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“I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ll do whatever the bloody hell I want with my shoulder.”
“Sure.” I nod and rummage around in my purse for my lip moisturizer. “I mean, you’re right. You can. Except your job is important, and if you don’t follow the rules, you can’t go back to work. Aha! There it is.” I pull out the tube and rub it on my lips before tossing it back into my bag and smiling at the surly Nick. “What do you want for dinner? I figure we can do takeout tonight, and then I’ll go to the grocery and stock up on some things later.”
“I don’t care.” He sighs and sets his empty mug in the sink. “Whatever you want.”
“Italian it is. I haven’t had Ciao since I got home, and I’m totally craving it. What room do you want me to take?”
His eyes narrow on me again.
“You’re staying here?”
“Twenty-four-seven,” I confirm. “And don’t look so scared. I won’t be in your way. I have stuff to do.”
“Jesus,” he mutters and pushes his hand through his already messy hair. “I’m in the master. You can take any of the others.”
“Okay.” I hop off the stool and return to the foyer to retrieve my suitcase. “I’ll just go get this settled, and then I’ll order dinner.”
He nods, and I wrestle my case upstairs, taking the bedroom farthest from the master. We’re both going to want our privacy.
If there was a bedroom on the first floor, I’d have taken that. But we’ll make do.
The house is smaller than I imagined, but it’s beautiful. All the rooms face the lake, and they each have huge windows so you’re sure not to miss the views.
Now that I think about it, this would be my dream house—something on the small side with an incredible view. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
I unpack my suitcase and store it in the closet. When everything is in its place and organized, I freshen my blond hair, slick more moisturizer on my lips, and skip down the steps. A quick search tells me that Nick is sitting in the living room, reading something on his tablet.
“All moved in,” I announce.
He grunts.
“Do you know what you want for dinner?”
“Just get two of whatever you want.”
I frown and sit on a chair across from him. “I’m getting all the carbs in the world. You don’t strike me as a carb guy.”
“Why not?”
“Well.” I look him over and feel myself start to salivate. “I mean, you’re lean and muscly. And I’m not flirting.” I shake my head. “I’m just stating a fact as a medical professional that you don’t look like you eat many carbs. In my professional opinion. Professionally.”
“So, you’re being professional, then.” For the first time since I got here, I see humor in his blue eyes, and it gives me hope that I won’t be living with Scrooge for this entire assignment.
“Completely. So, are you sure you want what I’m having?”
“Add a salad on the side,” he says and looks back down at the screen.
“Okay, but I warned you. I’ll order and go pick it up. Shouldn’t take long.”
He nods, and I leave the room to do just that.
By the time I’m driving into town to fetch the food, I’ve relaxed quite a bit. Nick might have a bark to him, but he’ll loosen up. He can’t be grouchy all the time.
Darkness has fallen, but the moon is high, reflecting off of the fresh snow. It’s just past Thanksgiving, so the town has already hung holiday lights and décor throughout the downtown area, making it look like the set of a Hallmark movie.
I freaking love it.
I don’t have to wait for the food, and when I get back to the house, I dish it onto plates, grab utensils and napkins, and deliver the meal to Nick, who’s still in the living room.
He did turn on the gas fireplace while I was gone, making the room cozy.
“Thanks,” he says and then raises a brow at me. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Bread, pasta, rich sauce. You’re welcome. But I did get your salad.”
“How do you eat like this and stay so little?” he asks before taking a bite of his bread.
“Wait. Are we having a conversation?”
He chews, silently waiting for me to reply.
“I’m blessed with a crazy fast metabolism,” I reply with a shrug and moan in delight when the first bite hits my tongue. “Jesus God, that’s good. Mmm. I mean, I remember what it tastes like, but it’s so much better than my memories.”
I shovel more in and sigh in happiness.
“Oh, I also run for exercise,” I say, dabbing my lips. “So, luckily, I can eat pretty much whatever I want, and things don’t get too out of hand. How’s yours?”
“What? Oh, it’s fine.”
“Nick. Come on, it’s better than fine.”
