Too Close to Resist. Nicole Helm
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Grace tiptoed down the blue runner in the hall. “It’s an image thing,” she mimicked, stepping onto the second-story balcony. Who talked like that? Who thought like that? She didn’t look like some crazed hobo. Tons of people had tattoos, many way more visible than hers, and the colored hair was definitely a trend right now.
Well, maybe not in Bluff City.
Of course, Grace could remember that Kyle’s parents hadn’t dressed nicely and had been considerably inked, and his mother’s hair had definitely not been natural. Even if Grace thought he should be over that connection ten years after they’d all gone their separate ways, maybe she kind of understood why they made him uncomfortable.
Grace took a deep breath of the cool April evening. She didn’t want to think about Kyle anymore.
It wasn’t quite dusk. The street below was narrow and lined with barren trees on either side, their bark rough and hewn from winter. Most of the houses on the street were the same sprawling Victorians as the one she was in, some still in good shape, a few not so much. She found them just as appealing with their vacant windows and fading paint as those MC Restorations had restored to be gleaming nods to the past.
It was a quiet little neighborhood on top of the bluffs, though the river was to the side of the house and she couldn’t see it from here. Grace wondered why someone had designed a porch here. Had it been to watch the horses and buggies below all those years ago? Or perhaps to spy on the neighbors without having to talk to them.
Grace took a deep breath, smiling at the hint of spring she inhaled. Spring was the perfect time of year. Renewal appreciated warmth. She couldn’t wait to see the uninterrupted sloping lawns turn to green, the trees slowly leaf out. The next month would bring a flurry of change.
And once things went back to normal, she would go home to Carvelle, to her little house in the middle of town. Her lawn would be green, too, and likely Mom would put a pot of pansies on her doorstep and plant some impatiens under her crab apple tree.
But...would things go back to normal? Would Barry finally be an unfortunate memory instead of a constant factor? Would her parents be the comforting, enjoyable people they’d been when Barry was in jail, or would she have to develop a more permanent plan? Or would she—
“Enjoy the moment, Grace,” she said into the still around her. Why was it so hard?
A dot of red drew Grace’s attention. Down the road a ways someone was jogging. Grace watched the figure, a man, get closer. Hmm. Not a bad view.
Despite the cool temperatures, there was a ring of sweat around his running shirt. He had broad shoulders and a body obviously―thanks to the skin-tight shirt―full of lean muscle. Loose gym shorts did nothing to hide the powerful legs that must have been used to a hard run. Grace never considered a man’s legs particularly sexy, but watching muscles bunch and brace as his feet hit pavement, then pulled back up, might convince her to change her mind.
Leaning on the railing, Grace continued to enjoy the show and let her mind wander. Maybe he did this every night. Maybe she’d take up running, strike up a conversation. They could stretch each other out. Maybe...
Oh, crap.
So quickly she tripped over herself, Grace moved away from the railing. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed fervently Kyle hadn’t seen her ogling him. Kyle. Kyle. She knew he was runner skinny, but who knew that meant sexy and lean and yummy?
Oh, crap. She’d just called Kyle sexy. And yummy. She was going to be sick.
Well, it wasn’t her fault he always dressed so formally she had no idea he was actually hot underneath.
Oh, crap.
Grace hurried back inside. She had to get back to her room as soon as possible. And maybe never come out again.
Of course, the universe wasn’t done screwing with her, because she had to pass the top of the stairway she could hear Kyle walking up. Her brain went through a chorus of oh, craps.
Not knowing what else to do, Grace put her head down and powered past the stairs, determined to do one thing and one thing only: get to her room without falling any deeper into this weird alternate reality she found herself in.
“Grace.” He sounded about as surprised to see her as she was to discover he was freaking hot.
Oh, crap. “Hey.” She turned to face him. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. See? That wasn’t sexy. He huffed in time with the beat coming from the headphones dangling from his neck. Not sexy at all. “Uh, good run?” Oh, God, she was an idiot.
He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt, looking about as uncomfortable as she felt. “Yeah. I... Yes.” He nodded after the fact and kept fidgeting with his shirt collar.
“Great. I was just—” plausible lie, plausible lie, plausible lie “—going downstairs to make myself some dinner. Want anything?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, still holding on to his collar. What was that about?
“I usually just order in.”
Grace waved that idea away, inching past him. He smelled like sweat and Irish Spring. Oh, crap. “I’ll make enough for two. Feel free to help yourself.” Why was her voice so weird and squeaky? And why the hell was she inviting him to spend more time in her presence?
“Sure. I, um, have to run through the shower first.”
Well, now that she screwed herself out of retreating to her room to determine what the hell had short-circuited in her brain to find Mr. Stuffed Shirt attractive, she had to go make herself, and him, some dinner.
Forcing one leg to follow the other, Grace took the first stair. She made the mistake of looking over her shoulder, accidentally making eye contact with Kyle, who was staring after her. She’d never noticed what a deep, pure blue his eyes were, and what the hell was wrong with her?
Grace whipped her head forward and took the stairs as quickly as possible. Distance seemed to be the best method to nip this crazy in the bud.
In the kitchen, Grace took a moment to lean against the wall and take a deep breath. This was weird, definitely, but not fatal by any means. So Kyle turned out to be more than just kind of cute. What did that matter? His personality hadn’t changed.
Bolstered, Grace poked around in the fridge. Not much to work with despite the state-of-the-art appliances and an overall gorgeous interior. Aside from the stainless-steel fridge and stove, the room looked like it came right out of the 1900s. Dishwasher and microwave were hidden inside gleaming white cabinets with distressed brassy handles. Decorative copper pans hung from a pot rack above the oven, and the walls were decorated with antique prints of food. A display cabinet stood along one wall with a handful of old kitchen gadgets and green bottles.
There was a small restored table in the circular end of the kitchen, surrounded on three sides by windows overlooking the side yard and the bluff below.
Grace pulled out eggs and cheese and a green pepper for an omelet. It would be another great place to paint with the almost surrounding windows. She wondered if Mr. High and Mighty would deign to allow her to paint in this room, or would that ruin his precious image, too?
Grace smiled as she mentally patted herself on the back. She was back to thinking about Kyle in the normal way, not the “hey, my brother’s stuffy best friend is surprisingly hot” way.
“I’m sorry we don’t have much in the way of food.”
Grace was startled, but hid it by pulling open a drawer blindly. She’d been in this kitchen quite a few times, but had never cooked in it. The pans had been easy enough to find, but she had yet to discover a spatula.
“I don’t like to cook for one, and Candy’s been keeping your brother busy the past few weeks.”
“I’m surprised you cook at all.” Was that mean? Was she being snippy? Suddenly she couldn’t tell if she was engaging in banter or bitchiness. Not good.
But