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“Well, isn’t it your lucky day?” Muriel claps her hands.
“Seems that way.” He winks at her.
“Do you mind pouring me a glass of that lemonade? Ri-anne, why don’t you relax a little and have one with me?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
I don’t have much to do this afternoon apart from cookies and Pierce, and since he’s already here and mostly naked, I might as well enjoy the view and the entertainment. I make a move to stand, but Ms. Barber stops me with a hand.
“No, no, Pierce will get it for you, won’t you, darling?”
“It would be my pleasure to serve you both.”
I have to fight a laugh, because he’s seriously laying it on thick here. He poses as he pours the lemonade into the glass, every hard muscle tightening as he flexes. It’s hilarious and yet, I worry he’s giving Muriel a case of the vapors.
I accept the lemonade.
“Aren’t you going to pour yourself a glass?” Muriel asks.
“I should finish cleaning the pool before I do that.” He motions to the leaves floating close to us.
“You’re too good to me.” She pats his thigh.
“Anything to make it easier for you.”
I take a sip of my lemonade and nearly spit-spray it back into the glass. “Is there vodka in here?”
Muriel pinches her fingers together. “Just a touch.”
It tastes like a heck of a lot more than a touch. I’ll have to sip slowly if I’m going to bake cookies without passing out in the batter. Or getting my cookie eaten by the pool boy later.
He swaggers—it’s definitely not a walk or a strut—around the pool, grabbing the net. He starts at the other side, giving me time to ask some pertinent questions. I have an idea as to why Pierce is here—likely for a similar reason I am. We both want the house. I want to sell it or flip it, and he wants to buy it and rent it. It could end up working in both of our favors, unless Marley thinks this is a better house to flip—then I really will be sleeping with the enemy.
He’s definitely got a leg up, or at least another, more enticing appendage. And showing up in a Speedo is a new level of playing dirty. I can’t compete with his six-pack.
“Does Pierce stop by often?”
“Every few days or so. He helps me water the plants and take care of the gardens between the landscaping company visits. He usually brings his dog, Trip.”
“Trip?” I feign a questioning look.
She laughs and takes another long gulp of her drink. “Poor little broken mutt has three legs. You’d almost think they’re twins.” She nods in Pierce’s direction with a wink and nudge.
I stifle a choke-snorting laugh.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking. And he wouldn’t be wearing that banana hammock if he wasn’t wanting us to look.” She takes another hefty sip of her drink and sighs. “That boy has all the best attributes. He makes me remember I’m still a woman, I can tell you that. I haven’t felt so much as a tingle below the waist since Herb passed away. Enjoy this body while you have it, and make sure you let someone enjoy it with you.” She pats my leg and winks again. “That boy is a fine, fine specimen. Takes good care of himself. My Herb was the same way when we were your age. Balls hung down to his knees by the end, but gravity is a bastard like that. If I didn’t have osteoporosis and my vagina wasn’t as dry as the desert in the middle of July, I’d take that out for a ride.”
I want to laugh, but she actually looks quite serious.
“You’re in your prime, dearie. I hope you’re not saving yourself for marriage or anything. You need to ride all the horses you can before you get tied to one of them.”
“I’ll keep that under advisement.”
I finish my vodka and lemonade a lot faster than I should. I’m blaming it on the combination of the heat and Pierce in his Speedo. My favorite part is when his sunglasses accidentally fall into the pool and he has to go in after them.
His dive is virtually splashless, and when he comes up, he’s right in front of us. He slips his sunglasses back on and pulls himself out of the pool in slow motion, water sluicing down his chest. He sets one knee on the edge, highlighting his magic package.
I decline another lemonade and decide I need to get to the cookie baking. I’m unsurprised when Muriel asks if I’m okay on my own.
I head inside and turn on the oven, annoyed that my attempt to butter up Muriel has been thwarted by Pierce and his majestic peen. At least now I have an opportunity to check out the house. The interior is in much better shape than the exterior, the appliances new. The furnishings are reflective of the person who lives here, but that’s easy enough to change.
I pull out the baking sheets and the parchment paper. It’s a nice oven, convection, so it’ll take less time to bake. I have to constantly rotate my cookie sheets at home so the bottoms don’t burn.
The first batch is in the oven when Pierce appears in the kitchen. It suddenly feels like the temperature has shot up another ten degrees. “You’re pretty transparent, you know that?”
He motions to the set up. “And you’re not?”
He has a point. “But you’re playing dirty.”
“I’d like to play dirty with you later.”
I chuckle. “I walked right into that one.”
Pierce leans against the counter. “She’s lonely.”
“And horny. And you’re capitalizing on that. I can’t figure out if you’re doing this to get something out of it or to be nice.” I roll another ball of cookie dough and drop it on the pan, flattening it with a fork.
“Why can’t it be both?”
“I figured it couldn’t be out of the goodness of your big, huge … heart.” I glance down, making it clear that’s not what I’m referencing. “Unless you have a thing for older women.”
He crosses his arms over his bare chest. “She lost her husband, Herbert, after forty-two years of marriage. They’d never spent more than a weekend away from each other in all that time. Very different from my parents, who’ve spent that last thirty plus years running away from each other. Half the time one of them is out of the country for some reason or other.” His expression darkens for a moment, and he rubs at his bottom lip. “Muriel has three children, all boys. The oldest is Christian, he’s forty and married to his high school sweetheart, Lizzy. They have three kids, Louis, Gabe, and Adele, and they live in South Carolina. The middle son is Mike. He’s thirty-six and recently divorced. He lives out in Tennessee with his girlfriend, Dana, who Muriel isn’t fond of. He has two kids and only partial custody.”
I’m impressed that he knows all of this in great detail. I could’ve told him about the deceased husband and her three sons, but not the names or where they lived, or how many grandchildren they have. “The youngest son is about to have twins. I get it.”
He cocks his head. “What do you get?”
“You invest time.”
“It’s more than that, Rian. It’s not just about investing time for personal gain. It’s about connecting with people. I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who are always looking for a way to get ahead or out of some shit they’ve stepped in. Being a lawyer means someone always wants something from you, or wants you to get them out of a mess. I love my parents, but they sure as hell didn’t give me a great basis for how relationships should work, or how to communicate. I had to figure that out all on my own. All Muriel wants is to talk to someone. She misses her family and her husband. She misses having someone to love.”
