Hopefully Nate can take care of that when he gets back. I’m about to close the front closet door—Gram hated it open—but stop abruptly. How did this white coat get here? It definitely wasn’t here earlier. Gram only ever wore dark colors, so it can’t be hers. A small laugh bubbles up inside me along with a memory. Gram said white clothes were a canvas for an artist—meaning every time she wore white, she spilled something on it. Eventually she only bought dark colors.
Well, wouldn’t you know. It’s exactly my size.
As I slip my arms into it, I spot another pickle jar on the credenza, a couple of tens in it. Have they really taken up a coat fund for me? I don’t know whether to smile or shout. I can buy my own coat. Cripes, I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time. But this… Well, this is unnecessary and…so incredibly sweet. My heart squeezes at the display of brotherly and sisterly love. Still, I’ll be sure to tell them to keep their money, now that I’ve found this beauty.
Back in the kitchen, I make some tea, shrug from the coat, and take my mug to my den. I’m here to sell the B&B, but I’m also here to work on my theorem, and I need to get at it. I boot up my computer and blow on my hot tea as I go over my notes.
Before I realize it, the afternoon is gone. I’d lost myself in the complex inner workings of quantum systems as I try to provide an ironclad guarantee that it really has done what it claims. But the path I’d gone down today broke far quicker than the last one.
The back door opens, and I reach for my tea, only to realize it has gone cold. Bags rustle, and the fridge opens and closes. The water turns on and off, and it sounds like someone placed a pan on the stove. Footsteps come toward the den, and I sit back in my chair. It groans a bit.
“Hello,” Nate says, and pokes his head into the room. “Hey, I didn’t realize you were home.” His gaze moves over my face and my body, and he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Your car is gone.”
As I take in the mountain of sexiness and testosterone overtaking my doorway, Nate smiles at me, and I force myself to breathe calmly. Honest to God, that smile is a distraction, not to mention all six feet of strength and muscle. His mere presence awakens my body without even trying. Perhaps it has something to do with the way he looks at me and not through me.
I swallow hard before I say, “Took it back to the rental. From here on out, I’ll be driving the land yacht.”
“Land yacht?” His phone buzzes, but he ignores it. At least this time I know it’s not Bridgette. That thought makes me smile.
“Gram’s big old Thunderbird. It’s in the old carriage house out back.”
“Ah, you’ll never pass by a gas station again.” His brow furrows as he glances at me and my cold, half full cup of tea. “Have you eaten?”
“I…uh, meant to, but I forgot.” My stomach takes that moment to rumble.
“I just restocked. I’ll make you something.”
I stand and say, “I thought I was supposed to be cooking for you?”
“We’ll cook together. Let me rinse off and get changed first.”
I admire his crisp white button-down shirt and dress pants. He must have had a meeting today. I must say, he does look rather nice.
“Nate?”
He sticks his head back in. “Yeah?”
“Do you know anything about the white down coat in the closet?”
“Ah, nope,” he says, with a flinch in his eyelid so slight I almost miss it.
“Maybe I will play that game of poker with you, and I’ll let you win so I can pay you back.”
He holds his hands up, palms out. “I have no idea what you’re taking about.”
Sensing I’m fighting a losing battle, I say, “While you’re upstairs, would you do me a favor and check the trap? There was a loud noise up there today.”
“Not a problem. Nice job on the fire by the way,” he says, and a little thrill goes through me at the compliment. Which is totally ridiculous—all I did was toss a log on the fire. It’s not like I solved my theorem. It just feels that way.
Nate disappears upstairs, and I hover near the landing. “Anything?” I call out.
“Yeah, the trap is intact, but the cheese is gone.”
“Great.”
He steps into the hall. “I think we’re dealing with a ninja mouse,” he says and makes some chopping martial arts move. It’s as adorable as his botched western accent.
“Damn.”
“I checked the foundation earlier, and I think I found a spot where they’re getting in. I stopped at the hardware store on my way home and grabbed some foam to fill it. I’ll do that right away.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“We could always get a cat.”
“True, but what would we do with it after we sell the place?”
“You could take it with you,” he says from the top of the stairs. His fingers go to the buttons on his shirt, and he pops each one through its hole. I try not to stare, really, I do, but I’m hopeless. The man has a beautiful body, an array of muscles I just can’t seem to stop fantasizing about. Maybe I should have sex with him, get it out of my system so I can move on to more important matters.
How’s that for logical thinking at its worst?
I clear my throat, and under the guise of picking lint off my yoga pants, I bend forward. “If it wasn’t the traps, I wonder what the banging noise was.”
“Old houses creak. Could have been the pipes. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary up here.”
“That’s a plausible hypothesis,” I say, and he arches a brow at me before disappearing into the bathroom to shower and change. I go back to check on the fire and warm myself up a bit. I stand before the hearth and try not to visualize him removing his clothes, those big hands running soapy water over his gorgeous body. My fingers twitch; I steeple them, and not because I want to drop to my knees in prayer. Nope, that’s not the reason I want to drop to my knees at all.
Good God, girl, get it together.
Ten minutes later, he comes back down the stairs, and this time, his look is casual, with low slung jeans and a navy T-shirt. I like it. A lot.
“How does pasta sound?” he asks.
“Carbs are my favorite.”
He grins. “Come on. I thought I’d make spaghetti and meatballs. Something simple.”
“To you. What can I do to help?” We enter the kitchen, and all the ingredients are laid out. “Wait, you make the sauce from scratch?” Who was this man?