The pungent smell of coffee filled the kitchen. I breathed it in like I could siphon caffeine from the air.
I leaned against the counter and scrolled through my upcoming pitch and portfolio for another linen company. I read it on my phone after finishing it on my computer. It was the only way I could proofread, and I’d been burned by clicking send and then noticing a glaring typo one too many times for things to go out without proofreading. I’d respond to even more calls for proposals today. After grocery shopping.
The Harper Linens opportunity was the only reason I hadn’t schlepped my ass back across the country to stay on the ancient futon at my parents’ house. They’d moved into a retirement community after I’d left, and space was tight. Right now I had my temporary reprieve.
Today I’d check out the sunlight in the room and figure out the best times for filming, and set up my lighting and product displays and staging.
The coffee stopped dripping, and I grabbed my mug and filled it from the pot. Five heaps of sugar later and I warmed my hands around the mug. I needed to find the thermostat. If it was over sixty degrees in here, I’d be shocked. This was meat-locker territory, even though summer weather waned outside.
I turned on my music and choked down the remains of the cereal mush. Singing into my spoon, I did my best to shatter the cabinets with my high notes. I wasn’t an honors choir reject for nothing. They didn’t know what they’d missed back in high school, and I didn’t hear a single dog howling.
With my notebook beside me, I scribbled down my grocery list. The staples and a few recipes that would keep for a week in the fridge. Batching was my life, and I used it in every place I could. Why clean the kitchen every day when I could destroy it in one day and then survive off leftovers?
A door swung open. Not the front door.
A bedroom door. Hunter’s bedroom door.
My heart raced, and my cheeks boiled. I grabbed the box of cereal and shoved it into the cabinets. I rinsed out my bowl and spoon before sticking them where I’d gotten them from. Maybe we could start off today on a better foot. Maybe.
I skidded across the floor and focused on my notebook. There was no way I could make it back to my room with him already out of his.
His footsteps got closer like the T. Rex in Jurassic Park, rattling what was left in my coffee mug.
He strode into the kitchen.
I kept my head down and peered up at him.
Gone were his holey, worn sweats and tshirt from yesterday. Now he was in flannel sleep pants and a fitted short-sleeve t-shirt. It molded to his pecs and biceps. Stupid healthy-cereal-eating hotness, even in the morning. Traces of sandy stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw.
He stomped over to the cabinet and jerked it open.
An avalanche of bran flakes poured down the front of his chest. “The fuck.” His head swung around in my direction. “Did you do this?”
My notebook had never been more fascinating. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I can help you clean it up.” Clean up the mess that was totally my fault. I peeked at him. There were a few bran flakes in his hair and stuck to his chest. The chest that went beyond toned, straight to chiseled. “If you tell me where the broom is.” I clasped my hands in front of me. So much for starting off on a better foot today. My stomach was in knots, but I didn’t know if it was due to proximity to Hunter or feeling like I was about to get sent to the principal’s office.
He opened the cabinet with the bowls and pulled the top one out. The soaking-wet one. With flecks of bran cereal still stuck to it. He held it up in my direction. “Don’t know what I’m talking about, huh?”
Deny. Deny. Deny.
I kept my mouth shut and opened the under-the-sink cabinet.
“Whatever,” he grumbled under his breath. “I’ll get some coffee.”
He flung the fridge door open and checked around inside. The door closed slowly, and he flipped the lid on the trash can, fishing out the empty carton.
Mortification hit me like a bucket of ice water. I cringed. The other foot of today had officially been stomped on. The new leaf was sunburned and withered.
“I suppose this wasn’t you either.”
I kept my lips sealed.
He leaned against the counter, glaring, while I pretended he wasn’t, while I looked diligently for the broom and dustpan, which I found in the small slat-covered door right before the breakfast nook area.
He grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee, using half a spoon of sugar.
Of course the guy with the rock-hard body would eat tree bark and barely use sugar.
The cereal crunched under my bare feet, poking the bottoms of my soles. I bent to sweep up the mess.
Even though I didn’t look up, I could tell the moment he took a sip. It was followed by a spew and cough, counter-slapping and wheezing.
My neck and back got soaked with mouth coffee. I shot up from the floor, wiping at the heated liquid covering my back.
Maybe I liked my coffee a little strong.
The front of his white t-shirt was stained with coffee. At least it didn’t look like he’d done it on purpose. He didn’t seem the type to want to stain his clothes.
“What the fuck is this?” He shoved the mug in my direction. Liquid spilled over the edges and splattered to the bran-covered floor.
“Coffee.”
“Are you trying to kill me? This tastes like tar.”
I cocked my head to the side and rested my hands on the top of the broom handle. “Can’t handle a strong cup of coffee?”
“I can handle a strong cup of coffee. I can handle a triple shot of espresso. This”—he gestured to the dark liquid he poured down the sink—“is an abomination. Although maybe it would’ve been better if there were some milk.” He glowered, gaze narrowed, laser precise.
I didn’t have a comeback for that one, so I went with chipper obliviousness. “The grocery store was the next stop on my list for the day before I get some work done.”
“You work on the weekends?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes. Is there anything you need from the grocery store? I planned on buying enough for both of us.”
“I don’t need you to buy groceries for me.” His words were lost in a grumble that went from his chest straight to his stomach.
“Listen, I’m trying to be nice. Sorry about the coffee. And the milk. Let me buy you breakfast. Can you tell me where the grocery store is?”
“No.”
My jaw dropped before I clamped it shut and flicked my gaze to the ceiling to gather every thread of my patience. “Maybe show me on the way. I can buy you breakfast.”
“No.”
New tactic. I could play oblivious idiot with the best of them. I’d been played for one for over a year. Smiling wide, I stepped closer to him. “How about we go together?” I looped my arm through his.
His body stiffened.
I didn’t try to hide my grin. “Please.”
He swung his narrowed gaze to meet my smiling eyes. “Under no circumstances am I going grocery shopping with you.”
4
Hunter
“Do you like spaghetti?” She threw a box of pasta into the cart. “I make a killer marinara sauce.”
Every step was like a dance with her.