‘I saw you out there flirting with the help.’ Becca, freshly showered, ran down the stairs. ‘You’ll need to get a move on. At your ages, you can’t afford to waste time.’
‘Charming. For a start, neither of us has one foot in the grave yet, and for another, we most certainly weren’t flirting.’ A prickle of heat started at her neck and worked its way up to make her cheeks burn. ‘Not really.’
That reluctant confession made her sister burst out laughing. The shimmer of heat she’d seen in Griff’s mismatched eyes had nothing to do with today’s soaring temperatures. He’d most definitely been on the verge of inviting her to his house before thinking better of it.
‘He’s very fond of my millionaire’s shortbread. I’ll whip up a batch soon to thank him for cutting the grass and you can deliver it in person.’
‘You bake?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ Becca turned huffy. ‘I might be a disorganized mess and a lousy mum but—’
‘You arenota lousy mum. Nora’s thriving and you’re trying your absolute hardest with Theo.’
‘You didn’t argue with the “disorganized mess” bit.’
‘If I agree you’ll throw a wobbly, and if I don’t—’
‘You’d be a liar andwe both know you’re a scrupulously honest person.It’s one reason we clash. I’ve never seen fudging the truth as a hanging offence.’
Almost on cue, the faint drone of the mower stopped.
‘Strike while the iron’s hot. The poor bloke’s bound to be gasping, and I happen to know you’ve got a jug of home-made lemonade in the fridge. Take out the biggest glass you can find with plenty of ice and he’ll be putty in your hands.’ Her sister tripped happily on. ‘The two of you fancy each other like mad, and by my calculation you’ve got about two months left to seal the deal, and that’s if you’re staying until Deke comes home. Are you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Lyndsey muttered. ‘I’ll take Griff a drink, but only because he needs it.’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ Nora’s thin cry pulsed from Becca’s phone. ‘No peace for the wicked. I’ll knock on Theo’s door while I’m up there and mention you’ve got cold drinks on offer. He’ll want cookies, too. There are plenty left in the jar, so you can give our grass cutter some as well.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘If I forget and call them “biscuits,” Theo will deliberately misunderstand and complain when you don’t have the scone-like things they eat here for breakfast.’
Before her sister could dole out more unsolicited advice, Lyndsey decamped to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard where the glasses were kept and gave in to a tiny smile. It’d been the truth when she denied throwing anything away, but shehadsurreptitiously cleaned and straightened up in a few places, so far with no negative feedback. The sparkling glasses were now arranged in height order which made it easy to select a suitably hefty mug. Once it was filled with tart lemonade and plenty of ice, she added a sprig of mint from one of the pots of herbs on the windowsill. The fancy addition would make Griff laugh, but she didn’t care. She fished a couple of chocolate chip cookies out of the black-and-white ceramic crock shaped like a cow and wrapped them in a paper napkin. Arranging them on a pretty plate would be a step too far.
It was automatic to check her appearance in the mirror and she tucked a rogue curl back behind her ear; of course, it wouldn’t stay there long, because her hair was notoriously unruly when it started to grow out of its usual short style. Lyndsey fished out a tube of lip gloss from her pocket and slicked on a fresh layer. Anything more would look as if she was trying too hard. She carried her offerings out onto the porch.
‘Well, you sure are a welcome sight.’ He’d taken up residence in one of the rocking chairs.
‘Me or the lemonade?’
‘Fishing for compliments, are we?’ Amusement threaded through his deep, smooth drawl. ‘I’m happy to dole them out anytime you like.’
‘I was joking.’ Lyndsey thrust the glass into his outstretched hand. ‘There are a couple of biscuits, too . . . I mean cookies.’ She set them down on the small white wrought-iron table by his left hand.
‘You’re okay. I’m pretty adept in British English these days, thanks to Becca.’ He gulped down the lemonade and smacked his lips. ‘That sure hit the spot.’ Griff leaned forward. ‘I’ll let you into another little secret about why my British language skills are so exceptional. I’m hooked onThe Repair Shopprogram and binge-watch it whenever I have the chance.’
‘Oh my God, it’s my favorite, too.’ She blushed. ‘It’s the stories behind the items that get to me. Please don’t tell my sister, but I’ve been known to shed the occasional tear. She’s convinced I’ve got a heart of stone and will make fun of me unmercifully.’
‘That’s not very fair when you’ve traveled four thousand miles to help out.’
The honesty gene reared its head again. ‘I didn’t exactly volunteer. My mum talked me into it. She played the one card I couldn’t argue with. Becca and I both know she’d be here herself in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for my dad’s uncertain health.’ Lyndsey puffed out a sigh. ‘So I’m not a wonderful, generous, loving sister after all.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘It’s one of my worst habits, according to some people.’
‘No one’s perfect.’
‘Really?’ Her smile inched back. ‘And here I was thinking I’d finally found the perfect man. How disappointing.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s life.’ Griff chuckled. ‘I could hardly be perfect when my eyes don’t even match.’
‘I noticed that the day we met.’ Lyndsey wished she hadn’t said that when a hint of satisfaction crept into his smile. ‘Is it . . . ? Forget it, that’s absolutely none of my business and incredibly rude of me to ask.’
