Page 18 of Sipping Seduction
I clenched my teeth together to stop from saying something I might regret. The beaver quilt had won first place in both the county and state fair. It had taken my grandmother months to piece together the king-size quilt. She’d designed it herself for a contest that was supposed to have something to do with Beaver Bluff’s history. It featured a colorful backdrop of the Smoky Mountains at sunset with the river in the foreground. Dozens of beavers were hidden among the squares. Some of them worked on a dam in the river and some of them rested along the banks.
“Maybe staying with you isn’t such a good idea.”
“I’m just teasing, Frannie.” His expression softened. “I don’t mean anything by it. You’re the only woman I know—hell, the only person I know—who has such a huge collection of beavers.”
Evan was the only person in the world who could get me riled up in an instant and calm me right back down with just one look. He needed to figure out a way to patent that grin. It held the perfect amount of regret with just a hint of swagger and had gotten him out of too much trouble to measure over the years.
“It’s not like you haven’t added to it over the years.”
Evan thought it was hysterical that I’d inherited my grandma’s collection of beavers and delighted in giving me crap about it. He also took advantage of any occasion he could to gift me anything beaver-shaped, beaver-themed, or beaver-related.
“You know I love your beavers.” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth.
I grabbed the kitchen towel from where it hung on the front of the stove and swatted at him. “You’d better watch it or I’m going to bring them all with me and leave them at your place when I move out.”
He raced into the living room with me hot on his tail.
“You’d better not knock my collection, Evan Bishop. With an attitude like that, they might just be the only beavers you see for a long time.”
CHAPTER9
Evan
On a regular day,Frannie was beautiful. But when she was all riled up over something, she was downright stunning. I hadn’t intended on giving her shit about her extensive beaver collection, but it was worth it to see the flush on her cheeks and the fire burning in her eyes.
Paybacks were hell though… something I never seemed to remember in the moment. That’s how I found myself moving a few boxes of her beaver belongings into my place later on that afternoon.
“I’ll set these boxes in your bedroom.” I unloaded a couple of boxes marked “decor” from the bed of my truck. We’d made three trips to the storage unit and another two to my place. Thankfully, this was the last one. My calf was screaming in pain, and I didn’t have it in me to make another run.
“Oh, you can leave those out here.” Frannie gave me a sugary-sweet smile. “I think they’ll look precious on your mantle.”
She was full of spitfire this afternoon. The truth was, I didn’t care if she brought a group of live beavers into my place. As long as she was there, sharing space, breathing the same air as me, I’d be willing to let everything else go.
“Are you thinking we should set up the beaver village on the mantle, or do you want the stuffed seasonal beavers?” I wasn’t the only one who knew about the beaver collection. Once her grandma passed away and willed it to Frannie, word got out. Now everyone in town kept an eye out for unique items featuring beavers they could gift to her.
Some of the beavers I’d helped pack up at her place were brand new to me, like the music box holding a tiny beaver dressed in a tutu that twirled around, and the nutcracker beaver whose long front teeth were used to break open walnuts and pecans. That one actually scared me a little, but I’d never admit that to Frannie.
“You know what? I’m going to leave the mantle decor up to you.” Frannie brushed her palms across the front of her jeans, leaving a smudge of dust. “Do you have anything to drink around here besides tap water or beer?”
I left the box of mystery beavers by the fireplace and headed to the kitchen. “What are you in the mood for? I’ve got sweet tea, some lemonade, and I picked up a couple of twelve packs of that sparkling water you like.”
She propped the refrigerator door open and peered inside. “You made sweet tea?”
A person could tell a lot about someone by their sweet tea. My mom never added quite enough sugar to hers. I’d tried ordering a glass of it at Pappy’s one time and almost gagged because it was way too sweet. It took the right combination to pull off the perfect glass. Which was why I’d never risk making it homemade and had picked up a gallon of it from Jackie Jay’s. Even the Bishops and Stewarts could agree about that—Jackie Jay’s served the best sweet tea in town.
“I made the lemonade from a packet. The sweet tea’s from Jackie Jay’s.” I pulled two plastic cups with the distillery logo from the cabinet and set them on the counter. “What’s your poison this afternoon, Frannigan?”
She reached into the fridge and pulled out the jug of sweet tea. “It’s probably not possible to mess up lemonade, but I’m not going to take any chances.”
“Hey, I taste tested that already. It’s pretty good.” I didn’t blame her for being reluctant to try anything I’d had a hand in making. We’d taken Intro to Foods together in high school, and I was the only one who failed the assignment on making hot chocolate.
“I’m sure I’ll work up the courage to try it in the next day or two.” Frannie took a long sip of her tea. “I mean, we’ll run out of sweet tea eventually, right?”
“I’ve come a long way from high school. Did you know I’ve been feeding myself for the past eight years? I even get most of the food in my mouth.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I relaxed against the counter. This was the kind of life I’d envisioned—me and Frannie enjoying each other’s company on a Saturday afternoon. Teasing each other might even become my favorite form of foreplay.
“How often do you actually have to prepare food for yourself?” Frannie matched my stance. “Didn’t you have three meals a day while you were in the Army? And from what I know about your mom, she probably sends enough leftovers home with you from Sunday night dinner that you don’t have to cook all week.”
She had me there, but I wouldn’t admit it. “Mom’s not as generous with the leftovers since she and Dad retired. I make a mean burger on the grill. I’ll even prove it to you. Why don’t I run to the store while you work on those boxes, and I’ll make you dinner tonight? We can eat out back and watch the stars come out like we used to.”
