“Maybe he is. Do you think he’s laid back?”
“He is. It’s not as if I’ve talked to his family much, but Logan has joked about Rowan going where the wind blows withoutblinking. Rowan has even said he just says or does what pops into his mind.”
“Then there you go. Don’t look for problems that might not exist.”
“You’re right. It just seems too good to be true.”
“Only because you don’t think you deserve it,” her grandmother said. “So get over that too.”
22
TALKING ABOUT ME
Rowan checked the guest room on the lower level one more time, then popped his head into the bathroom close by.
Saylor said her grandmother wouldn’t feel comfortable being upstairs next to them. Or maybe Saylor didn’t. Since he wasn’t so sure he would either and even his mother stayed downstairs, it worked for him.
Everything was set as Saylor had what her grandmother needed and liked downstairs to watch TV, relax, have a snack, a drink, or even make coffee. There wasn’t a full kitchen in the suite, but a fridge and microwave behind the bar with a coffeemaker.
He took the stairs two at a time and walked around the first level looking for dust.
Stupid since Saylor was cleaner than the maid service he had come in once a month.
Yep, that was another damn disagreement between them. She’d told him to save his money, and she’d clean.
He laughed at her. She frowned, then put her hands on her hips.
Rather than argue, he kissed her on the lips and said, “No, you’re not my maid and don’t even think about turning this into needing to do more because you’re not paying as much.”
They had a stare down. Something he’d perfected as a kid with his siblings, and she threw her hands up and walked away.
Rowan lifting his arms in the air and chanting “Victor” might have been overkill, but he got a laugh out of her.
He pulled his phone out and looked to see how close Saylor was. Twenty minutes out, so he got some fruit and cheese out of the fridge and tried to make a pretty arrangement on a board.
After five minutes, he gave up. He might have been creative and enjoyed drawing and art, but it was graphic modern design, not neatly placing food into masterpieces.
Dinner would be easy. He was grilling steaks and lobster tails. Both were ready to hit the heat when they wanted to eat.
He picked up sides and dessert on his way home. Loaded sweet potato wedges, an arugula salad, roasted vegetables and the lemon pound cake Saylor couldn’t get enough of when he brought one home weeks ago.
Did he want to impress the woman who raised his girlfriend more than her parents?
Fuck yes, he did.
Which could be why he was pacing the house worse than when he waited for her to arrive after her long drive from Iowa.
He pulled his phone out again, saw that she just turned down the street, and went to the front of the house so he could watch her park.
The minute Saylor pulled into the garage, he had the door to the mudroom open.
“Wow,” she said. “Did you miss me already from this morning?”
“Always,” he said. “But I was going to get your grandmother’s bag.”
The older woman got out of the passenger side. He knew she was in her late sixties, but she didn’t look it. Not that it was old. Hell, some of his early morning surfing buddies were that age and put him to shame.
He hadn’t once gotten up to surf in the morning since Saylor lived with him though.
