict-free. It hadn’t been all rainbows and chipmunks—Edward had been mostly silent, and Joanna had tried hard to cover for his bad temper—but at least they’d seemed to enjoy touring downtown and the historic Spanish mission.
At four, Joanna had suggested they meet up again tomorrow morning, as she and Edward wanted to try out a Michelin-starred restaurant in Rainwood and do some things on their own. Neither Grant nor Rory had tried to change their minds.
Grant had gone to the Mousehole for the dinner rush, and Rory had returned to the cottage to see what she could find out about the software. Grant had brought her dinner—an astonishingly tender and delicious steak with roasted vegetables and rice pilaf—before going back to the tavern. Tempted as she was to go hang out at the bar and pester him, he’d been on edge all day and probably just wanted to focus on work.
A chill rippled through the air. Zipping up her hoodie the rest of the way, she put the kettle on the hot plate to boil water for a cup of instant coffee.
The Jacques Pepin and Julia Child cookbook that she’d borrowed from Grant was sitting on the counter. She leafed through the pages, struck by the detailed techniques required for everything from deboning a chicken to making sure a sauce didn’t “break.”
As she was studying a food-porn photo of a glistening caramel flan, Grant came in—sweaty, tired, and surrounded by the smoky smell of charcoal. For some reason, seeing him all worn out from presiding over the grill and stove made Rory’s nerves tingle. She was accustomed to him serving food and pouring drinks, but discovering how immersed he got in his first love of cooking was pretty damned sexy.
“Chocolate cake.” He set a box on the counter, then pulled off his bandana and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “You doing okay?”
“Now that there’s cake, of course.” She nibbled the head off a cherry gummy worm. “Your mom texted me that they had a nice dinner at Field & Farm over in Rainwood, and she wants to go shopping tomorrow morning.” She hesitated. “Also, she says your dad isn’t interested in shopping, so he wants to go fishing with you.”
“Hah.” Grant started toward the bathroom. “She wants him to want to go fishing with me.”
He closed the bathroom door, and a second later the shower started. Rory set two mugs on the counter and added spoonfuls of instant coffee. The water was boiling by the time Grant emerged in navy pajama pants and a T-shirt that clung to the still-damp parts of his torso.
“I could’ve brought over some coffee from the tavern.” He accepted the cup Rory held out to him with a nod of thanks. Now he smelled like soap and shampoo, and she tingled all over again.
“Making instant is more fun.” She sipped the coffee. “It’s like camping.”
A smile twitched his mouth. “She’s a piece of work, huh?”
“Yeah, but I like her.” Rory rubbed her thumb over the handle of her mug. “When I first met your parents at the wedding dinner, your father seemed to be especially upset because the rift between you was hurting your mother.”
“He thinksI’mhurting my mother.” Grant leaned back against the counter, his shoulders tightening. “Maybe I am. He’s always been angry that I didn’t marry Vivian, even though my mother orchestrated the whole thing. She wanted me to stay in San Francisco, marry Vivian, and work for Intellix. Obviously I didn’t do any of those things, and there was no compromise. Neither of them understood why I’d choose a different life. So, yeah. My father blames me for my mother’s unhappiness, and he won’t let me forget it.”
“He also doesn’t see that by hurting you, he’s hurting her.”
Grant stared at his mug. “There’s a lot he doesn’t see.”
“To be fair, there’s a lot you don’tletpeople see.”
He shrugged and met her gaze. His eyes were so green, shot through with gold. Sunlight in a forest.
“You’re not exactly an open book either.” He lifted his mug to his lips.
“Is this about me singing karaoke in my underwear?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Could be. It could also be about why you’ve stayed in Bliss Cove for two years and why you’re not thrilled about your job with Digicore.”
Rory’s heart stuttered. Breaking eye contact, she paced to the sofa. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tell me.” He studied her, his gaze hooded. “It’s pretty clear, to me at least, that Digicore may be a job you need, but it’s not necessarily one you want.”
Unease and something else tangled in Rory’s belly—a combination of appreciation and wariness that Grant, of all people, understood what she hadn’t even been able to fully articulate to herself.
“Need, want, it doesn’t really matter.” She sank onto the sofa and dragged her hands through her hair. “I’m taking the job. The pay and benefits are fantastic, and the work itself looks challenging enough to hold my interest. There’s a chance I’ll get to lead my own projects. Plenty of room for advancement.”
“So why aren’t you more excited about it?”
