Page 18 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

It wasn’t a nightmare. I reallywasthousands of miles away from home, the proud new tenant of a severely damaged store, and sleeping under the same roof as Alec McGrumpyface.

Cue loud groan.

Fully awake now, I padded out to the guest bathroom and jumped in the shower, relishing the wonderful feel of hot water drumming on my back. I shuddered a little, because less than twenty-four hours ago, I was actually desperate enough to even consider a very different, way more ridiculous scenario, where I’d wake up freezing my ass off, with a scurry of squirrels masquerading as my blanket.

Sir McGrumpyface might be the most infuriating person in the universe, but I’d be forever grateful for his offer. His home was a renovated, two-story townhouse nestled at the top of a hilly street, with a clear, gorgeous view of Port Benedict Bay in the distance. The spare guest room that I was staying in was on the second floor, with a view of the neatly kept backyard, and tastefully furnished with a beige queen-size wrought iron bed, teak bedside tables, and a beautiful mahogany chest of drawers. The room was across the hall from the guest bath and his bedroom, separated by a cozy rumpus area.

A million things ran through my mind as I got dressed. I needed to check off as many things as possible from my To-Buy List, starting with some cleaning items and basic handyman tools. Rolls of duct tape, a ladder, a large piece of heavy-duty tarp. A chainsaw to cut up the broken tree limb into smaller pieces, because that would be faster than a regular handsaw. If I could start the cleanup so the place was ready for the contractor to start the repairs, it would save me some time and money.

The soft clanking of pots and pans echoed throughout the house, interrupting my thoughts. I trotted downstairs, where a shirtless Alec puttered around the kitchen, displaying a prize-winning torso. My traitorous brain whistled in appreciation, because the Alec I remembered from our younger years definitely hadn’t beenthisbuff. He wore a pair of gray shorts, with his hair messy and sticking out every which way.

Holy abs, Batman.This wasn’t such a terrible view to start the day.

Then I realized he had a pair of tortoiseshell glasses on.

My heart pounded quicker. This was not good.At all.I didn’t know what it was about men wearing glasses, but I’d always had a bizarre infatuation with them. Seeing Alec with a pair right now sent a battalion of butterflies crashing through my stomach. And for the love of all that is holy, who knew that shoulder blades could be so… interesting?

Stop staring. He’s annoying, and you don’t like him.

“Heard your shower running. Coffee?” He didn’t look up from the stove. “Mugs are in the top right corner.”

“Put a shirt on. My eyes are hurting me.” I opened the cupboard and took out a mug, careful to maneuver my way around him. The last thing I needed at five in the morning was to have that smooth, solid skin touching mine.Ugh.“Got any teas?”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, blinking twice. “You don’t drink coffee? What’s wrong with you?”

I was about to retort with a snarky response, but a voice at the back of my brain reminded me: he was helping me with the repairs. He gave me a place to stay. The least I could do was be friendly and polite, no matter how challenging it would be.

“Coffee and I don’t get along. One cup, and my heart thumps like it’s about to run a marathon.”

“You sure you’re related to Eric? The man has coffee flowing in his veins.”

“Eric, my mother, and my father. I’m the black sheep of the family.” I pulled out a box of Lipton green tea from his pantry, placed a tea bag in my mug, then poured hot water and left it to brew for a few minutes. “When did you start wearing glasses?”

Instead of answering, he turned around and slid a plate in front of me. “Whole grain buttermilk pancake, with my mother’s homemade strawberry compote.”

Okay, glasses + pancakes = a dangerous combination.Must tread carefully.

“Thank you.” Raising my eyebrows, I sat on a kitchen stool. “Are they edible?”

“Totally not bragging, but I’ve received multiple five-star reviews for those.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, presenting me with a close-up view of his chest. “Some girls have been known to profess their undying love for me after tasting them. Just saying.”

“Count me out.” I gestured in the general direction of his body. “Ew. I said, shirt on.”

He smirked and put the spatula down, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned wearing an old T-shirt. Plating a second pile for himself, he sat across from me and lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to a few weeks of coexisting under the same roof in peace.”

“Without maiming each other. Temporary truce.” I took out my insulin pump to bolus for the pancake. “Did you say this was whole grain?”

At his nod, I did some quick mental math to estimate the amount of carbs in the meal, then entered the number into my pump, which gave me the amount of insulin I should be taking based on my current glucose level. I pressed the blue tick mark to confirm the bolus, then slipped the pump back in my pocket. When I glanced at him, he was watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.

I lifted my chin at him. “What? Have I got strawberry jam on my face or something?”

I’d had countless curious, pitying, and sometimes even disbelieving looks from friends and strangers when they learned I hadtype 1 diabetes. Some even made the obnoxiously ignorant comments that I’d been “eating too much sweet stuff” (I hadn’t), and “you’ll grow out of it when you’re older” (I wouldn’t), or “don’t worry, it’s not life-threatening” (it could be). At first, I used to get really worked up when people said those things, but after a lifetime of hearing them, I’d grown accustomed to it. A tiny part of me still got fired up sometimes, but I’d learned to not let it bother me.

Buthim—I didn’t want him to look at me that way. Nor did I need his sympathy or pity, or worse, treating me like I was fragile. I was poised for battle, ready to defend myself, if he even so much as grazed anything along those lines.

“Nothing on your face. I started wearing glasses last year. Getting old, I guess.”

Huh. Not what I had expected.

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