Page 37 of Doctorshipped
I lead Fiona into the kitchen while Brooks lets himself out.
“Okay, so. I had this thought that it would be way easier to follow the directions if we color code everything. Measurements are hard for everyone. I mean TSP and TBS. That’s enough to drive anyone bonkers. So, let’s sit and use my highlighters to mark this recipe and that way we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”
I hand Fiona a pink highlighter and I grab a green one while she highlights all the teaspoon measurements I go through and highlight cups. As we’re marking, I hear the front door.
“It’s just me! My last client finished early.” Shannon calls from the living room.
“We’re in the kitchen!” I yell back.
Shannon joins us and settles into one of the kitchen chairs. We spend the next half hour mixing ingredients and then we pop the muffins into the oven. Shannon asks Fiona about the move and how she’s adjusting to Bordeaux. Fiona quizzes Shannon about her wedding prep. Pretty soon they’re talking about ice hockey and dancing. Before I know it, Shannon’s leading Fiona downstairs to our makeshift dance studio where Shannon practices routines.
I take advantage of the downtime to answer a few emails from my agent. He wants me to expand my platform on social media. Not surprising. It’s always a bone of contention between us. I’m not big on using social media, so I always push back about this particular area of author life. His email insists I don’t have a choice if we’re going to land a deal with this publisher for my vampire series.
I’m deep in thought about the request from my agent when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in!”
The door swings open and Grant steps into my living room. He looks so different here in my space. Not completely out of place, but sort of as if an African elephant marched down Main Street. He might try to blend in, but he’s definitely not in his natural habitat.
“You’re early,” I say.
Grant’s brows furrow.
“Where’s Fiona?”
“Oh! She’s downstairs with Shannon. In the dance studio. We just put the muffins in the oven a little bit ago. They should be ready any minute.”
He inhales a long breath, but he doesn’t smile or say anything normal like,Wow, it smells amazing in here. Which, in case you're wondering, it does. Instead he just stands in the entryway, staring at me.
“Do you want to sit? Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Still no movement.
Groucho walks over and sniffs Grant’s shoes. Then he plops down in front of Grant and sets his head on one of Grant’s feet. Grant looks down at my dog, but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Sorry about that. He must actually like you to put his head on you like that. Do you want me to move him?”
“No. It’s fine.”
Grant slides his foot out from under Groucho’s head and Groucho makes a groaning sound and then snorts. Lovely.
“Okay, well,” I say at the same time Grant says. “May I go downstairs to get Fiona?”
“Oh. I’ll just get her and be right back. You can sit. You’re making me nervous standing there all broody and … just sit.”
Grant purses his lips and draws in his brows, but his eyes crinkle just the slightest. I see you, Grant. You almost smiled.
I take off for the basement. When I get down there, I stand on the second-to-bottom step loving what I see.
Shannon’s at the barre, demonstrating some dance moves and Fiona watches her intently, and then mimics Shannon’s movements.
“Exactly. That’s better! Move from your feet, not your hips. Let the hip movements be driven by the power of your foot on the floor.”
Fiona moves again.
“You’re really a quick learner.”
