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A lopsided smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And here I thought I might’ve changed your mind a little on the whole slowing down thing.”
Her cheeks heated, along with a few of her other parts. “Sorry.” She shifted her weight against the stool and willed her body into submission. At least he wasn’t wrong about the quality of the coffee. She’d noticed the difference between the ho-hum, standard brew she brought with her in the mornings and the rich, lovely blend of flavors he coaxed into perfection every time she refilled her travel mug with the coffee he’d made each morning.
“I guess you’re right about the coffee tasting better,” Sloane conceded, although giving in entirely wasn’t on her agenda. “But don’t you ever get impatient with the process? I mean, it’s notalwaysbad to go the instant gratification route.”
“Maybe not for some people. But I’m a think-it-through kind of guy. I like to take my time.”
Did he ever. Good Lord, the man’s restraint was the stuff of legends. Sloane cleared her throat. “So, you don’t ever just do something without thinking?”
“No.” He filled the French press with coffee grounds and jiggled the handle on the saucepan, moving through the kitchen like water.
“Never?” The concept was totally foreign to her, and the idea of being so calculated piqued the hell out of her curiosity. “Like never ever, in the history of ever?”
“Still no.” His laughter filtered softly between them, and he poured the perfect amount of steaming water over the grounds without measuring.
Sloane’s curiosity amped even higher. There had to besomething that would set him off. She frowned and hooked her toes over the bottom rung on the bar stool where she sat. “So, if I said I’d take you to Fiji, all expenses paid, but we had to leave right this second, you wouldn’t go?”
“Sloane, I’m not even wearing real pants right now. Come on.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not wearinganypants and I’d go,” she said, only half-jokingly. After all, she’d never been to Fiji, and swimming naked in the South Pacific was number sixteen on her bucket list.
“You would seriously walk out of this cottage right now, without clothes on, just to go to Fiji on a whim?” The muscles in Gavin’s forearms flexed slightly as he manipulated the French press to create a pot of perfectly brewed coffee, and the aroma steeped the air with a relaxing, earthy scent.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Uh, because it’s crazy?”
She bit her lip, thinking. “Okay, so you might have a point about the no-pants part. It is kind of winter here, and let’s face it. I’d need pants eventually. But otherwise, who knows when—or if—I’d get another chance to go to Fiji?”
“You sure do go against the grain, don’t you?” He turned to grab a pair of plain white coffee cups from the cupboard, and Sloane laughed.
“Yeah, that’s me. Irresponsible and loving it.”
But rather than agree just like everyone else on the planet, Gavin thunked the mugs to the counter, pinning her with a look that was impossible to decipher. “You’re not irresponsible.”
His quiet tone threw her off-kilter in the face of all the joking they’d just been doing, and she blinked for a second, mired in shock. “Oh, it’s okay. I mean, I’m used to it.”
“Let me ask you something. Do you think I’m stupid?”
The question was so unexpected that she coughed out an involuntary laugh, even though his face suggested he was as serious as a heart attack. Not thatthatwas anything new.
“Of course not,” she said, eyeing him carefully. “Why would I think that?”
“Because only an idiot would hire an irresponsible babysitter.” He poured two cups of coffee with efficient movements, sliding one in her direction as if they were discussing something as irrefutable as the color of the sky.
But Sloane shrugged. It wasn’t like this was shocking territory, after all. “It’s not exactly a secret that I’m pretty flighty. I’m just used to being labeled the black sheep, I guess.”
“That’s different than being irresponsible.” Gavin paused before turning to pull a couple of spoons from the drawer in front of him. “Just because you don’t do things like everyone else doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Remind me never to take you to a Russo family reunion,” she said, leaning forward to reach for the sugar. “That’s not exactly popular opinion among my family.”
“So you’ve mentioned. Care to elaborate? I’m not sure I quite understand the Russo logic here.”
Something about the easy way Gavin moved around the kitchen, sauntering to the refrigerator for the milk and treating the topic like it was no big deal, put her at ease rather than on guard. The answer tumbled from her lips.
“From the time I was little, I always did everything a little off-center. Not like anybody else. Which might’ve been okay if I didn’t have a mother, two sisters, and a family tree loaded with cousins who all did things the ‘normal’ way.” She paused just long enough to hook air quotes around the word. “So, marching to your own drummer isn’t exactly an endearing trait where I come from. At least, not to anyone but my father.”
“You two were close, then?” The steady calm in Gavin’s words was catching, and it loosened more thoughts like a torrent.
