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Chapter 10
Not a date. Not a date.So completelynot a date.
Grace kept reminding herself of that fact as she hurried around cleaning her house, vacuuming, bemoaning the leaky ceiling, and wondering if she had time to run out and pick up some fairy lights or scented candles to brighten up the place.
She plumped the sofa pillows and told herself to get a grip.
This was theoppositeof a date. This was a…a work meeting. A conference. Co-working professionals did not have a need for scented candles.
Still, she dug up some holiday and teacher appreciation gifts that she’d never had a need to use before now. Candles—some scented, some unscented—new tea towels, a ribbon-wrapped jar of M&Ms (why hadn’t she opened that yet?), guest soaps for the bathroom, gourmet teas, and a selection of body washes and lotions from Naked, the elegant and expensive downtown bath shop.
Figuring this was as good a time as any to break into the fancy stuff, Grace showered with the almond milk soap and lotioned up with the lavender-verbena body cream. After all, it was important to smell good when one was reviewing instructional materials and learning objectives with one’s co-teacher.
Especially when the co-teacher could make her toes tingle just by looking at her. Aside from his physical effect on her body, the thing about Lincoln’s awareness was that it was sointense.
In class, he didn’t just passively watch her. Hestudiedher. She could almost see all the gears and wheels clicking around in his mind, though of course she had no idea what kind of conclusions he was drawing. Even his passing glances were swift and intent, as if he were capturing a butterfly in a net for closer examination.
While Grace knew his sharp attentiveness was likely the result of his being a writer—writers were an observant species, she’d heard—her body’s response was both instinctive and powerful. In three days of being around Lincoln Atwood, she’d experienced more heartbeat increases and surges of warm pleasure than she’d had with her entire lot of previous boyfriends. All two of them.
Still.Not a date.
She dressed in her good jeans with the embroidered vines trailing over her left thigh and hip, and a dark green sweater set. Much nicer than her usual stay-at-home loungewear, but hopefully she didn’t look as if she were trying too hard.
Since she always wore her hair up at school, she brushed it out and let it fall loose past her shoulders. She put on a light coating of makeup and lip gloss. By the time the doorbell rang a few minutes before six, she figured this version of Grace Berry was about as good as it got.
Squelching a rustle of anxiety, she opened the door. Lincoln, of course, was a gorgeous vision of masculinity in black trousers and a long-sleeved navy shirt that somehow made his eyes even more golden, like autumn leaves. He was also holding a large pizza box, which really skyrocketed him off the hotness scale.
“Come in.” She stepped aside and extended her hand for the box. “Thanks for getting this.”
“My pleasure.” His gaze skimmed over her with unhidden appreciation, but he didn’t say anything about her appearance.
As well he shouldn’t, since this was a business meeting, not a date.
After leading him inside, she set the box on the dining table, apologized for the leak bucket on the kitchen floor, and gave him a quick tour, which took all of thirty seconds.
“Have a seat.” She gestured to the kitchen table and ran her hands over her thighs. “What can I get you to drink? Should we eat before we start?”
“Sure. I’ll take whatever you’re having.”
Grace fetched them both sodas, and they sat down. She’d fully expected to be nervous about eating with him right across from her, but since their first encounter had involved sharing a piece of pie, and they’d had lunch at school twice, a pizza dinner ended up being a natural, comfortable extension of their breaking bread together.
“So your father lives here in town?” He pulled a gooey slice of pepperoni from the box.
“He moved here about six months ago from Farmertown, which is down in Tulare County.”
“Farmertown? That’s a place?”
“It’s a one-road town with a feed shop, a bank, and a grocery store,” Grace explained. “Bliss Cove is like the big city in comparison. We had a farm about ten miles away, though that counted as being from Farmertown.”
“What kind of farm?”
“Dairy. We also had pigs, chickens, a few sheep, and about a dozen cats. But mostly cows.”
She glanced up and caught him watching her, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You were a milkmaid, huh?”
Grace rolled her eyes with a laugh. “I was a skinny kid who tromped around in dirty jeans and boots covered with manure. But if you’d like to go with the milkmaid fantasy, be my guest.”
“Noted.” Still amused, he reached for his glass. “You said your grandmother lived with you?”
