Page 3 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Chapter Two
Summer
Angry wouldn’t quite describe his face. But suspicious? Yes.
He cut an imposing figure, I had to admit. He embodied that large, intimidating, mean-mugging type man I typically didn’t go for. But every time I encountered Nicholas Masters, whether in life or legend, some element revealed itself that caught me off guard and forced me to notice him.
For example? That letter. Who writes a letter like that? Or when Rob mentioned he lives just a few doors down from my house. This came in the context of him sharing Masters’ address when I explained wanting to make food for the people who’d been in the accident. After Rob gave it, he told me not to share it, not to tell anyone I was feeding Masters in the first place, and that the only reason he knew where Masters lived was because he sometimes trained at his house.
What?
I knew Rob was training for something, and it occupied most of his time outside the workday. But to find it was Nicholas Masters training him? It… intrigued me.
Even the time at the fest, when he’d just left. More than a small handful of women had approached him in the hour he’d sat at the table. I’d missed his dismissal of them, but it’d happened, and quickly. This, too, served to intrigue me.
But nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight in front of me. Because it was—and please don’t think less of me for saying so—something right out of a pinup calendar. Whatever the case, I would just be thankful for the moment, even if it came with the storm cloud of his facial expression.
The man stood in his doorway, warm light behind him lending him an unearthly, angelic glow. His feet were bare on the hardwood floor just inside the threshold, and his long, muscular legs were covered in sweatpants pushed up at his calves. And up top?
Nothing. Not. A. Thing. Just miles of stunning golden skin interrupted by designs inking over every part of his arms. Well, skin and ink that covered muscles carved out of will and sacrifice. Muscles defined by refusing bread and cheese and butter, no doubt.
And yes—yes, that would be a sight in and of itself. But in one arm, cradled like a baby, rested a little white ball of fur with cerulean blue eyes blinking back at me and a long tail flicking with impatience.
He was topless. With a kitten. In a snowstorm.
Seriously.
And sure,hewasn’t the one in the snowstorm, I was. And everything felt more… magical and heightened in a snowstorm, didn’t it? That was just fact. Hallmark and Gilmore Girls and my own Appalachian mountain upbringing had taught me that.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” I said, my voice weird and high, but whatever. He’d come to the door without a shirt, so I couldn’t be blamed.
Yes, I’d been a nurse for eight-plus years. I’d seen bodies and more bodies. So a shirtless fit man didn’t exactly fall into the novel category, nor did it necessarily set me all a-twitter or anything. But these were after-work hours, and I’d been caught unawares, and with an empty stomach, too.
“Can I help you?” Barely any inflection. Just the tiniest, barest little hint of a turnup at the end of the sentence.
“Well, uh, I guess? I brought you dinner. I’m Summer Applegate.” I raised a hand and twiddled my fingers, only to realize I wore mittens and he couldn’t see my fingers.Genius.“I know you said to stop, but your friend Rob mentioned that you eat really healthy food, and I thought maybe you didn’t like my food because I don’t tend to cook super healthy things. So I wanted to give it another shot, because I hate that you got hurt, and the way I take care of people is to feed them. Or, well, I mean I’m a nurse, so I do actually take care of them too, but in the off hours I feed them. It makes me happy. And I hope it makes them happy. And, so, well, I hope this will work out better for you.”
Oh good Lord, stop talking!
I swallowed, mildly horrified at my babbling, though not at all surprised. I wouldn’t say I was nervous, exactly, but he made me feel… well, let’s just say it. He made me feel like I’d trotted up to his porch in the nude.
Masters squinted, and his firm-looking, sculpted lips flattened.
My stomach dropped.Ugh.Would he really refuse the food?
I held out a hand to stay him. “Listen, I know you asked me to stop. I’m not trying to harass you, or anything. I… try this food. If you don’t like it, I swear I won’t bother you again. You can just let me know one way or another.”
I grabbed the handles of the bags and thrust them at him. He still held his cat, who seemed entirely disinclined to leave his embrace, so Masters reached with the other hand and took both in one. I blurred out the view of his sculpted pecs, the neat double stacks of abdominal muscles, the general splendor of his physical person.
“Okay then,” I said, a nervous chuckle escaping. “Bye.”
I turned and waved again without looking.
“Ms. Applegate.”
I stopped and my feet nearly slid out from under me. I moved slowly, returning my gaze to his doorway.Good night, what a sight.
“Thank you.” A slight nod, furrowed brow still, no smile.
