“You think so?” I thought about it for a second before turning into my driveway. “No. White. I don’t want to push it.”
“Rush delivery on this as well?”
“Please,” I answered as I shut down the Porsche’s engine.
“How about pink instead of red?” Rosie wasn’t done with me yet. “It’s not a full-blown love message like red, but does give a definite I-like-you vibe.”
“Okay, pink.” I had to bet Rosie had a better feel for these things than I did.
CHAPTER 13
Peyton
In the morning,I woke to noises outside my door. Yesterday I’d stayed in bed on purpose to avoid having it look like I was stalking March. But I’d made my point, so today I wanted to be up ahead of him to even things out and help like a house guest should.
Last night, I’d found a bathrobe in the bathroom. I threw it on now and marched out. Actually, there had been three bathrobes on hooks. I’d chosen the lightest pink one. Why were they all pink?
Starting down the hall, a question popped into my head. What kind of guy stocked his guest bathroom with three pink robes? He must have a lot of women over. Did three bathrobes mean he had trios of girls here at the same time? I’d heard of threesomes, but that would make a foursome.
How did that work? Why should I care? He could have as many girls over at a time as he wanted. It was a free country, after all. I didn’t need to be a freaking Judy McJudgy. He wasn’t my man. I didn’t want a man. I didn’t have a man. That was a good thing, a safe thing.No men.
I ventured into the kitchen and turned the corner, ready to issue a hearty good morning to Mr. March, the king of the pink bathrobes, but I stopped in my tracks.
It wasn’t March at the stove. It was his mother, Karla. She turned. “Good morning. I hope you like pancakes.” She also had on a pink bathrobe.
“Who doesn’t? What can I do to help?” See, I could be a responsible house guest for a day.
She waved at the cabinets. “Plates and glasses are up there.” She was more than an occasional visitor here it seemed. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock.” March’s assurance that I would be safe because he was here had done the trick.
“Me too. I like this old house. It certainly suits Ruppie. Solid old-school construction, built by craftsmen who stood behind their work, back when speed was less important than quality. Solid walls so you don’t hear a thing from the old lady on the other side of that wall.” She pointed toward the stove. “Solid and dependable, just like him, even if a little slow, if you know what I mean.”
Pulling down the plates, I had zero clue where she was going, so I came back with, “I like the house too.” After setting out the plates, I went back for glasses.
“He may be slow, but I think he’s worth waiting for. You can’t do any better than my Ruppert, so I wouldn’t go hitching your wagon to some other man too quickly.” She had a peculiar way of bragging about her son, along with a misunderstanding of my relationship with him—or more correctly, lack thereof.
“I’m not of a mind to hitch my wagon to any man at this point in my life.”
“Of course.” She flipped the pancakes. “Still, don’t hesitate to lean on my Ruppert. He can help you with your problem.”
I didn’t acknowledge her suggestion.
“What do you do for a living, dear?”
“I’m a personal assistant.” It wasn’t as good as my previous career, but I couldn’t go back to that now.
“Is that a flexible job?”
“Yeah, more than most, I guess.”
“That’s great. It will make caring for children easier than if you had some other kinds of jobs.” Once again she was sizing me up for baby-maker duty.
“I’ll have to see where I end up later, when I’m ready for that stage of my life,” I told her. “But for now, I’m not ready for that kind of relationship.”
“I understand, dear. I was the same way when I first met Ruppert’s father. He courted me for a while, and I was…let’s just say I was less than enthusiastic. We were dating, and then one day he did something I didn’t expect.”
I brought the glasses over to the table and waited for the big reveal.
