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At least, not out loud.
* * *
Mid-October brought cooler, foggy days and crisp, salt-scented evenings to Bliss Cove. For the first time in her life, Rory experienced what it felt like to be part of an almost domestic couple. She’d never lived with a man before, or even been in a relationship that was decidedlyreal.
Given their schedules, her and Grant’s combined life was also quirky and uniquely theirs. He ended most of his workdays close to midnight, which was often when Rory was just getting started.
Neither of them was ever too tired or too busy for lovemaking, and as time progressed, their intimacy became even more nuanced—adventurous, tender, wild, gentle, sweet, and dirty in varying degrees and frequently all at the same time.
Then while Rory educated herself on Digicore, and researched and tested urban planning software systems for Hunter, Grant caught a few hours’ sleep. When he woke, they went out for an early morning jog, which often involved him sandbagging his pace so he could watch her run in front of him.
After returning to the house, their sweaty exertion leading to endorphin-fueled sex either in bed or in the shower, Grant made breakfast while Rory pestered and teased him by patting his ass, squeezing his biceps, and remarking on the size of his sausage.
After parting ways, she went to Sugar Joy to see if her mother needed any help, and he returned to the Mousehole. They connected again when she stopped by the tavern for lunch and dinner. Grant took breaks to both cook for her—always delicious, hearty meals, including the promised burrito that Rory admitted ruined her for all other burritos—and eat with her before they returned to their tasks.
It was as close to perfect as Rory could have imagined a relationship to be. Not until now had she known that a life with the right man could make her so happy. Mind-blowing sex and incredible cooking aside, Grant knew exactly how to treat her—just as he’d known how to kiss her that first time.
He touched her often in quiet, private ways that were less about possession and more about assuring her he was there. He gave her space when she was immersed in debugging a program for a friend who’d asked for her help. He included a vast array of autumn fruits and vegetables in their meals, and he left packages of gummy worms and Twizzlers next to her computer.
He wrapped her in his arms after every sexual interlude, whether hot and fast or slow and easy, but he moved to the other side of the bed at night because he knew she needed the space to sleep and stay cool. He understood that sometimes she needed to be alone to think or listen to music.
Every time he kissed her, he got it exactly right.
The time Rory spent on her own made every minute with Grant burst at the seams with pleasure, laughter, and the intensifying feeling that she didn’t want to end what was happening between them.
She chose to ignore that feeling by focusing on the fact that they had over a month left before she started work at Digicore, and they were making the absolute most of their time together.
Two weeks into their sexy, tasty, and tender life, Rory left a message on the Mousehole voicemail for Grantnotto bring dinner home. When he came back a little after ten, she was in the kitchen with one of his bandanas wrapped around her forehead, an apron tied around her waist, and about a thousand ingredients strewn on the counters.
“Can I help you in here?” He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb as he surveyed both her and the mess.
“Yes.” Rory wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple. “Shower, get a drink, pour the wine, whatever. Just go away. I’m making dinner tonight, and it’s going to be…well, edible. Maybe. Jacques and Julia are helping me out.”
She nodded to the open cookbook beside the stove.
“You’re cooking for me?” Grant’s eyes crinkled with amusement and warmth.
“Shrimp cocktail, beef bourguignon…which, oh my god, takes a million years to cook…and potatoes called…hold on a sec.” Rory wiped her hands on her apron and flipped a few pages of the cookbook. “Pommes de Terre Mont d’Or. Anyway, I’m supposed to have everything timed, and I totally don’t think I do.”
“Sweetie, you didn’t have to—”
“Go, go.” She shooed him out of the kitchen with a dishrag and got back to work.
She was a hot, sweaty, greasy mess. She’d been cooking for hours and had vastly overestimated the ease of Jacques and Julia’s recipes. Not to mention her own culinary know-how. A software engineer who lived on fast-food burritos and Sour Patch Kids probably should have stuck withQuick and Easy 30-Minute Recipesinstead of a cookbook written by the most renowned chefs in history.
Well. Lesson learned.
She checked pots, peered at the bubbling beef, chopped parsley, and tasted one of the croutons.
“Are you ready?” she yelled.
“Born ready, baby.”
“I mean, for mycooking.”
“Bring it.”
Rory carted two dishes of shrimp cocktail with horseradish sauce and lemon to the table. Grant was already seated and had poured the wine.
