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CHAPTER ONE
When Vi Summers’ phone chirped for the second time in fifteen minutes, she counted to ten under her breath. Mom’s name appeared on the screen, and the ten-count stretched to twenty. Patience was a virtue, right? Stepping back to the stove, Vi continued to sauté the green beans. She had already explained her role as hostess for Paige’s Thanksgiving dinner, but when Mom didn’t like an answer …
C’mon, girl, no meltdown today.
A voicemail notification flashed. If the phone calls continued, it’d be a win if Vi made it through the next hour.
Vi’s foster dog sidled up, gazing at her with droopy eyes. He caught the green bean Vi tossed mid-air and gulped it down. She lifted a brow. “Food tastes better when it’s chewed, Thunder.” At his hopeful look, she flipped him another. “No more though. Here’s the deal, buddy. I’m gonna find you an owner who can’t resist your soulful eyes.”
With a half-smile, Vi turned her attention back to the skillet. Conflicting emotions rushed to the surface, threatening to undo her fragile poise. But Daddy wouldn’t want her to be upset on Thanksgiving or mad at her mom, no matter how badly Vi grieved his absence. She turned the phone off and slipped it into her skirt pocket.
Rich coffee aroma overpowered the odor of burned toast, a casualty of housemate Brenna’s ongoing feud with the toaster oven. Vi would fortify herself with liquid courage, then add more butter to the green beans. Crossing to the corner counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee. One sip later, she grimaced and set the cup back on the counter.
“Did I mess up the coffee too?” Brenna stopped rubbing the turkey with spices to look at her. Brilliant, beautiful Brenna, who found good in everyone. She’d moved in with Paige shortly after Vi. “Jesse prefers it super strong.”
Of course he did. Vi bit her lip, guilt-ridden over her uncharitable attitude. After way too much drama—though most of it hadn’t been their doing—Brenna and Jesse, the handsome co-owner of People’s Gym, aka Peeps, had worked through their issues. Now they contended for Couple of the Year.
“Nah, I’m good,” Vi said. The beginnings of a headache tightened like a band around her forehead. She rubbed her temples and studied her prep list. Ah. More butter. Her boots echoed on the pier and beam floor as she carefully skirted around Paige, her other housemate. Heart big as Texas, Paige had insisted Vi move in with her when Daddy died. Declared living alone had passed its expiration date. She didn’t mention the other part. Without Paige, Vi would have broken into irretrievable pieces. A rush of cold air cooled Vi’s face as she peered into the cramped space.
“Rory should be here any minute. He’s making his famous mashed potatoes. Heaps of salt, heavy cream, and butter.” As if nothing was wrong, Paige wrestled a bright Fiesta bowl from the cabinet.
The unwelcome news jerked Vi’s brain off balance. Everything was wrong. She knew Rory’s type all too well.
Vi stared into the fridge, attempting to resume her task. Rory, the other co-owner of Peeps, belonged to their same close-knit group of friends, but Vi kept her distance. Aside from outrageous good looks, Rory’s extroverted personality grated on her last nerve.
“Good luck with that. I can’t find the butter.” Vi lingered at the fridge, still stunned. Rory would join them. And cook.
His electric presence would overwhelm Paige’s tiny kitchen. And Vi.
“I saw it last night when Paige and Rory brought in the groceries. Green beans burning!” Brenna stepped over and shut off the fire. Gray smoke spiraled up from the pan.
Vi dashed to the stove and grabbed a spatula, prying the charred beans loose. An acrid stench rose to her nostrils, making her cough. The smoke alarm noisily alerted—as if the billowing haze might go undetected.
Beside her, Brenna fiddled with the oven timer. Totally unrelated to the shrill bleating, the large pale turkey awaited its fate in a roasting pan.
The doorbell rang. Paige slipped out and returned with Rory. Decked out in navy slacks, a gray Peeps’ hoodie, and black cowboy boots, his red hair spiked upward. Vi suppressed the urge to seek cover.
In one second, Rory assessed the chaos, then strode through the cloudy kitchen to the back door and flung it open. Next, he stepped to the window, unlatched the lock, then shoved it upward—all with military precision. Paige and Brenna scurried out of his path as he nabbed a cookie sheet from the counter and waved it in a wide arc. The smoke alarm stopped its incessant shrieking as if bowing down to the male in the room.
Ears still ringing, Vi pivoted, dumping the scorched green beans into the trash. Rory appeared next to her. “You got this?”
Well, bless his heart. “I got this,” she spoke through a tight throat, warm with embarrassment.
Spreading his arms wide, he announced, “Crisis under control, ladies. It’s Thanksgiving, so hugs and kisses for all.”
Vi’s spatula clattered to the floor. From Rescuer to Romeo in less than a minute. The man didn’t possess an ounce of humility.
The meltdown she’d been staving off mushroomed.
Rory wrapped his arms around Paige and placed a modest kiss on her forehead. Then he draped an arm around Brenna’s shoulder, smooching her on the cheek.
When he headed for her, Vi caught the scent of his woodsy cologne and gazed into his face. Big mistake. His gray eyes churned, similar to waves in the ocean. As if he knew and understood every bit of her pain. A questioning look creased his features. Ever so slowly, he held out his arms. The comfort of a hug tempted her. For a nanosecond. If his strong masculine arms embraced her, she’d unravel like a loose thread. She backed away with the grace of a wet hen.
“I’m going for butter,” she squawked, brushing past him, certain he’d guessed her fragile state of mind. What if she spilled her guts? Told him that her first holiday without Daddy was breaking her heart. And the calls from Mom weren’t helping. Would he understand or downplay her pain? The questions had her bolting out of the kitchen.
Even as she brushed past, he winked at her and said, “We have butter.” As if he recognized her flimsy excuse—but she didn’t stop.
The man redefined enigma. He seemed to have a tender caring side, though in the same breath, he’d get cocky. Vi knew one thing for certain—Rory could hug and kiss all the women he wanted—just not her. Grabbing keys and purse, she dashed out of the house.
