This Kiss (Sweetbriar Cove Book 8) Page 3

  Ahem.

  She flushed. It was definitely not the time to be lusting after the man, not with her home on the line. And never mind those piercing blue eyes; after their less-than-friendly first impressions, it would take a miracle to get him to agree to a couple of unexpected tenants.

  A miracle, and some serious charm.

  But Jenny was nothing if not resourceful. She drove back to the house, making a detour to the bakery on Blackberry Lane. The cute café was already bustling with the early-morning muffin crowd, and she found her friend, Paige, sitting at a table with the owner, Summer, and another local, Mackenzie. Jenny had become close to Paige when she’d moved to the Cape a few months ago, but didn’t know the other women so well. They’d met, of course, at town festivals and events, but Jenny had always been too busy minding the PTA fundraising booth or chaperoning Hannah and her friends to really get to know them.

  “Oh my gosh, I just heard. Are you OK?” Paige leapt up when she saw Jenny and greeted her with a hug. “Where will you go? Do you need a place to stay?”

  Jenny blinked. “Wait, how do you know? I only just found out myself!”

  “Aunt June was just in,” Paige explained, “she heard it from Debra, who heard it from Jodi in the property records office.”

  “Of course she did.” Jenny had to smile. She should have known, small-town gossip traveled at the speed of light.

  “Do you want us to round up a mob and some pitchforks?” Mackenzie asked with a mischievous smile. “We could run him out of town by nightfall.”

  Jenny laughed. “Maybe as a back-up plan. For now, I’m going for a charm offensive. Which is why I’m here.”

  Summer got to her feet. “You came to the right place,” she grinned, her blonde hair caught back in a trademark patterned headband. “What are we thinking: sticky buns? Muffins? Give me an hour, and I could have a chocolate-fudge brownie that would blow his mind.”

  “Is there a traditional Scottish cake?” Jenny asked, thinking. “He’s from over there, and it might be nice to give him a taste of home.”

  “Scottish?” Paige echoed, her eyes widening. “Wait, did he just stride in off the Highlands, kilt billowing?”

  Jenny snorted. “Not exactly.” She’d already made that mistake—much to Fraser’s amusement.

  “Hmm.” Summer moved behind the counter, surveying the spread of delicious pastries. “I have a teacake, but it’s not really traditional. Ooh!” she brightened. “Scones!”

  That sounded plenty Scottish. “I’ll take six.” Jenny beamed. “And one of those gingersnap cookies, please. Hannah loves them,” she added. “I need to bribe her into cleaning her room.”

  Summer looked impressed. “I don’t know how you do it. I babysat my step-cousins for a weekend, and it was enough to traumatize me for life.”

  Jenny gave a smile. “It helps when you love them more than life itself.”

  “Love had nothing to do with it,” Summer grinned. “My dad was dumb enough to give them all Nerf guns!”

  Jenny drove back up the coast, enjoying the cool sunshine and the bright autumn tones of the woods. Paige had invited her to meet them later that night for a drink at the pub, but Jenny had begged off with a raincheck. The other women didn’t have kids yet, and so didn’t think twice about spontaneous get-togethers, but for Jenny, even a simple evening with friends would require some serious planning: scheduling a sleepover for Hannah, or finding money for a babysitter.

  Jenny knew she’d sacrificed a social life, raising Hannah alone, but it didn’t feel like a sacrifice to her. She loved hanging out with her niece, and now that Hannah was getting a little older, she was becoming more independent: staying over with friends and enjoying more after-school activities. Which meant that Jenny would have more time to herself this year.

  She just wasn’t quite sure what to do with it yet.

  Jenny turned up the hill and made her way down the muddy driveway. When she reached the house, she found a moving van parked out front and Fraser hoisting boxes through the front door.

  Jenny couldn’t help stopping to admire the view. He’d shaved since she’d seen him last, and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and a thin cotton T-shirt that stretched temptingly over his biceps as he lifted a heavy-looking cabinet like it weighed nothing at all.

  Then he saw her, and his expression turned wary.

  Remember, charm.

  Jenny fixed a bright smile on her face and got out of the car. “What can I do to help?” she called, approaching the van.

  “It’s fine,” Fraser barked out.

  “No, I’ve got this.” She grabbed the nearest box and followed him into the house. “It’s great the weather cleared up,” she chatted cheerfully. “I wouldn’t want to be unpacking in the rain. But most of the bad weather passes quickly,” she added. “And I just love the way the ocean looks after a storm. Everything feels all scrubbed fresh and clean. Don’t you think?”

  Fraser grunted and put the cabinet down in the sun room. It was a long, narrow space that ran along the back of the house, with tall windows overlooking the bay.

  “This is a great room,” Jenny said. “It gets amazing light, all day long.” She noticed the pile of belongings already sitting haphazardly in the corner of the room: a jumble of huge canvases, paintings, and boxes of what looked like painting supplies. “Are you an artist?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Fraser replied, sounding reluctant.

  “That’s amazing!” Jenny looked at Fraser with new eyes. She’d always thought of artists as pale, brooding types, wasting away up in a garret somewhere.

  Well, he certainly had the brooding part down cold.

  “I wanted to apologize.” Jenny bit the bullet. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last night.”

  “You think?” His lips quirked at the edges. “You could give Federer a run for his money with that forehand.”

  Jenny cringed. “Yes, sorry about that. But to be fair, you scared me half to death.”

  Fraser looked bashful. “Apology accepted. And, I probably owe you one of my own.”

  Progress!

  Jenny smiled. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m sure we can get along now, seeing as we have to live together.”

  She strode out of the room, back towards the front door.

  “Wait, what was that you said?” Fraser’s voice echoed behind her. She heard his footsteps hurry after her, and he caught up just as she reached the van again.

  “You and me, housemates.” Jenny gave him another bright grin. “Well, you, me, and Hannah, actually.”

  “Who?”

  “My niece. You like kids, right?” She grabbed another box and turned to head inside, but Fraser moved to block her path.

  “Stop.” He took the box from her arms and towered over her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t know what idea you’ve got in that head of yours, but you’re not staying. And neither is your kid.”

  “Niece,” Jenny corrected. “And we are. For the next month, anyway. Evicting us without notice would be illegal,” she explained. “So we have thirty days from a written notice. Which you haven’t actually given me yet.” Her beam widened. “Do you have any laundry?”

  “What?”

  “Laundry. I’m putting a load in and could throw your things in, too.”

  Fraser shook his head, looking frustrated. “No. I can do it myself.”

  “Your choice. Do you like pot roast?” she asked. “It’s Hannah’s favorite. I’m making it tonight, and there’s always some extra, if you like.”

  Fraser scowled. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Jenny widened her eyes, looking innocent—she hoped.

  “Whatever schemes you’re planning here.”

  “No schemes,” Jenny lied. He was a smart man . . . but she was smarter.

  And she had scones.

  She retrieved the bakery box from her car and waved it under his nose. The scent of butter and sugar wafted into the air. “Want one? They’re fresh from the oven . . .”

  Fraser paused, but even he was no match for Summer’s famous baking. He took one and bit into the flaky pastry.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re staying,” he mumbled through the mouthful. “Thirty days, then you’re gone.”

  “Of course.” Jenny beamed.

  At least, that’s what he thought. But if there was a beating heart under all that brooding muscle, she was going to find it. And if clogging his arteries with butter every day for the next month would make him change his mind, then that was just what she was going to do. Scones, cupcakes, almond croissants; hell, she’d spend her whole paycheck at the bakery if that was what it took.

  Fraser Macintosh didn’t know who he was up against. Because Jenny wasn’t going down without a fight.

  3

  Jenny worked her lunch shift at the restaurant and collected Hannah from school, filling her niece in on the new developments as she planned the next phase of her (charming, welcoming) attack. But when they returned to the house, Fraser Macintosh had disappeared. Aside from the boxes stacked in every room, there was no sign of him.

  “How old is he? Is he married? Why did he move here?” Hannah peppered her with questions as Jenny fixed dinner. Since there was no Fraser around to impress, she was skipping the pot roast for her standby grilled cheese and soup. “What kind of art does he make? Have you seen it?”

  “No, no idea, haven’t a clue,” Jenny replied, slicing thick hunks of cheddar cheese.

  “You’re useless!” Hannah wailed.

  Jenny laughed. “When he comes home, you can ask him yourself. But gently,” she added quickly. “One question at a time. Think of him like a grumpy bear. He’s skittish.”

  “Or we could just figure it out ourselves.” Hannah rolled her eyes and bounced out of the kitchen, returning a moment later with the ancient family laptop. She booted it up and started clicking. “Fraser Macintosh . . . artist . . . New York . . .”

  “Hannah, don’t!”

  “Why not?” Hannah stuck her tongue out. “If it’s online, it’s like, public information. Besides, are you going to let me sleep down the hall from a complete stranger? He could be an axe murderer.”

  Jenny paused. “Let me look at that,” she said, hurrying to join Hannah at the table. They scanned through the results.

  “He’s famous,” Hannah said, sounding impressed. “Look at all these articles. People really like his art.”

  And his devilishly handsome good looks. For every breathless critic write-up of his last show, there were dozens more stories in the gossip columns: Fraser at a new club with some Hollywood ingénue; Fraser partying at a festival in Miami with a supermodel on his arm . . . Fraser scowling from the pages of a fashion shoot, dressed in designer menswear in his cluttered studio, with a paintbrush tucked behind his ear. The stories were all dated a couple of years back, but the message was clear: he was the bad boy of the art world, and people—especially beautiful women—couldn’t get enough.

  So what was he doing all the way out here, moving into a run-down house on the Cape?

  “He’s hot,” Hannah said, matter-of-factly. “You didn’t say he was hot.”

  “That’s because it’s irrelevant.” Jenny slammed the laptop shut. “He’s our new landlord, and we need to be on our best behavior, so he’ll want us to stay.”

  “I can do that.” Hannah fixed her with a wide-eyed, eager expression. “Wow, Mr. Macintosh, you’re so talented. How do you come up with such amazing work?”

  Jenny burst out laughing. “You’re a menace,” she teased, ruffling Hannah’s hair as she went to check on the soup.

  “Yes, but everyone loves me.” Hannah stuck out her tongue. She paused. “But what about you?” Hannah furrowed her forehead in a frown. “Are you going to be nice to him?”

  “I’m always nice!”

  Hannah gave her a look.

  “I am!” Jenny protested. “I helped him unload earlier, and even gave him scones. And look: extra soup and grilled cheese. I’ll leave them in the fridge with a note.”

  “That’s a start.”

  Jenny put their plates on the table and took a seat. Hannah slurped, looking thoughtful. “Maybe we should get a puppy. Everyone loves puppies, then he wouldn’t want us to go.”

  “Nice try, kiddo.” Jenny laughed. “But how about we find a permanent place to live before we have the puppy talk again.”

  “So we can get one if Fraser lets us stay?” Hannah perked up.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t not say that.” Hannah looked determined, and Jenny wasn’t about to go another five rounds on the puppy project, so she swiftly changed the subject.

  “Tell me about the sleepover,” she said, sliding another grilled cheese onto Hannah’s plate. “Did you prank call boys and give each other makeovers?”

  “Boys are gross.” Hannah gave her an incredulous look. “But we borrowed Sarah’s brother’s telescope, and I was able to see all the way to the lighthouse . . .”

  After dinner, homework, and two episodes of Gilmore Girls, Hannah went up to bed, and Jenny found herself drifting restlessly through the house. It was odd seeing Fraser’s belongings scattered around the place; she had to fight the urge to tidy them neatly away.

  It was his home to mess up now.

  She wondered where he was, out so late. Provincetown wasn’t exactly the buzzing party scene of the city, at least not this time of year. When she’d been younger, she couldn’t wait to move away—someplace where the bars stayed open past nine p.m. and there were events and parties all year long, and not just squeezed into the summer tourist season. But now, Jenny savored the long months of winter, when dusk fell early, and everything seemed to slow down; time to take a breath, and cozy up, and hibernate for the year ahead.

  Was that what had brought Fraser all the way out here? He didn’t strike her as a party guy, but according to those photos online, he’d been living the high life for years. Handsome . . . Successful . . .

  Single?

  Jenny brushed the thought aside, but she couldn’t resist going to take a peek in the sunroom, where he’d been unpacking before. The long, high-ceilinged room was one of her favorite spots to relax in summer, with the sweeping views of the ocean. Tonight, it was cast in shadows, and when Jenny flipped on the lights, she found it full of boxes and crates. Fraser’s paintings? She drifted closer to one of the crates, propped against the wall. It was huge, almost ten feet tall, and already open at one end.

  It wasn’t snooping if the crate was already open . . .

  Jenny peered inside. She could make out splashes of wild color, something abstract and intense—

  She heard the front door open.

  Jenny danced back and quickly ducked around to the kitchen, so that when Fraser strolled in, his cheeks flushed from the cold, she was putting clean dishes away.

  “Oh. It’s you.” Fraser didn’t sound thrilled to see her, but Jenny wasn’t about to be deterred.

  “Did you eat yet?” she asked, friendly. “There are leftovers in the fridge. It won’t take a moment to heat up.”

  Fraser blinked. “Thank you,” he said slowly. He unlooped a navy wool scarf from around his neck with slow, deliberate movements. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  Jenny whisked into action, melting butter in the frying pan and setting the pan of soup on to warm through. “Have you been exploring town?” she asked. “I’d be happy to give you some recommendations. There are some good restaurants, and a great pub over in Sweetbriar Cove.”

  Fraser nodded. “I had a drink there today.”

  “Great.”

  Silence.

  Jenny stirred the soup and snuck a look over at him. He was sitting at the table, perfectly still: no cellphone in his hand or restless energy, just a thoughtful, faraway look in his blue eyes.

  So, he was the strong, quiet type. Jenny could live with that.

  She finished warming up the food and put it on the table in front of him. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you.” Fraser nodded, still looking awkward, like he was going to have to make polite conversation. But Jenny knew how to quit when she was ahead. It was just like she’d told Hannah: you didn’t tame a wild animal by smothering them with attention; you left food out every night, and eventually, they decided you were worth the trouble.

  “I’m going to turn in now,” she said brightly, and headed for the door.

  “Wait.”

  She turned back. Fraser produced an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table. “You said it needed to be in writing, so . . .” He cleared his throat. “Thirty days, like we agreed.”

  Jenny’s heart sank, but she kept a smile on her face. “Oh, thanks. Goodnight!”

  She hurried upstairs and checked that Hannah was sleeping soundly before settling in for the night. They’d decorated her bedroom with an assortment of thrift-store finds: an antique screen, squares of patterned silk in picture frames, and an overstuffed bookcase packed with worn paperback novels. Despite only being caretakers for Mr. Higgenbottom, the place had always felt like home.

  Now, Jenny lay awake, acutely aware of the stranger’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and the sound of Fraser shuffling to bed just down the hall. She wondered what he thought of the place: if he was charmed by the faded grandeur, or planning to rip everything out and transform the place into a slick bachelor pad.

  Everything was changing.

  Jenny swallowed hard and rolled over, listening as the sound of his movements faded and the house fell silent again. She was used to change now, to facing it head on.

  After all, nothing could ever turn her world upside down the way losing her sister had.

  It was funny, as kids, Becca had been the spontaneous one, changing her mind on a dime. She’d raced headlong from one drama to the next, while Jenny hung back and kept to herself. People were always so surprised to find out they were sisters. Becca, with her dazzling blonde hair and outrageous outfits, walking in to every room like she owned it. And Jenny, quieter, dark-haired and thoughtful. She’d always felt like a shrinking violet beside her bold, older sister, but when Jenny had left for college in Boston, she’d been surprised to find she was confident all on her own, too. She made friends easily and was at ease in a crowd; she dated, and flirted, and could even draw looks from a guy with the right smile. She’d just been overshadowed by Becca all these years, and now, finally out on her own, she could build a life on her own terms.