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“The website said it wascell accessible.”
“It’s not.” He eyed her multiple cases of lemon-cayenne iced tea and picked up a box of granola bars from the counter. “That’s just one reason I come up here.”
Brooke punched unsuccessfully at the call button on her screen. “I knew this place was isolated, but I didn’t expect it to be completely off the grid.”
“It’s off the grid.” He tore the wrapper off a granola bar and crunched into it.
She frowned slightly. “I’m in favor of sharing, but it’s polite to ask if you can have something. Those are mine, you know.”
“I know.” He worked the bite around in his mouth. “I’d never buy something that tastes like hay.”
“One of my new year’s resolutions is to eat healthier food.”
“Lousy start.” He tossed the half-eaten bar onto the counter.
Brooke took a deep, cleansing breath. She was supposed to be sitting in front of the fire with her notebook and novels. She was supposed to be bubbling with story ideas and reading aboutloveand the perfect man. Instead she was confronting the utterly imperfect Sam Donovan who ate with uninhibited greed and apparently had zero actual manners or charm.
Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she set her phone down. “What are we going to do about this situation?”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get my stuff.” He returned to the foyer to shove his feet back into his boots. After pulling on his coat, he strode back outside, letting in another blast of snow and cold air. His boots left a trail of dirty, melting slush on the hardwood floor.
Okay. There was a bright side. He was not a murderous intruder. He probably knew where the generator manual was. He might have brought fruit.
And at most, he’d be here until dawn. Once the snow eased up, he’d drive his big old truck back down the mountain, and she’d be left in the peaceful solitude that was the reason she’d come here in the first place.
Fine. She could handle this.
Grabbing a mop from the utility closet, Brooke cleaned up the slush and stored his granola bar in a Ziploc bag. He made three trips in and out, unloading a backpack and several boxes filled with enough food and drinks to sustain an entire prison population.
“How long were you planning on staying here?” She eyed the boxes as he began unpacking the food—cereal, frozen dinners, instant coffee, boxed mac-and-cheese, peanut butter, bread, bags of chips, and, yes, a box of oranges, apples, and bananas.
“A week.” He opened a cabinet, where she’d stored a few dozen snack-sized boxes of Barnum’s Animals crackers. After lifting an eyebrow, he closed the door and opened another.
“What about the bookstore?”
“Jake is taking over for a few days.”
Jake Ryan, a movie actor who was now involved in behind-the-scenes pursuits, worked part-time at Title Wave and was the only person whom Sam seemed to consider a friend. As far as Brooke knew, the two men weren’tbroswho got together for fishing expeditions and pick-up football games, but they sometimes had a beer at the Mousehole and actually talked. Sam wouldn’t turn the bookstore over to anyone but Jake.
He opened the fridge. “I need more room for my food.”
“You can’t stay here for more than a day, much less a week,” Brooke reminded him. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you.”
“Good thing you’re not me, then.” He tossed her an unexpected smirk. “I always get comfortable.”
Helookedcomfortable in the rustic cabin, too. He’d always been disheveled, but here he seemed at home and almost…appealing. Like an unmade bed you could fall right into for a deeply satisfying snuggle.
Except Brooke always made her bed. She enjoyed waking up when the sun rose and starting her day with an accomplished task.
Sam took her jar of peanut butter out of the fridge. “Peanut butter doesn’t need refrigeration.”
“That kind does. It’s all natural without any palm oil.”
He set it on the counter and put a carton of orange juice in the fridge. He took out her bottle of champagne and lifted an eyebrow. “You sure you’re here alone?”
“Thanks to you, not anymore.” She tapped her fingers on the doorjamb. “I brought that for New Year’s Eve.”
He straightened and set the bottle next to the sink. “You’re skipping the big Bliss Cove party?”
