Iwait for Cleo to emerge from her shower as I wander through my pool house and note the changes she’s made. The sideboard, dining table, and kitchen window ledge are all cluttered with stacks of books. Most of these, I suspect, are novels she’s borrowed from my grandmother given the abundance of half naked hot dudes on the front. I don’t judge people’s preferences. I pick up one with a pink cover which holds a bookmark in it. Hmm, so this one she’s still reading. I think I’ll put this somewhere else. After securing it in the guest bedroom, I click on the TV and select a streaming service, expecting it to be full of romantic, soppy shit. I bet she watches Christmas movies in June.
My eyes widen as I take in the recently viewed.Oh, Cleo, now you’re tempting me.Flicking the TV off, I sit on the sofa, unable to keep the smirk from my face.
She tumbles out of the master bedroom in a frantic hurry,the mouthwatering scent of peaches and coconut strong from her shower. She freezes when she spots me sitting like one of her half naked dudes on her book covers.
I jerk my head at the new dressing I’d laid out so I can feel her soft hands on me again. “As promised.”
She huffs. “We need to make it quick. I’m going to be late making Helen breakfast.”
“Consider spending less time in the shower.”
She levels me with a blank stare. That’s right, I hear everything you say in there.
I’m desperate to see the real color of her eyes. Green is wrong for her.
“Doesn’t seem too bad,” she mutters as she replaces the dressing and tapes it up.
I arch a brow at her. “Do you have medical training?”
She scowls. “No.”
“So how would you know?”
Her hands land on her hips. “Would you like me to call you a doctor for your boo-boo?”
“Doctor Maggie would scold me for getting shot and scaring a woman.”
“Sounds like my kind of woman.”
I shudder. “I’ve had drill sergeants less scary.”
Her eyes widen and her body tilts toward me slightly. “You’re in the military?”
“I’ve been gone for six months.” She hums in the back of her throat. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing, it makes sense.”
“What does?”
She smirks as she turns on her heel and dashes out the door. What makes sense? Ugh, I hate not knowing what someone is thinking—particularly when it’s about me.
I pull on a T-shirt as Duke emerges from the masterbedroom. He lumbers over and nudges my hip for attention. I give him a scratch behind his ears before we both make the brief journey to the kitchen. Cleo prepares breakfast at the stove while my grandmother sits at the counter, already made up to perfection with styled hair, light makeup, and designer clothes.
My eyebrows raise as I watch her flick through the local newspaper. Everything about this picture is wrong. Helen Alderidge never sits at the breakfast bar. I’m not sure anyone has used the stools but me.
“Good morning, Fox,” my grandmother greets.
“Morning,” I greet them both.
Cleo looks over her shoulder, catching my eyes. “Helen tells me you’re okay with scrambled eggs and a slice of granary toast.”
“Is it organic?”
My grandmother huffs. “Welcome to the world of the health freak.”
“Organic isn’t only about health. Having the ability to pay for the luxury means I can pass on some of that wealth and ensure the farmers get a fair wage for their produce.”
Cleo snorts as she places a piece of granary toast on the three plates. “You think because you pay extra, they get extra? It’s not the way it works.”
