Page 72 of Fast Currents
“Gran just bought the most high-profile money laundering front on the island and wants to put Janine in charge of it.”
Clay’s bark of laughter caught me by surprise. He shook his head from side to side, his chuckle subsiding. “At least we know why she was so interested in Island Muse.” He winked. “I bet she tries to talk you into teaching for her.”
My eyes widened, fresh horror making me speechless. Holy hell. Gran hosting paint and sips opened up all new potential nightmares.
“I give it two weeks before she tries to recruit you for a class calledUncorked and Unclothed.”
“Bite your tongue, Robertson.” I shook my phone at him. “Don’t you go giving her any ideas.”
He snickered. “She doesn’t need my help.”
***
With the mystery behind Island Muse somewhat resolved, we could turn our attention to settling into living together and his parents’ impending visit.
The days leading up to Thanksgiving showed me a whole new side to the man I’d moved in with. Clay was rabid for the holiday. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. We spent a solid two days carting boxes of my stuff from my old place to his house. We navigated which pieces of my furniture we’d keep and what we’d get rid of relatively easily. All the aspects of the move and of combining households that should have been stressful, we managed effortlessly. It was only when Clay started planning his menu that the monster came out.
“I still need a solid stuffing recipe,” he muttered, flipping through yet another cookbook as he sat next to me on the couch.
I side-eyed the stack of abandoned books and laptop with fifteen browser tabs open. “There’s always Stove Top.”
“Bite your tongue, woman. Those arefightingwords.”
“You know, I’ve always been partial to the boxed mac and cheese,” I added airily, grinning when he tensed. “Are you sure we really need a recipe with gruyere?”
“That’s it!” He tossed his book aside, pushing to his feet. He towered over me, glaring down, his expression fierce. “I draw the line at powdered cheese. Youmustbe punished.”
A giggle slipped out. He pulled me to my feet, hoisting me over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, adding a slap to my ass when I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Hey!”
“That’s what you get for laughing at my menu planning. This is serious business, woman.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with faux meekness as he carted me off to our bedroom.
Much later, I traced his chest, twirling a fingertip in the hollows and tracing his moles from point to point. “I had no idea you were so serious about Thanksgiving.”
Almost reflexively, he smacked my flank. “Let me have my dreams, Lucifer. After all, you’re one of them.”
I snorted. “Really?” Glancing down at my naked body, I had to concede. “Okay, I am pretty dreamy.”
His expression softened. “I’m serious.” He turned, reaching into his bedside table and emerging with a small journal.
My heart stalled. Was this the famed journal? The one he promised to let me read someday?
He flipped pages, his eyes flitting across the words inside until he landed on the passage he was looking for. He extended the open journal toward me.
“As promised. My entry from the date we met.”
Slowly, I accepted the leatherbound book, hands shaky. I wasn’t exactly kind the first time Clay and I met. It was hard to imagine I’d made a good impression. But the way he watched me gave me second thoughts.
Dear Diary, today I met the woman I’m going to marry.
I chuckled. At least he was consistent.
Just kidding. I don’t think she’ll have me. But I can dream, right? Since I lost Jen, I’ve been convinced my romantic life is over, that lightning doesn’t strike twice. The kind of partnership and connection we had was a one-time deal.
But today, the meanest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen told me to fuck off, and I fell. Hard. Even asked her to marry me. Of course, she said no. She’s probably sane. I’m a bad bet.
