Читать книгу When Adam Came to Town - Kate Kelly, Kate Kelly - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

THE AIR HAD a bite to it the next day when Sylvie finally ventured outside midmorning. Not cold, but not summer warm, either. She shivered as she walked along the beach. She’d always hated the change from summer to fall. It signified having to leave and go back to school. Although she’d completed her master’s degree a couple of years ago, her family would still be expecting her to leave soon.

She was running out of reasons to stay. Since Pops had moved into a seniors apartment at the complex, he didn’t need her as much. And all she did at the café was order supplies and fill in for Tyler.

Her family and friends believed all her problems would go away once she returned to her life in Toronto. But even before she’d come home it had become a daily struggle to go to her studio and produce something other people might be interested in. Not that she considered her audience when she was painting. Nothing killed an original idea or approach faster than letting public perception intrude.

Weeks before Pops’s heart attack, the joy she’d once felt from creating had shriveled into a hard knot of anxiety. Her therapist hadn’t helped. Dr. Carmichael had managed to get her to admit she hated living in Toronto, and that Oliver was as much a prop in her life as her studio and her Yorkville apartment. Who wouldn’t be depressed by an admission like that?

She stopped walking and watched as the sun dappled gold on the ocean surface. Losing your mother was a turning point in anyone’s life. But to discover her father and brothers had lied about her mom’s death—or at the very least, not told the entire truth—was devastating. Sylvie couldn’t even decide what they’d done or not done, but she knew they would have made any decision with her best interests at heart—which was wonderful when you were nine years old. But at twenty-six years of age she needed the whole truth if she had a hope of dealing with this new view of their not-so-idyllic family life. They’d had more than a few years to come clean, and yet they hadn’t.

As recently as last week, she’d stopped by Dusty’s with a six-pack of beer, hoping to loosen his tongue. She’d wasted her money because he’d been on to her scheme before he’d finished one beer and made up a fantastic story about Pops joining a cult of mermaids. She laughed out loud. Maybe she hadn’t wasted her money after all. They’d had a great time, just the two of them, kicking back and trying to best the other with how silly they could be.

But to have Adam Hunter move in right next door... If her memories that had surfaced from the shock of almost losing her father were true, then his grandmother was responsible for wrecking her parents’ marriage, and thereby indirectly responsible for her mother’s death. That long-ago night, she’d overheard her parents fighting about Adam’s grandmother, and soon afterward her mother had stormed out of the house and died in a head-on collision with a truck not even two miles out of Collina. Sylvie shivered. Had it really been an accident or had her mother killed herself?

She wished Adam would go back to where he came from instead of hanging around her backyard.

Maybe she wasn’t being fair, but she hated the constant reminder of how things weren’t right with her family.

She turned when she heard a sound behind her and plowed into her father. “Pops!”

“There now.” He engulfed her in a hug, surrounding her with all things safe, the smell of Old Spice and the feel of rough wool against her cheek. “You were off in a world all your own.” He patted her affectionately on the back and released her. “How’s my little Em this morning?”

Sylvie forced a smile. Her father had given her the nickname when the critics noted her work was reminiscent of Emily Carr’s art. “What are you doing here, Pops?”

“I need to get in my two kilometers a day, so I thought I’d join you for your walk on the beach.” He slipped his arm through hers, and they started down the beach. “I wanted to check out the new neighbor, as well. Cal likes him.” Pops smiled. “That’s high praise coming from your brother.”

They strolled amicably along the beach for a few minutes before Pops tugged her closer to his side. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, honey. You see, I’m thinking of putting the café up for sale. I thought I should tell you first, even though you’ll be heading back to Toronto soon, anyway.”

“What?” She stumbled and almost fell. Not only was he expecting her to return to Toronto any day now, but he also wanted to sell the café.

“It doesn’t make sense to keep the old place. You’re living in Toronto, the boys are both settled in their careers, and I’m tired, hon. I don’t want the responsibility of taking care of the café. I never did, really. When Mrs. Marley ran it, I didn’t have to do much, but since she’s retired, it’s like I’ve got a whole new job. Plus, the money from the sale will make my life a lot easier.”

Tears rushed her. She’d never seen her father look embarrassed before.

“The last few months I’ve been dipping into the profit margin from the café because my pension doesn’t cover all my medical expenses. That works in the summer when we’re doing a good trade, but now the season’s over, I’ve got to find money somewhere. The boys think it’s a good idea.”

“But, Pops—”

“Now, honey, don’t cry. I know we’ve owned the old joint forever, but it’s either that or sell the house. I can’t hang on to both.”

Sylvie gulped for air. The café was called Plain Jane’s, named after her mother, the Jane part, anyway. Twenty years younger than Pops, her mother had been a stunning beauty. Sylvie sometimes wondered why her mother, so young and beautiful, had married such a gruff old fisherman. Pops had a heart of gold. But still.

The café was the last link she had to her mom, and in her mind, Plain Jane’s had always been her backup if life tipped out of control. Just as the house was her refuge. Between the two, she’d believed she had a safety net. If Pops sold the café that would mean...she supposed it would mean she’d have to finally grow up. No more I can always go home.

“I’m not going back to Toronto.” The words spilled out before she could censor herself. She’d rehearsed this conversation over and over and had been waiting for the perfect time to talk to her father about what was troubling her. Guess the perfect time had arrived.

“What?”

“I hate living there. It’s not working for me. I want to move home full-time.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re...you’re famous. You can’t walk away from everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

“I’m not famous, Pops.” But she loved him for believing she was.

“Well, you can’t move back here.”

“Why not? It’s my home.”

Pops ran a hand over his chest. “Of course it’s your home. But there’s nothing here, except your family. What would you do?”

“I’ll run the café.” She’d been playing with the idea off and on for the last few weeks, but it didn’t feel like play now. The idea fit. It felt inspired.

“You’re an artist, Sylvie. You don’t know the first thing about running a business.”

“Then teach me.” Her voice rose as the words tumbled out. “I’m no longer an artist. You know I’m stuck—I can’t paint anymore.... I’m twenty-six years old, and I’ve got nothing except my family, and even you don’t want me.”

“That’s not true. Of course I—” Pops’s face contorted with pain. “I don’t feel so good. Maybe we should head back to the house.”

“God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. Are you okay, Pops? We could sit down for a minute, or I can run home and get my car. I’m so sorry.” Sylvie beat back the burning sensation in her chest. No time for a panic attack now. If anything happened to Pops...

Pops smiled gently at her. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you don’t slow down. I’m fine. I get a little winded sometimes. The doc says I push too hard.”

“You always have.” Sylvie slipped her arm through his and guided them slowly toward the house. She hated seeing her father vulnerable and weak; his fragility was the first hint that things couldn’t continue as they were. But that didn’t mean he had to sell the café. If they’d only give her a chance, she knew she could make the business even more successful.

“I have some money saved,” she said after a few minutes of silence.

Pops patted her hand. “It’s not only the money but also the responsibility of running a business. It weighs on me.”

“I’ve been giving it some thought. It would be good for me to try something other than painting for a change. I could run the café business. I know I could. I’ve got lots of ideas.”

Pops laughed. “Of course you do. You’re our genius.”

“I’m not a genius, Pops. I’m just an ordinary person with a gift.”

He wasn’t listening. No one listened to her. The familiar pang of disappointment tightened inside as she followed her father’s gaze out to where a fishing boat was taking its time winding through the marked channel. By the bright blue hull, she could tell it was Ron Hachey’s boat. Lobster season was just around the corner, and the fishermen were anxious to get their traps in the water. Yesterday in the café, she’d heard Ron say he planned to try out his new motor today.

Pops turned his attention back to her. “There’s not an ordinary bone in your body, honey. That’s why you can’t stay. Collina is too small for you. I know you get homesick from time to time, and that you love us. But to live here full-time? I honestly can’t see you being happy.”

Hard to argue against such certainty. Maybe Pops was right, maybe living in Collina would drive her nuts. But she’d been here six months already, and despite the frustration of people thinking they knew what was best for her, she hadn’t been bored. Much. The fact was Toronto didn’t feel right to her anymore; the city didn’t fit. She was better off here for the time being.

As they approached the house, she noted her father’s normally robust complexion had turned gray, and his breathing was coming in short, harsh gasps. She’d phone the doctor later and ask if Pops’s fatigue was to be expected at this point of his recovery. Maybe they’d missed something in the last checkup. It didn’t feel right to her that he still struggled to do normal, everyday things. And she likely wasn’t helping his recovery; it must have weighed on his mind, knowing he had to tell her about putting the business up for sale.

He was right about one thing. Other than her family, there wasn’t much holding her here. If the café didn’t prove challenging enough, she’d have to leave and find something else to do.

An insidious pounding stabbed her left temple. It felt as if her skin had shrunk two sizes too small for her head. God. She squinted, trying to ease the pain. No wonder she had panic attacks. Twenty-six years old, and she didn’t have a clue what to do next. But she was getting ahead of herself. If the café was her sole responsibility, that would be enough to keep her busy, right?

And she wouldn’t stay just for the sake of staying—not after Pops was completely recovered, and they’d had their father-daughter talk and straightened things out between them. But that was one conversation that would have to wait. She’d upset him enough today.

She kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you come inside for a cup of tea, and I’ll drive you back to the apartment after?” She still couldn’t bring herself to call the seniors apartments his home.

“I’m going to see what the boys got done this morning on Adam’s house. Cal’ll drive me back.” He hugged her.

“Would you consider not putting the café up for sale right away? I’d like to stay a few more weeks, and...it would just be nice to hold on to it for a bit longer.”

He narrowed his eyes, reminding her of Cal when he was trying to suss out the truth. Her older brother had ridden herd on her and Dusty in their teen years when Pops was busy fishing. They never could get anything past him because Cal had learned from the master—Pops.

“I guess I could hold off for a bit. It’s not the best time of year to sell, anyway. But I’d like to get it on the market soon. Give folks some time to think about buying.”

“Thanks, Pops. I just need to get used to the idea.” And time to prove to her family she could run the business successfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

He waved her off. “I want to ask Adam a couple of questions. Cal will drive me.”

Adam again. Surely Pops wasn’t going to ask Adam if he wanted to buy the café. Unless he was fabulously wealthy, and by the look of his older truck and the way he dressed, she didn’t think he was, Adam would probably have to look for work eventually. The lack of job opportunities in town was laughable. But wouldn’t that be rotten luck? Her father decides to sell the café, and Adam turns up on their doorstep with enough cash in hand to buy it.

She hurried to keep up to her father. If Pops started talking about selling the café, she’d steer the conversation in another direction. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to go to work. I’ll come with you.”

Other than raising his eyebrows, Pops didn’t say anything. She never could get much past the old man. She loved her brothers and father, but her eyes often glazed over two minutes into one of their conversations about...whatever. Building, fishing, fixing engines. But this was one conversation she planned on paying attention to.

When they walked around the corner of Adam’s house, Romeo bounded over to greet them. Sylvie bent down to scratch behind his ears and Rom leaned against her leg like he’d been waiting all day just for her. What a beautiful dog. She looked around the yard. Moonbeam hadn’t been around this morning. Actually, since Adam had moved in, the shameless hussy had barely been home at all.

An armload of old roofing shingles slid off the roof and landed in a pile of debris ten feet in front of them. “Have you seen Moonbeam?” she shouted up at Adam and Cal.

They both stopped ripping at the shingles. “What do you want, Sylvie?” Cal looked impatient. “Oh, hey, Pops. What’s up?”

Nice. She got a snarl, while Pops rated a hello. She bit her tongue to hold back a snappy retort.

“It’s almost lunchtime. I thought you could drive me home, Cal.”

Cal shot a look in her direction.

“I offered,” she said, defending herself. She hated that she still craved her older brother’s approval.

Pops sat on a paint-stained wooden workhorse while he waited for the men to climb down. “What’s the use of living in the same village if I can’t spend any time with you? You work too hard,” he said to his son as Cal climbed down, followed by Adam.

“Have you seen Moonbeam?” When Sylvie turned to Adam, she faltered back a step. She’d been so focused on Cal, she hadn’t really looked at her neighbor.

He wore a sleeveless gray sweatshirt and his faded jeans, weighed down by his tool belt, hung low on his hips. When he raised his hand to wipe a trickle of sweat from his forehead, his biceps bunched into a solid mass of muscle.

Sylvie swallowed and tried to look away from the tuft of underarm hair that peeked out of his sweatshirt and the startling white skin on the underside of his arm. The stark contrast of masculinity and vulnerability, hard muscle covered with velvet skin, thrilled her. She wanted to trace her hand down the underside of his arm and follow the prominent blue vein down to his wrist. She wanted, no, she needed, to get it all down on paper. Everything about this man... The sweat-streaked dirt on his face, his muscles. God, his neck. He had a beautiful neck. Even the shape of his—

“Sylvie, child, are you in there?” Pops shook her shoulder and smiled quizzically into her face.

She blinked and tore her gaze away from Adam’s armpit. Oh, help. She was mesmerized by a man’s armpit. Maybe Pops was right. Maybe she was going stir-crazy and didn’t even know it.

“Sorry. I was just thinking...” She glanced at Adam and hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing.

Pops put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “She does that sometimes, goes off into a cloud. Back to earth now, honey?”

She made herself smile. “I’m back.”

“Moonbeam’s inside,” Adam said.

He’d stepped back a pace, as if he knew exactly where she’d drifted off to and didn’t want to go there with her. “She kept hanging around, and I was afraid one of the shingles would hit her, so I put her in my house. I should have told you. Sorry.”

In case some of her rapture of studying his armpit still lingered, she kept her gaze trained over his right shoulder. Pathetic. If she was going to stay in Collina, she’d have to get a social life and start dating because lusting after Adam Hunter didn’t work for her. She needed someone else to drool over. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

“That cat spends more time over here than she does at home.” Cal grabbed an old towel draped over the workhorse and brushed the dirt off his arms as he squinted up at the roof. “We’re almost done this side. We should get a good start on the other side today.”

“Then you can spare a few minutes for your old man,” Pops said before turning to Adam. “I was thinking of your grandmother this morning.”

Sylvie stiffened and watched Adam from the corner of her eye as he hesitated before hanging his tool belt over the workhorse. Did Adam know anything about his grandmother and Pops’s friendship? Probably not. How could he? She hadn’t known and she’d lived right here at the time.

It wasn’t his fault what had happened, but still, the situation was uncomfortable. Except as far as she could tell, she was the only one who had a problem with it. She sighed. She was acting like a bitch, taking her resentment out on Adam. She could at least act neighborly toward him. Maybe even offer the use of her kitchen and bathroom while he was working on his house.

And maybe when she got everything straightened out, she could paint his portrait. It would be a sin not to try to capture something of Adam’s... What?

Well, body for one thing. But the appeal was more than that. He was a delicious mixture of contrasts that intrigued her. He was, in a word, a challenge. Maybe that was what her problem was. She’d been stuck doing seascapes for so long, she needed new, fertile ground to mine.

When she heard a note of longing in Pops’s voice, she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying about Adam’s grandmother. Not exactly the confirmation she sought, but something had definitely happened between them.

“She was always excited when you came to visit. You were her only grandchild, weren’t you?” Pops said.

Adam smiled. “Yeah. I loved spending time with Gram.”

Pops stretched his legs out in front of him as he leaned back against the workhorse. “Your parents still live in Toronto?”

“My mom’s in Vancouver.” Adam shoved some of the discarded shingles to one side with his foot. “My dad’s dead.”

“Sorry to hear that, son. No doubt he’d be proud of you, coming here and making a home.”

Adam shot him a look from under his brow. “Maybe.”

Sylvie could see he didn’t like talking about his family from the way his shoulders had drawn together, and how his hands made a couple of spastic fists before he relaxed them.

“What kind of work was your dad in?” A question Pops had asked every one of their friends at some point.

But Adam had gone somewhere deep inside himself. He did his stillness thing, as though if he didn’t breathe or take up space, they wouldn’t notice him. Silly to feel that she should protect him. And from what? Her father?

“He was in security,” Adam said.

“Ah.” Pops smiled. “You mean like a security cop?”

“Something like that.”

Pops nodded, looked at the roof. “You boys are making good progress. I won’t hold you up. Ready to go, Cal?”

Cal slung his tool belt beside Adam’s. “I’ll be back in a bit. We’ll start on the other side after you eat.”

“Great.” Adam scratched his arm as both he and Sylvie watched Cal back his truck out of the driveway.

“I’ll get Moonbeam if you want.” Adam didn’t look at her as he brushed dirt off his jeans.

“If she’s happy where she is, leave her. I’ve got to go to work, anyway. I was just worried she’d get hit by a shingle. I see Romeo’s smart enough to stay out of the way. Just so you know, you don’t have to feed Moonbeam. She has lots of food at home.” Shut up. She had the urge to babble about anything but...armpits.

She looked at the debris on the ground, at the roof and finally at Adam. Why did the workingman thing look so fantastic on some men? Oliver would just look dirty. Adam looked manly. Scrumptious, if she was being honest.

Sylvie tore her gaze away. Oh, God, she wasn’t getting a thing for him, was she? Of course not. He was a healthy, vibrant male in his prime, and she...

She was an artist and couldn’t help noticing details about people. Like how Adam withdrew at times or how he did that thing with his hands. She had no intention of adding to her messy life by becoming attracted to another man. Going out on a few dates with a guy was fine. But an intense attraction? No way.

“Are you all right?” Adam frowned at her.

“Me?” Her smile faltered. “Of course. I was thinking...well, I haven’t actually thought it out, but if the inside of your house is going to look like this.” She pointed at the exposed roof. “You’re welcome to use my kitchen and bathroom for cooking and stuff. If you want.” That hadn’t been so hard. She could act neighborly.

Adam folded his arms. “I don’t know. It’s nice of you to offer, but um...your family. They might not think it’s such a great idea.”

She laughed. “I haven’t had to ask their permission to do anything for a long time. I don’t need their stamp of approval.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. “I’ll, ah...think about it. Appreciate the offer.”

“Right.” Was that a yes or a no? “I’ve gotta go.” She dipped her head toward the village and the café. “Have a good day.”

She sprinted over to her car and climbed in. Have a good day? How lame could she get? He probably thought she was a spastic dweeb. And if he didn’t yet, her brothers would make sure he did by the end of the week. Knowing them, they probably already had plans to introduce him to the available women in town.

Which was a good thing, because Collina needed more people living here. And she needed Collina. That was where she wanted to direct her time and energy, making a place for herself here. She already had several ideas of how to increase business at the café at this time of the year. If she could stage one successful event, maybe Pops and her brothers would take her more seriously and agree she was capable of running the café.

Feeling more optimistic than she had in months, she whistled on her way to work.

* * *

THE SUN PEEKED over the horizon as Adam knocked softly on Sylvie’s door, then slipped inside and deposited his two bags of food on the counter. Cal had told him no one locked their doors here. Details like that—unlocked doors, wide-open, deserted beaches, and people stopping on the street to talk to each other—reinforced his decision that this was where he wanted to live.

According to Cal, Sylvie wasn’t an early riser. He liked that Sylvie had suggested he use her home for cooking and washing up, but hadn’t seriously considered the offer until he mentioned the idea to Cal, who agreed, albeit a tad reluctantly.

Adam’s water was a rusty brown. He could buy water to drink and cook with, but he hadn’t figured out what he was going to do about having a shower. Collina was too small to have any public facilities like a community center with showers or a Y. Plus, this way he didn’t have to waste time putting stuff away every day before they continued ripping his house apart.

After giving it some thought, he’d realized that using the kitchen and bathroom next door sounded like the perfect solution. But now that he was in Sylvie’s kitchen, he realized he should have given the idea more thought.

With her working nights at the café, he figured he should be able to avoid her most of the time. But it felt weird tiptoeing around her kitchen while she was still in bed. Sylvie and bed—intriguing, but not an image he wanted stuck in his head.

He pulled out the coffee beans he’d thought to grind before leaving his house. He’d make enough coffee for both him and Sylvie. Same with the blueberry pancakes he had planned. If she didn’t want them, he’d leave a note for her to put the batter in the fridge, and he’d use it for tomorrow’s breakfast.

After whipping up the batter and covering it, he crept into the hallway to find the bathroom. He stopped, listened for sounds of Sylvie moving around upstairs and continued on to the bathroom when all remained silent.

Moonbeam sat square in the middle of the hallway when he came out of the bathroom after the fastest shower he’d ever taken. The shower shelves had been full of Sylvie’s stuff, and the room had smelled like peaches. He swore the girly smell still clung to him.

The cat’s tiny pink tongue slipped out once as she practiced her cat stare on him. “You’ve got my number, don’t you?” He scooped her up and laid her across his shoulder as he shoved the kitchen door open.

“Oh. Hey.” He halted in the doorway.

Sylvie leaned a hip against the counter, sipping coffee. She wore those tight black pants she seemed to favor and a faded, blue-and-white flannel shirt that had probably belonged to one of her brothers or her father.

The curious expression on her face closed down. “I thought you were Pops.”

“Sorry.” He stopped, tried to form his thoughts into a cohesive sentence.

She looked warm and sleep-tousled, and he was back to thinking about how great she’d look in bed. Not a direction he wanted his thoughts to go. What the hell had he been thinking—that he could ignore a woman like Sylvie?

He slipped Moonbeam off his shoulder and edged toward the coffee, planning to grab a cup and run. With his back safely to her, he continued, “It didn’t occur to me to tell you I decided to take you up on your offer to use the house until I walked in this morning. Sorry.”

“Make yourself at home.”

He stiffened. Was she being sarcastic? Had he crossed some invisible boundary? People questioning his integrity was a by-product of the life he’d lived, but somehow he’d gotten it into his head that life would be different here. He would be different. Resigned to the inevitable, he put a half teaspoon of sugar in his coffee and turned to face her.

“I’ll get out of your way. Sorry to wake you.”

“No, I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t welcome. I’m not my best in the morning.” She smiled. “Where’s Romeo?”

“Outside.” He allowed himself to relax against the counter as he suppressed a laugh. Wow. It suddenly dawned on him that he was playing in a whole new ball game now. One where people didn’t automatically assume the worst of each other. That someone would apologize to him for indicating, not assuming, but only hinting he may be out of line, brought home how much he wanted to live here. “We went for a five-K run already, so he’s pretty pooped. That’s such a great beach. It’s amazing not many people use it.”

“One of the perks of living in a sparsely populated area, I guess. Romeo’s a great dog. Did you train him?”

“No. I got him from the animal shelter when I knew I was moving to the country. The previous owners loved shepherds, but having a large dog in the city is difficult for even the biggest dog lover.” He sipped his coffee. “Cal says you live in Toronto.”

“Yeah.” She let out a weary sigh.

He watched as she slipped into a chair at the table and leaned her head on her hand. Either she hadn’t completely woken up yet or living in T.O. wasn’t doing it for her.

“What part?”

“Yorkville.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a classy part of town.”

“It’s okay.” She stared into her coffee.

He moved to the stove and turned the heat on under the frying pan. He might as well cook the pancakes he’d started. Sylvie didn’t seem to mind him being there, and he could use a big breakfast to start his day. He poured a scoop of batter into the pan and watched it sizzle along the edges. “Any idea when you’re moving back?” None of his business.

“Haven’t a clue.” When she continued to stare into her coffee, he felt a wrench in his gut. The same feeling he’d had a couple of days ago in the backyard when she’d looked sad. He flipped the pancake over. She had a family to support her—hell, she probably had the whole village at her beck and call. It wasn’t his responsibility to cheer her up.

He slipped the pancake on a plate and placed it in front of her, then poured more batter into the pan. “You don’t want to move back to Toronto?”

Her head jerked up. “I didn’t say that.”

No, she didn’t, and if he were smart he’d stop talking right now. What Sylvie felt or didn’t feel was none of his business. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic at the prospect.”

“There’s nothing to go back to.”

“Cal said you have a boyfriend. A doctor?”

“You and Cal had quite the conversation.”

He turned his attention back to the stove. “Cal—” did not find a halfhearted sketch of him doing tai chi “—just mentioned you were a really good artist and lived in Toronto.”

She lathered butter and maple syrup on her pancake. “That’s all in the past. I’m going to have to figure out something else to do now. Mmm,” she said around a mouthful of pancake. “These are fantastic. I don’t suppose you want to work at the café? We’re desperate to hire a second cook.”

“Sorry. I’m too busy right now.” But once his house was finished, he’d consider it. The café was probably the hub of the village, and that was the kind of thing he’d like to get involved with.

He put another pancake on her plate, poured more batter into the pan and expertly cooked up a stack of pancakes as Sylvie ate hers. When he had what he hoped would be enough, he sat at the table, slipped a couple more to her and added syrup to his.

“Thanks.”

Adam forked up a mouthful and sat back to watch her eat. He was a good cook and he liked feeding people. He might not be able to help Sylvie with her problem, but at least he’d made sure she started the day with a good breakfast.

When she finished eating, Sylvie shoved her plate to one side and leaned toward him. “Would you teach me how to cook?”

Feeling as if he’d been dropped into the middle of a minefield, Adam placed his forkful of pancake back on his plate. “You don’t know how?”

“No, and I want to learn.”

“Um...” He looked everywhere but at the hint of sadness in her eyes. “Teressa. Ask her. She’s a cook.”

“Teressa hates me. She won’t teach me.”

“I met her yesterday. She seemed like a nice person. I doubt she hates you.” When Sylvie skewered him with a snarky look, Adam smothered a smile. He liked her sass.

“Okay, she doesn’t hate me. She thinks I’ve got it made, and her life stinks. She loves her kids, but having two different fathers for them is hard. Nothing’s ever come easy for her.”

“And it has for you?”

“No. I’ve worked my butt off. But no one sees that, or at least wants to see it. I’m the one who left and made it in that big, cold world out there.” The corners of her mouth crimped tight. “Sorry. I don’t usually indulge in self-pity.”

He had to admit that he didn’t understand what her problem was—she was young, beautiful and apparently successful. What he did know was he needed to come up with a reason why he couldn’t teach her how to cook.

No way could he spend time around this woman and not have rampant fantasies about her. She was just too damned hot. It wouldn’t take long for him to want to act on those fantasies, and then he’d be back to the Carson men wanting to know exactly who he was and where he’d come from. Assuming, of course, Sylvie was interested in him. “Your father and brothers don’t know how to cook?”

“They do, and they won’t teach me, either. Everyone either thinks I should be painting all the time, or they’re afraid I’m going to slice a finger or hurt myself if I work in the kitchen. But they don’t get it. I need to know I can do something other than paint.” As Sylvie paused, the pleading in her eyes damn near broke his heart. “We don’t have to tell anyone. It would be our little secret.”

No. He tore his gaze away from her angel-blue eyes and said the word inside his head again to make sure he got it right. No.

“Sylvie, I—”

“Please don’t say no.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I’ll get up early, and I’ll clean up whatever mess we make. And I promise I’ll be really, really careful so I don’t hurt myself.”

Because if she did, the Carson men would fry him alive. “You don’t know how to cook anything?”

“I can make coffee. And scramble eggs. Sandwiches, of course.” She shot him a crooked smile. “And I excel at ordering takeout.”

Her smile hooked into him and his resolve softened. “You’d think your family would want you to know how to take care of yourself.”

“I was always good at drawing.” She dipped her finger into the pool of syrup on her plate. “I won an art contest when I was nine. That’s the year my mom died, and somehow my family saw that contest as my consolation prize for losing Mom. Or so my therapist tells me. After that, Pops and Dusty and Cal couldn’t do enough to...I don’t know, nurture my talent, I guess. I was the baby of the family and the only girl, so... They were all hurting, and maybe it was easier to concentrate on me rather than deal with their own pain.”

She stared at the pattern she’d drawn in the syrup. “It eased their grief every time I drew a picture, so I kept drawing and drawing and drawing. I thought—I don’t know—that if I kept it up everything would be okay, and we’d be happy again. I drew my way into a scholarship when I was sixteen, and I’ve been living away from home ever since.”

He’d left home at fifteen for entirely different reasons, and he was sure he’d been a lot tougher than her. Even with his false bravado, it had been a rough go sometimes. Sixteen was a tender age. Too young to leave home.

His unexpected anger at her family caught him by surprise, and he stood and picked up the plates to dispel the feeling. The world was full of nasty, dangerous people. What had her family been thinking to let Sylvie leave at such a tender age?

He let the dishes clatter into the sink and turned on the water as he did his deep breathing exercise. Okay. None of this was his business. Keep things on track and get out.

“They never had a chance to teach you how to cook,” he said as he started washing the dishes. “Doesn’t mean they won’t now. You should ask them.”

“I have.”

Adam closed his eyes and prayed he hadn’t heard her voice tremble. He grabbed the frying pan, scrubbed it with more gusto than necessary. “I gotta go. Cal’s going to be here soon.” He drained the sink and bolted for the door, keeping his back to the table where Sylvie sat.

Not sat, huddled.

Man, why did he look at her? He’d almost made it out the door. What was it about this woman that unhinged him? He liked women well enough, had even fallen victim to a few and had a couple of semiserious relationships. But he’d always felt a measure of reserve with them, because truthfully, he didn’t quite get women, and that usually resulted in him saying as little as possible. So far, that didn’t seem to be happening with Sylvie. If anything he had to work at keeping his mouth shut.

He walked back to the table. “I’m not saying I’ll be available every morning, but okay, maybe tomorrow. I’ll show you how to make an omelet. You’ll have to get up early, though.”

Her eyes twinkled as she beamed up at him. He sighed in resignation and tore his gaze away from the stunning picture she made, with the morning sun kissing her face. “And you’ll have to clear it with your father first,” he added.

Her twinkle dimmed at the same time the delicate line of her jaw hardened. “I’m twenty-six years old. I do not need my father’s permission.”

But he did. If he pissed off her family, he could lose Cal’s help, and work on his house would grind to a halt. Things were getting off track, and he’d just started working on his house. “We’ll try one morning, then.”

“And go from there.”

Adam backed up fast when Sylvie jumped up from her chair, looking grateful enough to give him a hug. Not going to happen.

“I’m not making any promises. Just so you know.” He rushed the door and escaped outside.

Teach her how to cook. He shook his head and headed toward his house. Most people when they met him kept their distance because of his size and because he looked like a scrapper. But for some reason Sylvie seemed to have locked right into the fact that he was a pushover. He didn’t want people to be afraid of him, but neither did he want it getting around that he was an easy mark. Saying no to anyone had never been his strong suit—another reason to stay away from Sylvie. Half an hour, and she’d convinced him to teach her how to cook. What next?