Beauty and the Brooding Boss

“I thought writing was a sitting profession, not one that required moving across the floor all night long.” She took another drink and waited for the caffeine to kick in. She was going to need to be alert if she was going to spend the day deciphering his handwriting. “I’ll tell you one thing, Puddin’-cat, I don’t care how brilliant a writer he is, the man definitely needs to improve his social skills. He acts like my being here is some kind of plague. How much you want to bet he’s annoyed that I helped myself to the coffee this morning?”

The cat pulled a paw over its eyes in response.

“Exactly,” Kelsey replied. “Though seems to me, if you’re going to leave a fresh pot brewing at the crack of dawn, you shouldn’t be surprised when people help themselves.” The smell alone had been nirvana after a sleepless night. “Fair’s fair, right?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Kelsey nearly jumped out of her skin. Standing at the edge of the terrace was a very dark and bothered Alex Markoff.

Immediately, her insides somersaulted. How was it he could look so intimidatingly perfect at this hour? He wore a navy blue T-shirt the same shade as his sling, the hem of which skimmed the waistband of his jeans. Jeans, she noted, that looked made to hug his hips. He’d been up and about from the looks of it. His skin glistened with perspiration, the moisture darkening the collar of his shirt. Dark curls peeked out from the back of his neck with the unruliness that only came from damp hair. Though it shouldn’t, seeing them made her wonder what he might look like stepping from the shower.

“Good morning,” she said once she caught her breath.

He stared at her with unreadable eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you talking to?”

“Just the—” She pointed to the sunny spot on a terrace that was now deserted. “Myself.”

“Do you always do that?”

“When there’s no one else to talk with. What’s that they say, ‘You’re your own best company’?”

“So I’ve always believed.”

As she tucked her hair behind her ear, Kelsey swore he checked for an earpiece. Really, did he think she was lying? “Looks like I’m not the only morning person after all. I helped myself to the coffee, by the way.”

“I heard.”

Along with how much else? Quickly, she raised her mug, hoping he wouldn’t notice her skin flushing. “Have you been up long?” she asked over the rim. “I would think after such a long night, you’d be sleeping in.”

“Why do you think I had a long night?”

Why did he seem to scrutinize everything she said as though she had a hidden meaning? Along with staring at her with those probing gray eyes?

“I heard you,” she explained, resisting the urge to duck her head like a nervous teenager. “Kind of hard not to, actually. Old house, thin rooms. You sigh loudly.”

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

“I take it writing didn’t go well last night?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, to make conversation?” She shrugged. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“There’s always a reason.”

“Well, in this case, my reason was to be friendly. After all, we’re going to spend the summer working together, we might as well be civil to one another, right?”

He gave her a long look. Gauging her sincerity? While she waited, the part of her not insulted used the standoff to study his face, catching the details she’d been too overwhelmed to notice before. Things like the tanned complexion, the faint scar on the bridge of his nose, the curve of his Cupid’s bow.

And, of course, the emotion behind his eyes. Yet again it struck her that there was something sad and painful behind their turbulence. A kind of longing, perhaps.

Or loneliness.

What was his story? She really should have done some research before taking this job.

Her curiosity would have to go unexamined as the sound of crunching gravel on the other side of the house interrupted the standoff. Soon as he heard the noise, Alex’s expression changed. Again. His shoulders straightened and a soft curse escaped his lips.

“What?” Kelsey was having trouble keeping up with his collection of abrupt moods. Naturally he didn’t answer. Like yesterday, he simply turned and walked off leaving her to follow. She turned the corner in time to see a burly tree-trunk of a man step out of a green pickup with the words Leafy Bean, Farley Grangerfield Prop. painted on the side. The man looked from Alex to her with interest, but said nothing. Not surprising given the dark warning plastered all over Alex’s face.

Continuing in silence, both men reached over the side of the truck bed and each grabbed two canvas bags laden with groceries. Alex, she noted, carried both with his good arm. As the stranger passed, he shot her another look. “Last two bags won’t unload themselves.”

Taking the hint, Kelsey hustled to the truck to see they’d, fortunately, left her what looked like the two lightest bags. She brought them into the kitchen where she found the two men wordlessly unpacking groceries and arranging them on the kitchen table. The door swung shut behind her, causing them to both look up.

“Where should I put these?” she asked.

“Counter,” Alex replied. “That’s not necessary,” he added when she started unpacking.

“I don’t mind.” What else was she going to do, stand there and watch them? “You’ll have to tell me where the stuff goes though. At least the first time. I’m pretty good at remembering where things go. Plus this way I’ll see where there’s space for my groceries.”

Dammit, she was babbling again. It was quickly becoming a bad habit. But the quiet… It filled the room so completely. And those looks she kept feeling the grocer give her. Curious and full of implied innuendo. She had to say something just to hear something besides her own thoughts. Although the subsequent look Alex shot her made her wish she’d reconsidered.

“Bigger order’ll cost you extra,” commented the grocer shortly.

“Kelsey will be buying her groceries separately.”

“Right,” she said. After all, she was on her own for meals. Why would they do something as simple as combine grocery orders? “I’m Kelsey Albertelli, by the way. Mr. Markoff’s new assistant. I’m here to help while his arm’s broken. Are you Farley?”

The lack of denial suggested he was. “Need three days’ notice for delivery. You want your food sooner, you have to pick up your order yourself. Special orders take longer. And if I don’t have the brand, I’ll substitute. No complaining.”

Was everyone in Berkshire County this brusque? At least Farley’s silence felt different. Gruff though he was, he lacked the anger and wary defensiveness that surrounded her new boss. “Got order forms in the truck,” he said when the last grocery item had been put away. They were the first words anyone had said in a few minutes. “You want some, follow me.”

She did, feeling Alex’s stare on her all the way to the drive. “Normal delivery’s every ten days,” the old man was telling her. “First four bags are free, after that you pay.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Kelsey took the stack of tri-colored forms he handed her. “You been delivering to Nuttingwood long?” she asked.

“Long enough”

“And that’s been…?”

“Three, four, five years. I don’t keep a calendar.”

She would have liked to have been surprised by the vague answer, but deep down she suspected that’s all she’d get. Still, it was worth a shot. “Thanks again for the forms,” she said, waving them in the air. “I’ll see you soon.”

Farley muttered something about having nothing better to do than drive around all day and shut the door. Kelsey stifled a smile. The answer was so grumpy and so over the top, she actually found it funny.

She waited until the truck disappeared round the tree-covered bend, then returned to the house. Where, she discovered, Alex hadn’t moved. He stood flush against the kitchen sink, his eyes glued to the space beyond the window.