Beautifully Decadent (Beautifully Damaged Book 3) (8 page)

Handing her a fork I said, “Please tell me what you think.”

She didn’t hesitate to dig in; the sight of her eyes rolling into the back of her head was a pretty good clue that she liked it. Trace said, “That’s a definite thumbs up.”

After both father and daughter devoured their cake, Trace trying the panna cotta and berry torte, I walked them to their car. “A group of us are heading to Allegro next weekend. It’s a jazz club. You should come, let us show you a bit of our city.”

Happily stunned mute, since I hadn’t expected the invitation, I didn’t immediately respond. And then realizing my hesitation could be misconstrued as disinterest, I said, “I’d really like that.”

“We’re meeting around 7:00pm. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks for the desserts. Fuc—” Trace cleared his throat. “I mean delicious.”

“Good catch.”

In reply, he grinned before strapping Faith into her car seat. He climbed into his car and started her up. His window rolled down. “See you on Friday.”

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“If you have desserts like that waiting, we’ll make a habit of stopping by.”

I liked the idea of guests, especially being so far from everyone I knew. “I’ll have desserts.”

“See you next weekend, Avery.”

Faith waved, I waved back. When the gates closed behind them, I headed back inside and fixed myself a slice of that cake and I agreed with Faith and Trace, it was delicious.

I loved Riverdale. The community was lovely; downtown was charming—very reminiscent of some of the towns from home. I had even found a gourmet market, which was dangerous since gourmet markets for me were like the Louis Vuitton store for other women. Grabbing a cart, I took my time walking up and down the aisles, filling my cart with more items than I needed. Nat was coming for a visit, so I bought groceries for some of her favorite meals since I was sure the last home-cooked dinner she’d had was the one I had made.

I couldn’t wait for her to see my place, loved that I could say it was my place. Not only was it visually perfect, but also being tucked in a community that felt so much like home helped me with the transition. And my landlord, dear God, the man was exquisite. I planned on setting up a chair right outside my front door, positioned so I could see him coming and going from his workshop. I honestly didn’t even care if he knew what I was doing—he already thought I was a nut.

Trace had been right; Rafe was very private. Outside of the day I moved in, he kept to himself and left me to myself. I hadn’t seen the mystery woman; she hadn’t paid a visit since that first day. I was curious about her, the kind of woman who could catch a man like Rafe.

Reaching the tea aisle, I spotted the tea Nat preferred, but it was on the top shelf. At five foot two, top shelves in grocery stores might as well be hanging from the ceiling. Scanning up and down the aisle confirmed I was alone, no tall person in sight. And even stepping up on the bottom shelf, I was still too short to reach the tea. Maybe I was shrinking. I was only twenty-nine; I didn’t think that evil twist of aging happened until menopause. Of course, I wasn’t using my female parts, so maybe my body decided since I’d closed down the factory it might as well board up the windows and retire to Florida. What a horrible thought. Though I couldn’t deny, recently those neglected parts were slowly waking, stretching after a long hibernation and I had Rafe to thank for that.

Looking around for something I could use to knock the tea off the shelf, I spied the celery in my basket. That would give me at least six more inches. The boxes were stocked very close together and the celery was bulky so it didn’t come as a surprise that my attempt to retrieve the tea resulted in several boxes, not the brand I wanted, tumbling to the floor. As they hit the linoleum, the accompanying sound echoed.

“Son of a…”

“Do you need help?”

Like warm honey over ice cream. I’d know that voice anywhere, and then I realized that Rafe had witnessed my ridiculous attempt to retrieve tea. Tea I wasn’t even going to drink. How embarrassing.

Turning, I was treated to the sight of Rafe McKenzie carrying a shopping basket. Only a truly remarkable man could make shopping for groceries look sexy.

My heart felt like a jackhammer, my limbs turned to noodles and to cover the fact that the man physically affected me, though anyone not physically affected by this man wasn’t human, I opened my mouth before I engaged my brain.

“They make these shelves intentionally too high so that the wicked, tall people of the world can stand in the security offices all across the land laughing at the vertically challenged. It’s wrong, very, very wrong.”

It took me a minute to realize what I had just said and when I had, I wanted to stick my face in the boxes of tea on a shelf I could reach.

Chancing a glance at him, he was grinning.

“I don’t really think there’s a conspiracy against short people. I mean sure the designers all cater to tall, thin women and most amusement rides I’m barely at the height to actually ride even though I’m almost thirty and sure I’ve been carded because I’m on the short side so I naturally have to be young too.” Cocking my hip, I realized maybe there really was a conspiracy. “On second thought…”

“Did you get the tea you wanted with your celery prosthesis?”

“Tea? I don’t drink tea.”

This earned me a smile with teeth visible and honest to God my knees buckled.

“Then why are you in the tea section knocking boxes off the shelf? Is this some kind of short person protest?”

Momentarily stunned by the sight of his smile, it took me a minute to remember that I was indeed in the tea section getting tea for Nat and he had just called me short.

“I’m not short. Five foot two is actually considered average for a female.” I didn’t really know if that statistic was true, but he probably didn’t know either.

Clearly hotness adversely affected the working of my brain since I had my extremely hot landlord offering to help reach my tea and through this entire exchange my take away was objecting to him calling me short.

“My sister is visiting, she drinks tea. And no, I didn’t get the one I wanted. These celery prostheses are just not made the way they used to be.”

He stepped closer and the sight of all that moving closer had those slowly, stirring places jerking upright and taking notice. “Which one did you want?”

I kind of felt like Clark W. Griswold at the lingerie counter in
Christmas Vacation
. In my head, the one I wanted had nothing to do with tea. I felt the stupid grin—openly lascivious grin—and snapped myself out of it. “The Lady Grey in the black box.”

Effortlessly, he retrieved the box, our fingers brushed when he handed it to me and just that slight contact and my body felt like it was on fire. “Thank you.”

“Do you think you’ll need my help retrieving other items outside of your reach?”

He was offering to shop with me, but that spelled disaster since I couldn’t seem to form a thought in his presence. God only knew what I’d get myself into, walking and talking without my brain taking part.

“Ah, I think I’ll be okay. I’ve got this.” I said as I waved the celery. Mortifying. When I got home I needed to order ‘Talking to Hot People for Dummies’.

“All right. See you later.”

I watched him walk away, even turned so I could see his ass that looked so nice in those jeans. And once out of sight, I lowered my head and giggled because I was seriously a clown. Oh well, I wasn’t going to see him again except for every time I left the carriage house, returned to it, walked around the yard, played with Loki. No big deal. I resisted the urge to bang my head on the mockingly tall shelves. I needed to buy an invisibility cloak too; I hope that Harry didn’t have the only one.

I didn’t want to get out of bed; the mattress and sheets were like heaven. It felt as if I was sleeping on a cloud. Even down to the details of bedding, Rafe was all over it. I didn’t run into him again yesterday. He was probably hiding from me. If he and Trace exchanged stories, the truth would be out—the Collins chicks were nuts. Climbing from bed, the aroma of coffee drifted down the hall to me. Never had I had a programmable coffeemaker and I suspected I would never again be without one. What a luxury.

A cool breeze blew through the window, the temperatures more in line with the fall season. Pulling open the front door, to get the breeze through the screen, I yelped at the sight of the black, furry figure sprawled out on the front stoop. Loki.

His head lifted and his black eyes settled on me. His tail gave a thump, I assumed in joy at seeing me, but other than those minor movements he could have been a statue.

“Morning, Loki.”

His tail thumped again.

“Have you had a walk today?”

In answer, he moved, looking much like an old man rising from his rocking chair, but his tail continued to wag so I took that to mean he liked the idea of a walk.

Slipping on my shoes, Loki and I walked around the property. It wasn’t a huge property, maybe an acre or so, but with the trees and shrubs, it really did seem as if we were miles and miles from others. With the fenced-in yard and the gate usually closed, I understood why Rafe allowed Loki to walk around unleashed.

There was a bench under a tree at the far end of the property. Sitting down, Loki dropped at my feet and together we enjoyed the quiet of the early morning. About twenty minutes later, Rafe walked from the barn. I could honestly say in all of my twenty-nine years of living I had never seen a sight as beautiful as the one I stared at now. Rafe’s hair was pulled back in a man bun—never thought I’d find that sexy, but it was ridiculously sexy—and he wore sweats that hung from his hips, but just barely so you were rooting on gravity. He’d draped his tee over his exquisitely sculpted shoulder affording me a view of his naked and sweaty chest. I had been wrong, he didn’t have a six-pack; he had an eight-pack...an eight-pack. What was he doing in that barn? And could I do it with him? And he lived right there, right outside my front door. Man, did I score with this place.

The sound of the gates opening pulled my attention from Rafe in time to see as a station wagon, nearly as old as mine, came rattling up the drive. An older woman—reed-thin with white hair pulled into a bun—climbed from the car. Loki and I joined the woman on the drive.

“You must be the tenant.” She said in way of greeting, but it came across more like an accusation.

“Yes, I’m Avery.”

“Mrs. Milner, the housekeeper. Leave your linens in the basket in the mudroom and I’ll launder them for you.”

No way did my rent include housekeeping services, not that I wouldn’t welcome it. I hated doing laundry. “Thanks, but I can manage.”

“I’m not asking. I like the linens done just so.”

Her attitude definitely grated, however the woman was offering to wash my towels and sheets; I wasn’t about to argue the point with her. “Thank you, Mrs. Milner.”

“I’m here every Friday, please have the linens in the mudroom by Thursday evening.”

“Will do.”

And then she turned and walked away without another word. And as I pondered why Rafe would have a woman working for him with her disposition, he walked outside and the change in her was immediate.

“Rafe, dear. How are you?”

“Mrs. Milner. I’m good. I’d be even better with another one of those chicken and dumpling casseroles. It was so good I nearly wept.”

“Any time, you know that.”

“You look particularly pretty today. Did you get your hair done?”

What? Her hair was in a bun. How the hell could he tell?

“I did, just yesterday.”

“Mr. Milner has probably been chasing you around the house.”

Oh my God. I wanted to laugh out loud because Rafe was now handling the woman who had just handled me and she was happy to be handled.

She blushed; I could see that from where I stood. Rafe was out and out flirting with his housekeeper, who had to be in her sixties, and the woman was eating it up. And I liked it, liked the mischievous look in his eyes.

“He doesn’t run as well as he used to, but I let him catch me.”

I nearly laughed out loud again, Rafe did. His head tilting back as that happy sound rang around the yard. A sound that hit me right in the chest, the smile dimming on my lips because I had a feeling there was a lot to Rafe McKenzie and I really wanted to get to know
all
of him and not just in the biblical sense. And it was then that another car pulled into the drive: a sassy red convertible. The driver was exquisite, like sell your soul kind of exquisite, and probably the owner of that voice. She climbed from her car and she was nothing but legs. Even I stared, it was hard not to. She moved as if she floated, her hips swaying, her long curly—from a bottle but exceedingly pretty—red hair moving seductively around her shoulders.