Читать книгу Mistletoe Matchmaker - Lissa Manley - Страница 11

Chapter Two

After Grant left Bow Wow Boutique, Jade obediently trotting beside him thanks to the treats in his pocket, he went home and dug into his work. Somehow he managed to focus on computer code rather than on the appealing Molly Kent.

Sure, he’d noticed how pretty her gold-flecked green eyes were when he’d bent close to put on Jade’s leash. And how smooth and creamy her skin was, with a light dusting of freckles across her pert nose. She was friendly, too, and had a good sense of humor to round out the package quite nicely. But the fact remained, he was here to meet his deadline, not resurrect his social life, which was nonexistent for a reason.

Work and romance just didn’t mix, as his ex-girlfriend Jenna had proved to him when she’d broken up with him in grad school. How ironic was it that she’d dumped him for almost flunking out because he’d paid too much attention to her?

No doubt about it. Being successful and having a romantic relationship were mutually exclusive. Not something he was going to forget anytime soon. And he sure wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Not even with someone as attractive as Molly.

Turning his thoughts away from the past and how it affected the present, he noted that, thankfully, Jade seemed pooped by her visit with Molly’s dogs. She’d plopped down on her bed in the corner when they’d come home, and had pretty much left him in peace to work for the better part of the afternoon. So he lost himself in his complicated task, only occasionally distracted by visions of Molly’s pretty eyes dancing through his brain.

Sometime later, the burn in his shoulders forced his attention away from work. He rose and massaged the kinks that were trying to take up permanent residence in his upper back. While he rolled his shoulders and stretched, he looked out the big picture window running the length of the front of the house.

The green-gray Pacific Ocean spread out in all its beauty for as far as he could see. White-capped waves rolled in to the shore, and seagulls dipped and soared here and there. The clouds had broken up a bit, and the sun was actually peeking through, sending golden beams of light into the roiling ocean. Wow. What a view.

Man, his mom would have been all over this.

A shaft of grief pierced him, literally taking his breath away. He pressed a hand to his heart, trying to breathe.

His mom had adored the beach, and they’d often spent time here with Aunt Rose while he’d been growing up. But Mom was gone now, and he’d never share another walk on the beach with her again. Or another breathtaking scene like the one before him.

His eyes burned.

With practiced determination, Grant shoved his grief down into its cage where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Instead, he reiterated in his mind how important his job was to him, focusing on his career goals rather than his grief.

He’d come a long way from being the brainy geek with the pen protector in his pocket who everyone had laughed at in high school. Only at church had he been accepted. He’d found solace, community and appreciation there, and he’d truly found a connection to the Lord.

But then God betrayed him by taking Mom. And suddenly, Grant’s faith had been shattered.

Now, he was so close to finally cementing in stone the lasting career respect he needed. Work was the only thing that mattered. He sat down and got back to his computer code.

Sometime later, a knock sounded on the front door, jerking Grant from his work-induced haze. Jade sounded the bark alarm.

Grant looked up, his eyes burning, just in time to see her sprint to the door.

He rose from the makeshift computer station he’d set up at the antique roll-top desk in Aunt Rose’s living room and glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. Wow. Where had the afternoon gone?

Stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders again—maybe a few aspirin would do him some good—he headed to the front of the house.

Jade was waiting by the front door, her tail wagging, obviously eager to greet their visitor, whom, if he guessed right, had long curly red hair and stunning green eyes.

Molly.

His heart rate kicked up a notch, but he ignored the sensation. She was just here to deliver tennis balls for Jade, right? Nothing to get all excited about.

He opened the door, holding Jade’s collar—he learned fast—and saw Molly standing on the other side of the door, her face wreathed in a pretty smile that did funny things to his insides.

“Hi!” she said, her voice bright and sunny, which was all the sunshine he’d get today, given the cloudy skies. She held up a blue bag in her left hand. “I stopped at the Sports Shack and brought Jade some fresh tennis balls.”

He couldn’t help but smile back; her good mood was infectious after a long day of dry programming. “I figured it was you,” he replied, pulling a squirming Jade back, putting his shoulders into the task. Boy, the dog was strong, and obviously wanted to get to Molly.

“Remember the treats?” Molly asked, nodding to Jade, who was about to pull his arm out of its socket. “Better use them now.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Grant felt his back pocket with his free hand, then pulled the treats out.

“Tell her to sit, and stay,” Molly instructed. “Use a firm but kind voice.”

“Sit,” he said firmly. “Stay.”

Jade instantly sat, her coal black eyes beaming up at him.

“Now, give her a treat and praise her,” Molly said.

He dug a treat out of the bag and hastily gave Jade one. “Good dog.”

She gobbled it up and kept her gaze homed in on him.

Grant turned to look at Molly, shaking his head. “Amazing. It works every time.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? Most dogs will do anything for food.”

He tucked the treats back into his pocket. “Gotta remember that.”

She held up a bag of groceries in her other hand. “Speaking of food, I brought stuff to make spaghetti.”

He blinked. “I really shouldn’t take any time away from work,” he automatically said. Though, actually, a break sounded great.

Molly peered around him, her gaze landing on his already well-used work area. “Looks like you’ve been at it for a while.”

“Yeah.” He swiped a hand over his face. “Pretty much all day.”

“Maybe you could use a breather.”

His thoughts exactly. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right.

“Everyone needs to eat, don’t they?” she asked when he didn’t respond. “Doesn’t spaghetti sound good?”

His stomach growled. “I don’t want to impose.” Although, a home-cooked meal was sounding better and better. He’d eaten a quick breakfast of toast and eggs early this morning, but hadn’t eaten anything since. Not surprising he was starving.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be imposing,” she said. “I’d be cooking for myself, anyway, so it’s no trouble.”

“You’re very persuasive.” He’d have to watch out.

“I’ve been told I’m quite stubborn,” she said, lifting her chin.

“I can tell.” Actually, he kind of liked that about her. And, really, it would be rude to refuse her offer. He knew she was just trying to help, as his aunt had wanted.

Making a snap decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret, he stepped back and gestured Molly in. “You’ve talked me into dinner, on one condition.”

She looked expectantly at him, her green eyes questioning. “Which is?”

“I don’t want you to be waiting on me. So I’ll help you get dinner together, okay?”

She paused, shaking her head, her curls swaying with the motion. “Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

“I insist. You’ve had a long day, too, and I’m sure you’re tired. If we work together, we can turn out a meal in no time.” And he could get back to work faster, refueled and ready to tackle his code with fresh focus. Actually, if he ate a hearty meal, he’d probably get more work done. Another reason to agree to her deal.

“O…okay,” she said, sounding strangely reluctant to agree. “I still have to drop the lures by Floyd’s house, so I guess it would be nice to finish up here early.”

“Exactly,” Grant replied, nodding.

“Great. So, let’s get started.” She moved around him and headed toward the homey kitchen, her soft, breezy scent hitting him when she walked by.

Boy, she smelled good. Kind of like flowers in a meadow, all sweet and warm and fresh. Suddenly, hanging out in the kitchen with her did sound great.

Uneasiness snaked through him. Maybe too great for a man who didn’t want to get caught up in any woman ever again.

Molly unloaded the food for dinner onto Rose’s tile kitchen counters, her hands so clumsy she almost dropped the loaf of French bread she’d brought.

She very deliberately set the bread on the counter, taking a deep breath to calm herself. She needed to simmer down and focus on finding out more about Grant so she could figure out who to set him up with.

Simple.

The thing was, cooking for Grant was a lot different than cooking with Grant.

That thought was reinforced when Grant entered the room, Jade at his heels adoringly, and he brought his charming self right into Molly’s space. Yes, indeed. Rose’s kitchen was small, Grant was big, and somehow preparing a meal together held the promise of a closeness that rattled her to no end. She wasn’t here to act on any attraction she might feel. She was here to learn more about him to find his perfect match.

She gripped the edge of the counter, watching Jade plop herself down in the corner and lay her head on her paws, her black eyes watching everything.

“What do you want me to do?” Grant asked, looking around the kitchen. He moved closer, then reached over and picked up a fat onion she’d unloaded. “You want me to demolish this baby?”

Trying to keep her wits about her, Molly zeroed in on the knife block to her right. She grabbed a big blade suitable for chopping. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him, careful not to touch his hand. She spied the cutting board next to the sink and picked it up. “You’ll need this, too.”

He put the knife down and took the board from her. “Okay. I’ve got tools. I’m sure I can figure out how to slice and dice.”

She peered at him. “Have you ever chopped an onion?”

He shook his head as he retrieved the knife and held it up in the air. “No, I sure haven’t.”

“Um…you want me to show you how?” Chopping lessons seemed harmless enough.

He grabbed the onion and eyed it. “Nah, how hard can it be?”

Relief and disappointment hit her at once, creating a strange kind of off-balance feeling inside of her she didn’t really like. She gestured to the cutting board. “Have at it, then. I only need half.”

He threw the onion in the air and deftly caught it with one hand, grinning. “Half a chopped onion for Chef Molly, coming right up.”

My, he was cute. Put him in front of a grill with tongs in his hand and she was his.

Disconcerted all over again, Molly spun around and opened the refrigerator to hunt for salad makings.

Bent over, she rustled around in the fridge, then jerked one of the lower drawers out, pawing her way through the produce Rose had obviously bought for Grant.

“So,” she said, focusing on her goal of learning as much as possible about Grant. “Do you read much?” She shoved a bag of baby carrots aside, searching for lettuce.

“Do I do what much?” Grant replied after a long moment.

“Read.”

“Deed?”

“No, read, as in books,” she yelled. Suddenly, a mental picture of herself developed in her brain, and the picture showed her hunched over, yelling into the refrigerator.

“Deed the rooks?”

Oh, brother. She grabbed the elusive lettuce at the bottom of the bin and straightened, chastising herself for being flustered. Grant was just a man, no more, no less. The fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous shouldn’t matter.

She whirled around, shoving her hair out of her face. Time to be reliable and fulfill her promise to Rose by doing her matchmaker thing. Without acting like a twelve-year-old hanging out with her first crush.

She looked at Grant. He had his eyebrows drawn together and the knife suspended in midair. Obviously, he was puzzled by her behavior. Who could blame him?

He probably thought she was a bona fide nut job.

She smiled awkwardly, trying to look as if she hadn’t just attempted to have a conversation with him while shouting into a kitchen appliance. “No. Read books.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding slowly. He went back to chopping, although he wielded the blade more like a machete than a knife. “Not really. I don’t have time.”

Right. Because he was always working. “Really? I’m a big reader.” Although, since she wasn’t looking for a match for herself, that discrepancy in their reading habits didn’t matter. “Did you read as a kid?” she asked, heading across the kitchen to get a salad bowl from the cupboard.

“Yeah, I guess.” More machete-ing. “Mostly science books.”

That made sense. He was a brain, even though he didn’t look like one.

“Oh, and comic books,” he added. “I loved superheroes.”

“Really? I read a lot of comic books as a kid, too. Who’s your favorite?”

He stopped chopping and stared at her. “Spider Man, of course.”

“Me, too,” she replied, amazed that they had the same favorite. “No contest. My dogs’ names are Peter and Parker, and I own the movie. How about you?”

“I only had time to see it once, but I loved it.”

Of course. No time for movies in this guy’s life. “You still have your comic books?”

He stilled, then quickly looked down. “My mom saved them, so they’re up in my parents’ attic somewhere.”

Sympathy shot through her. Oh, yes. Rose had told her he’d recently lost his mom. “Have you ever thought about finding them?” she asked softly. “It might be fun to reread them sometime.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” Wasn’t it important for her to know lots about him? You know, to properly set him up.

Picking up the knife, he began to studiously chop the onion again, pausing before he quietly answered, “A lot of my mom’s stuff is up there.”

A knot built in her chest, making it hard to breathe. “Your aunt Rose told me about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said, not looking up, his voice raw and husky. “It’s been rough.”

Her eyes burned. “My mom died when I was a little girl, so I know how hard it is to lose a mom.” She’d been inconsolable for months after her mom had been killed in a car accident.

Grant looked up, his eyes full of empathy. “Oh, wow. How old were you?”

“Eight.”

He shook his head. “That must have been really, really hard.”

“It was.” Harder still had been essentially losing her father, who had been so filled with grief over his wife’s death, he’d forgotten all about Molly.

Until now. He’d been calling a lot recently, wanting back into her life. But the walls she’d put up wouldn’t be so easily torn down. Even with God’s help, and lots of prayers, she’d struggled with this issue for quite a while.

Suddenly, onion smell overwhelmed her, and her eyes started tearing. Drawing back, she actually looked at the pile of onions on the cutting board in front of Grant.

She did a double take. Instead of pieces of onion, the cutting board was full of onion mush, speckled with brown bits.

Her jaw went slack. “You didn’t peel the onion before you chopped?” she asked, her throat burning.

He looked up, tears running down his sculpted cheeks. “No. Was I supposed to?” he asked, sniffing.

She backed away from the stinging onion aroma and nodded toward the mashed onions. “Uh…yeah. I thought you knew to take the dry, papery outer layer off.”

He set the knife down and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand before turning his watery gaze to his handiwork. “How would I know? I told you I’ve never chopped onions before.”

“Good point.” She gazed at the pile of goo that used to be an onion. “Um…you may have overchopped a bit, too.”

He considered the slush pile on the cutting board, his brow line hoisted high. “You think?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Definitely. They’re supposed to be pieces, not…mush with skin.”

He reached for the other half of the onion, his mouth curved into a wry smile. “You want me to try again? I’m game if you are, although we might end up onion-less.” His eyes lit up. “Better yet, I’ll do an internet search on how to chop onions.”

She shook her head. “No, no need to bring your computer into this. I’ll do the chopping. Spaghetti sauce just wouldn’t be right without onions.” She glanced around and saw the antique table in the dining room off the kitchen. “Why don’t you work on setting the table.”

He set the onion down. “Now, that I can do.” He picked up the knife and presented it to her with a flourish. “Your knife, Miss. Use it well.”

She played along and accepted his “gift” with an exaggerated curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Turning her attention to the onion, she chopped it on the cutting board next to the sink. She surreptitiously watched Grant rattle around the kitchen, gathering up the utensils and plates they’d need.

She couldn’t help but notice how he moved with an easy male grace she found fascinating. Yes, he’d told her he spent a lot of time at his computer. But it was clear he spent some time working out, too. He was in terrific shape…um, for a computer nerd.

Suddenly, the knife bit into her finger with a sharp sting. “Ow!” She dropped the blade and jerked her hand away, looking down at the bleeding gash on her finger.

Dizziness engulfed her; the sight of blood had always made her woozy.

Grant was at her side in a flash. “What’s wrong?”

At least she’d had the presence of mind to thrust her hand out over the sink and underneath cold water rather than bleed all over Rose’s kitchen. “I…cut my finger.” Because I was staring at you.

“Let me see,” he said, gently taking her hand.

She leaned his way for support, but squeezed her eyes shut, her teeth gritted. “I can’t look.”

“You’ve cut yourself pretty good,” he said after a few moments, his voice laced with concern. A pause. “Keep your hand over the sink, okay? It’s bleeding a lot.”

She did as she was told, biting her lip against the fiery pain. Something dry engulfed her throbbing finger.

“I’m stopping the bleeding with a clean towel,” he said.

“Okay,” she said shakily. The ground tilted and her legs sagged.

He put one arm around her and guided her to the nearest kitchen chair. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

She nodded as she sat. “Thanks. The sight of blood always gets to me.”

He hunkered down next to her, still holding her towel-wrapped hand. “How’s that?”

“Better,” she replied, relaxing back in the chair. “My dizziness is passing.”

“Good.” Looking at her swaddled hand as he rose, he said, “Let’s leave that on while I find the first-aid kit.”

“Okay,” she replied, taking a hold of the towel. “Check the linen closet in the hall. Rose keeps a lot of toiletries and stuff like that there.”

“Will do,” he said, leaving the kitchen.

While he was gone, Molly clenched her teeth at the pain in her index finger. Would she need stitches? She hoped not.

But she would need to quit staring at Grant.

A few moments later he returned, a bright orange first-aid bag in his hands. “Found it.”

The concern in his eyes gave her tummy a little flip.

He sat down in the chair opposite her and reached out to take her injured hand. “Let’s see what we have.” Gingerly, he unwrapped the blood-stained towel from her hand.

Molly kept her gaze averted, flinching at the pain zinging through her finger.

She felt him lean in. “It looks pretty superficial,” he said. “I’ll just put some antibiotic ointment on it, bandage you up, and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She peeked at her finger and her stomach heaved. She quickly turned away. “You sure it isn’t worse? It feels like I gouged it pretty good.”

He moved his chair, and himself, closer, then bent over her finger again, his gaze locked on her injury. “I’m positive. I know it hurts, but it isn’t too bad.”

“Whatever you say, Doctor Roderick,” she said in a teasing tone, trying to distract herself from the pain.

He chuckled, glancing at her, his mouth curved up at the corners. “I’m no doctor, but I did have first-aid training in college. Will that do?”

“That’ll work,” she replied, doing her best to ignore his attractive smile.

“Good.” He grabbed the ointment and gently dabbed it on her cut. Then he picked up a roll of gauze, unwound a length of the bandage material and cut it with the scissors he’d found in the kit.

As he worked to take care of her, Molly looked down at his bent head, noting his long eyelashes and sculpted cheekbones. Yes, he was one handsome guy. And caring and gentle, too.

Pulling her interested gaze away, she let him finish tending to her cut, doggedly refocusing her attention on her goal at hand—to figure him out so she could match him up with one of the many single and wonderful women in town. Maybe Phoebe…

After her finger was bandaged up tight, Molly was grateful Grant helped her finish making dinner. Clearly, he didn’t have that much experience in the kitchen, but he took direction well and did a good job for a rookie.

Soon they were seated at Rose’s antique dining room table, heaping plates of spaghetti before them.

“This looks—and smells—fantastic,” Grant said, inhaling deeply. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.” Not surprising, given how hard he was working. One more reason she needed to find him his perfect match.

“Well, then, you were smart to let me stay.” Molly took a piece of garlic bread from the cloth-covered bread basket with her good hand, then passed Grant the salad. “Eat up, there’s plenty. And we made enough so you’ll have leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes—she had to admit, she made a mean spaghetti sauce—and then the lack of conversation got to her, thanks to one too many silent, awkward meals with her dad.

Setting her fork on the edge of her plate, she regarded Grant. “So. What kind of project are you doing?”

He took a drink of water and put his glass down. “I’m writing computer code for a new client.”

“So this…code job, it’s very important?”

“Yes, very important. If I pull this project off in the ridiculously short amount of time I’ve been given, my company will secure the account for the future, and I’ll get a huge promotion and a lot of respect within the software community.”

Interesting. “Don’t you get lonely working in such isolation?”

“Actually, no,” Grant said, taking another piece of garlic bread from the basket. “I work on my time, when I want, with no distractions, no meaningless socializing.”

She scrunched up her nose. Did Grant at least allow the Lord into his tiny box of a life? She’d be lost without His guidance.

“Being with people is not meaningless,” Molly said emphatically. “I adore interacting with my customers, love helping them pick out products, forming attachments, making friends from all over the world. I’ve had customers from as far away as Hong Kong who still email me to chat.” Granted, that was just email. But still, she was connected. Involved.

He blinked several times, as if her statement was so foreign to him he couldn’t possibly understand where she was coming from. “Personally, I find a social life and business don’t mix,” he replied after a long moment.

He was making the same foolish choice as her father, the big-time corporate attorney.

“Sounds lonely,” Molly said, shaking her head. Lonely and isolated. And faithless.

“Maybe so,” Grant replied, pulling Molly back into the conversation. “But some people like my kind of lifestyle.”

Probably not his family. “Your bosses, for instance.”

He laughed. “Definitely at the top of the list. But focusing on my job works for me because my career is my number-one priority. I don’t have time for a social life, which is fine by me.”

None of this made any sense to Molly. How could he live that way, always solitary, his only companion a computer? “So, your aunt Rose told me you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Nope.”

“I guess you don’t have time, right?”

His expression closed. “Right. I gave up dating a long time ago.”

She almost blurted, “Me, too,” but she held back the words just in time. She was trying to find the perfect woman for him, not reaffirm his reasons to stay isolated with her own sob stories.

With her promise to Rose in mind, she said, “I was wondering if you’d like to go to church with me on Christmas Eve, the week after next? I’m sure you’d love the service.”

Grant froze, his fork midway to his mouth. Then he very deliberately set the utensil down. “Church isn’t really my thing,” he said evenly. Too evenly. As if he was trying to suppress something painful and had gone all blank instead.

She blinked. “Oh. Okay. No big deal.” Not a believer, then? Again, another clue to his personality. She was slowly finding out about the real man beneath the attractive exterior. Good. Yet…not.

Not surprisingly, Grant changed the subject. “So, how long have you lived in Moonlight Cove?”

“Three years. I moved here when I graduated from the University of Oregon.”

“How did you end up in this neck of the woods?”

“My family and I used to vacation here when I was little.” In fact, Moonlight Cove was the last place her family had spent any happy time before her mother died.

“Lots of good memories, I bet,” he said.

Actually, her only good memories of her childhood centered around Moonlight Cove. “Tons,” she said, bending the truth. A lot. She was ashamed to admit how limited her happy childhood memories actually were. As in almost nonexistent.

“I have good memories here, too,” he said. “I came here every summer to visit Aunt Rose when I was growing up.”

“That must have been fun.”

Again, his expression shuttered. “It was.”

He seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, so she decided not to push him on the subject and instead focused on eating. Grant seemed content to simply chow down.

A few minutes later, he set his utensils neatly on his plate and said, “Dinner was fantastic. I could get used to this kind of delicious cooking in a hurry.”

A warm glow of pride settled in Molly’s chest. It was always nice to please someone who could express himself with words, not barks. “Thanks.” And then she thought, Note to self: fix him up with someone who likes to cook.

They rose and began to clean up, and when Grant went to take the garbage out, she ran through all the information about him she’d collected today. He liked superheroes. He was reluctant to date. He appreciated home cooking. And he was a runner.

Who should she set him up with?

Of course, she’d already set her matchmaking sights on Phoebe; she might be the perfect match. If that didn’t fly, there was also Anna Stevens, who owned Moonlight Cove Bakery on Main Street. She was single, and was the best baker in town, hands down.

Then a rogue thought crashed through Molly’s mind.

On paper, another person also had a lot in common with him.

And that person was…her.

She looked heavenward.

Hello? God? Looks like I have another problem I’m going to need Your help with.