Gregg was fit. I always knew he was trim, knew he worked out, was toned. But never in my life had I imagined that under his cardigans and chef’s aprons lived defined abs and a hint of the V to his groin that was likely chiseled to perfection not that many years ago.
But age had softened him to my ideal, with love handles near his hips. Perfect for me to grip when—
I needed this walk. I needed it badly. And my gut told me I’d be out here longer than usual.
“Sorry,” I told Gregg when we got home. “I didn’t want Murphy to wait, but I didn’t mean for you to . . .” I gestured to the kitchen table, now piled with food.
“It’s no problem. I love cooking for people.”
As I’d run away to cool off, he’d taken over in the kitchen and cooked. Omelets, some kind of breakfast potatoes, buttered toast with lemon curd and raspberry jam to spread, and waffles with maple syrup.
Thankfully, for the sake of my dick, he’d also put some clothes on. His hair was damp and combed to perfection.
“This looks amazing!” My mouth watered. “I haven’t eaten like this in ages. Usually skip breakfast.”
“That’s not healthy. You’re still a growing boy.”
I quirked a brow. “Boy?”
Holding his hands up in surrender, he said, “Man. Sorry. It’s an old habit. Anyone Paige’s age or younger is a kid to me. One pitfall of being a parent, I guess.”
I hummed my reply, because the last thing I wanted was him appraising me as a kid, but all I had for a comeback was petulance.
I cut into my omelet, and my first bite had me moaning. Chives, chopped bacon, and some creamy cheese that took it to a whole different level, not the cheddar I’d pulled out of the fridge.
“This is fantastic. Comfort food.”
Gregg smiled around a bite of toast. “Figured you needed some of that. Every time Paige comes home, comfort food is on the menu.”
“How old is Paige?”
“Twenty-four.”
I studied him as he dug into his waffle, trying to determine his actual age.
“What?” he asked, pulling a napkin to his mouth. “Did I make a mess of myself?”
“No. Just trying to figure out how old you are. You’re an enigma. You don’t look old enough to have a daughter in grad school.”
He gave me a pointed nod on his way in for a sip of coffee. Like he was winding up for something. Or maybe guarding himself?
Had I hit a nerve?
“I was young when I had Paige.” Gregg traced the rim of his coffee cup. “I did everything backward. Had a kid first. Worked horrible jobs to put food on the table. Eventually worked my way through college and got a good job.” His smile was pinched.
I shouldn’t have asked. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Gregg shook his head. “Not prying. Just curious. And trust me, I’m used to it. I’ve been answering questions since Paige started preschool. Most people thought I was her older brother back then, not her dad.”
“Oh . . .”
No wonder he saw me as a kid. Not that it mattered; he was straight.
Could I be barking up a worse tree?
I had to change the subject and my brainwaves.
“Do you have something I could use to haul a Christmas tree home from the lot?”
“That’s right, you don’t have a car. Borrow mine, if you have a license.”
I swallowed my coffee just in time to avoid a spit-take. “Yeah, Gregg, I’ve got my license. Since I was fifteen. Been hauling lumber and power tools to my dad’s job sites since then.”
He smiled, but it was lopsided. “No offense intended. I had to force Paige to take her behind-the-wheel exam, so I never make assumptions anymore.”
“None taken.” I pulled up my coffee mug to hide my smirk.
Gregg’s cheeks pinked up. Because I called him out? Who knew?
“Why don’t we pick out the tree together?” he offered. “I know what fits in the house. Heather once showed up with a tree so big we had to set it up outside. Coldest Christmas morning ever.”
I joined in with his chuckle. “Is Heather your ex?”
“Yup. Divorced eight years now. Still good friends though.”
“That’s unusual.”
“So were the circumstances of our marriage, but—” He slapped his thighs like punctuation and stood. “I’ve got a few work emails to shoot off. Finish eating and then holler up.” He faced Murphy, who was curled up on his bed beside the radiator. “Come on, Murph. Let’s go to work.”
I watched Murphy trail after Gregg. I did not, and I repeat, did not watch the way Gregg’s ass moved in his tight, wash-worn jeans as he slipped out of the room.
The perfect tree was waiting for us when we arrived, so in less than ten minutes, we were tying it to the top of Gregg’s Subaru. At home, he helped me get it into the backyard, where I sawed the trunk while he hunted for his tree stand.
“Here.” He passed me the red-and-green metal contraption. Murphy walked the perimeter of the yard as if on patrol. “I hauled the boxes of lights and ornaments up from the storeroom too. Use whatever you want. I’m gonna—” He pointed to the attic. “I’m training someone new at work, and he has a lot of questions,” he said with an eye roll.
“Uff!”
“You’re telling me. Not the person I wanted to hire, but he’s related to someone in upper management, so . . . And for the record, I wish they still paid me by the hour because this guy doesn’t seem to realize that nights, days off, and the weekends are mine. I’d love the overtime this kid could earn me.”
“Pain, I’m sure.”
“If his first solo project is a mess, who’s neck will be on the line?”
“Yours. Well, have no fear, leave me in charge of the tree. When you come down from your tower, the holiday glitz will soothe your weary soul.” And then I winked.
What the hell am I doing?
But Gregg winked back and squeezed my hand, warm skin to warm skin, and I about died.
I snooped around Gregg’s house as I set out snow globes, nativity figurines, and pillar candles. He had built-in cabinets made from beautiful wood that were stuffed with books. Loads and loads of books. Shelved by genre, he had a small library worth. Some looked antique and delicate too.
I set up the tree in the room he called the study, where most of those books lined shelves behind leaded-glass doors. Two ratty upholstered chairs were in there and a table my grandmother would’ve called a library table. Gregg had taken advantage of it by stacking several books on the bottom shelf. Nonfiction was in one pile. Sci-fi in another. And I also spied several large-format photography books.
This room was at the front of the house, and I often caught Murphy peeking out this window waiting for his walk. I was taking his lookout away, so he had to find another spot for a few weeks.
As I straightened the tree trunk in the stand, bright color pulled my attention to the shelves of the closest bookcase. Children’s books filled the whole thing. Some were old, so I had my suspicions this was Gregg’s collection, not Paige’s.
Children’s books? Hmm. Picture books, most of them. But there were chapter books higher up and a row of graphic novels.