Page 112 of First Bride to Fall
He cleared his throat. “I…tend to work up a big appetite when I’m fishing.”
She grinned up at him. “And today the fishing was good?”
“Um, yep.”
“Nice. Lots of them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yum.”
He just stood there, drowning in her sparkling eyes. He felt thrown off-balance. Like she’d taken the ball on this somehow and he’d fumbled.
He scratched his head. “You sure you got all that? The side dishes, I mean.”
“Think so.” She began reciting. “Hot dogs, baked beans, crispy tots, mac and cheese, and brownies?”
He did a quick mental tally himself. “You’re forgetting the deviled eggs,” he said in lilting tones.
“Oops. Sorry.” But she didn’t really look sorry at all. She’d probably hoped he’d forgotten. “Well then,” she said, bouncing off toward the cabin. “I’d better get busy!”
The moment she’d gone, remorse swamped him. Maybe he’d laid in on too thick. Asking her to make all that food? Seriously? He knew she was only following through because she was onto him. Still, it felt so wrong.
The goal had never been to make herdoanything. She was supposed to cut and run the second she realized what a world-class chauvinist he was. Instead, he had a spotless cabin, a fresh pile of split wood, groceries he’d never eat, a huge tent set up in his yard, and what was about to be a spread of epic proportions.
He scrubbed his hand over his face. He was making such a mess of this. She was clearly going to beat him at his own game. Just like she’d creamed him playing Scrabble. During every conversation they’d had, she’d never backed down, had never admitted any fault. Instead, she’d worn him down by being gracious and giving, making him feel worse and worse about himself.
This was bad. He’d gone too far. He had to go in there and tell her that plain hot dogs would be all right. He grumbled, recalling the little surprise he’d left for her inside. That had been unfair of him, too. Maybe he could apologize for thoughtlessly leaving a mess and pick it up before she stumbled across it.
…
Nell walked in the cabin’s back door, and she almost tripped.
She’d stepped on something near the kitchen table. What?
She looked down and picked it up.
Ew. It was one of Grant’s socks. One of his…pretty grungy socks. She held it out in front of her with pinched fingers and dropped it back on the floor. Then she spied its mate near the stove.
Two socks and…there’s his fleece jacket halfway to the sofa.
His dirty jeans were near the woodstove, wadded up around the ankles.
T-shirt by the bathroom door. Turned inside out.
What had he done? A striptease all the way to the shower?
She spotted his briefs on the bathroom floor, along with a damp towel. Yep. That’s what he’d done all right, and she hadn’t even been there to see it. At least that would have been some consolation.
Nell sighed, staring at the mess. He’d done all this just to vex her. He’d probably picked out the most difficult model tent he could find at his store, too. Now, he wanted her to sleep in it alone? He had to be banking on the fact that she wouldn’t and would beg to be driven home first.
Not on your life, Grant.
Nell squared her shoulders. She was feeling stronger every moment, and she would not be played by Grant. She stared at his damp towel on the floor, fighting the urge to pick it up. But no, she wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t clean up any of his discarded clothing, either. Now, it was his turn.
“Uh…I’m sorry about the mess.”
She spun around, spotting Grant on the threshold. He clutched his dirty clothing in his arms. He’d apparently crept in behind her, snagging his laundry off the floor, piece by piece. He shrugged, and his ears tinged pink. “I forgot that I’d left these lying around. Sorry.”
