Page 19 of The False Flat

I looked away from him because that was really sweet, and I didn’t want to find him charming, so I rolled my eyes and said, “Who prefers green tea over coffee?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s disgusting, and I hate it.” If he didn’t want brutal honesty, then he should’ve come with coffee, after I’d ensured my makeup hadn’t gone rogue in the night, when I had on proper nonrobe clothes.

“That seems about right.” His mouth cocked to the side, amused. “Try it. I made it myself.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?” I didn’t know why I was being snarky. This man brought it out of me. Or maybe it was his mustache. If he’d just shave it, we could be friends, or, at the very least, I could be civil.

“Taste it.”

I rolled my eyes again and brought the cup to my lips, taking a tentative sip. The warmth hit my mouth first, followed by a faint hint of cinnamon that was laced with mild sweetness. It was delicious. I’d heard Deanna say describing food as “delicious” was a sure indication of an unsophisticated palate.

It is delicious.

“So?” He waited for my answer.

I shrugged. “It’s not really doing anything for me, sorry.” How long before I could take another sip?

He nodded and let out a little “Hmm” before asking, “Are you going to invite me in?”

Chad floated through my mind. It was Saturday morning, almost eight a.m. He never slept past eight a.m. And then there was my house, the antithesis of the image I wanted to portray. Had I told them how long I’d been in Nashville? If Grant was judgy now, wait until I fueled him with my empty, crumbling house. He’d have a field day. See, you’re so busy, you can’t even keep a proper home!

Grant must’ve seen the hesitation in my hesitation because he said, “I promise I won’t stay long. I have a job I need to get to anyway.”

I moved aside and motioned him in with the glorious drink he’d given me that didn’t taste a thing like green tea.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed.

I nearly dropped the drink. Had he caught me? Was he that shocked at the house? Had Chad come down shirtless, showing off his incredible abs?

He ran his hands over the wall with a tenderness that veered toward weird. “Incredible. She’s incredible.”

“She? What?” Was he having a stroke?

“Your house. Can’t you feel it? Well, you bought it. You must feel it.”

“Are you talking about the general decay or the musty smell?”

“Every house has energy,” he said. “You can feel it as soon as you walk through the door. This one has great energy, but it’s going to take some work to get her to her full potential.” He turned toward me. “It’ll be worth it, though. This is the kind of house where whatever you put into it, you’ll get back and then some.”

I took another sip of the can’t-possibly-be green tea and pondered. When I’d walked into this house, I’d felt none of those things, but it had felt like home. Maybe Grant was the equivalent to a sommelier in the wine world, some sort of house whisperer. I liked him better for it. Slightly.

“Deanna made you come?” I was still holding the muffins and the cup, but I couldn’t dare take him into my kitchen. The few dishes I owned were indecent. And he probably expected me to offer him one of the muffins, but I wasn’t going to do that either. I needed him to leave.

“Yeah, she said I was the reason you weren’t answering her calls or texts and that I needed to fix it. For some reason, she likes you.”

His gaze was too intense, like he was looking inside me again. I cleared my throat, then automatically took another sip, forgetting the drink wasn’t supposed to do anything for me. “And how long are you staying?”

He chuckled. “I guess you determine how long I stay because I have two objectives here, and if I fail, Deanna will stop returning my texts and phone calls.”

Why do I matter to this woman? She didn’t need my example of wonky entrepreneurialism. So I couldn’t fathom why she wanted to be friends with me, wanted it badly enough to send her brother over with fresh baked goods and an amazing drink.

“And what are the two objectives?”

“One, you have to text her that it was actually all your fault and that you’ve come to your senses and realize what a great guy I am.”

“Okay, so she sent you on a suicide mission. I hope you have another sister because—”