Chapter Five
Zane watched Clara race away without a word, her cheeks pink. How could someone as nervous as she was possibly run a bed and breakfast and deal with strangers every day? She didn’t seem introverted, more like twitchy and uneasy. Maybe because his arrival landed smack-dab in the middle of a crisis. Or perhaps because she’d mixed up the dates and was unprepared. She was a puzzle. Good thing he liked solving puzzles.
Zane peeled off his sodden clothing and dropped them into the bathroom sink. Maybe she’d lend him her dryer. His wallet and phone were blessedly unscathed, but he had to wring the water out of his socks. His runners might never dry. At least he’d been wearing those, instead of the boots he’d brought in with his suitcase and left by the front door. Drenched winter boots took days to dry properly after a dunking.
Luckily, he wasn’t dirty, just wet. With the water off, he couldn’t shower, even if he needed to. In seconds, he’d dried himself and slid into dry clothing, including a bulky fisherman knit sweater he’d bought from a friend’s wife. He debated long underwear. It might be cold downstairs until things aired out and dried up. He’d suggest renting a dehumidifier in addition to the fan, so she could keep the windows closed and still get rid of the extra moisture in the air. Winter was not the time to keep windows open. Technically speaking it was better for the environment to run a dehumidifier than the furnace.
A moment of reluctance to leave the warmth of his suite held him motionless. He sat on the edge of the bed before laying back on the covered mattress. Firm with enough give to be comfortable. He was excited to be here and eager to start his project, but something about Clara had hit him hard, smack dab in the middle of the chest and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
He sat back up and studied the room, looking for insights into her. The room was nice. It had a comfortable, homey feel with actual paintings on the beige walls rather than generic art prints. The quilts and blankets folded on the end of the bed looked comfortable and cozy. There were six labelled pillows on the double bed. Two each of soft, medium, and firm.
The little table would be perfect for his laptop. The only thing missing was a coffee pot, and since he planned to stay until after Christmas, he’d get himself one. Whoever had outfitted the room had done a stellar job, but it didn’t offer the insight into Clara he sought.
Since his arrival had startled her, he was probably the only guest, but he locked his door out of habit, leaving his open suitcase on the bed, and his laptop bag on the table. He hadn’t planned on working today, but he was eager to get started on his project first thing in the morning. Ideas were poking into his mind even as he jogged down the plush carpet runner covered oak stairs. Maybe he’d start tonight. But first he wanted to get to know his host and reconnect with Riley.
“Zane, there you are,” Clara exclaimed, as she patted the seat beside her at the small white kitchen table. “Come join us.” Robert and Riley sat on the opposite side of the table. The table’s end was flush to the wall, and there were two sturdy chairs on each side. A painting of a sunflower hung over the table. It matched the clock over the doorway and the potholders and yellow tea towels she’d scooped up earlier. She’d replaced the towels hanging on the front of the stove with poinsettia print ones. Apparently, Christmas came early to Sweet Dreams. The blending of sunflowers and poinsettias made the kitchen ambiance happy and welcoming.
“I will, thanks. That coffee smells incredible.” It was dark, earthy, and enticing with a hint of ginger and sugar? “Do I smell cookies?”
“You do.” She laughed. “One thing Iamready with is fresh, hot cookies, right out of the oven.” Her magnificent smile knocked the air out of his chest.
“You made cookies? Already?” He sat at the table as she jumped up. He would have poured his own coffee if the mugs were visible. It didn’t feel right to start digging in her cupboards. He wouldn’t do that at a stranger’s house, or a restaurant, and wouldn’t do it here unless invited to.
“I have a trick. I keep balls of cookie dough in the freezer, ready to pop into the oven for a quick snack. Nothing beats fresh hot cookies. I even have a toaster oven so I can heat a few without firing up the full-sized oven.” The oven timer dinged, and she bustled to pull two trays of cookies out of the double doored, industrial oven. Her poinsettia print oven mitts were spotless. How did she manage that? His looked like two chunks of dirt dipped in grease. Clara set the cookies on a wire rack and tossed her oven mitts beside them.
“Cream and sugar?” she asked while pouring coffee into a jumbo green and white mug with Sweet Dreams written on the side. “I’ve got French Vanilla or Baileys creamer if you want it.”
“Just black’s good for me. Although creamer would be great first thing in the morning. Speaking of which, I noticed that there isn’t a coffee maker in my suite. Would you mind if I put one up there?”
“Go ahead, if you want to, but coffee’s always on down here and if it’s not ready, I’d be more than happy to make you a pot.”
“What is with you guys?” Riley asked before slurping loudly from his mug. “This is a weird conversation. So formal, so proper.”
“He’s my guest,” Clara blurted. “I’m seeing to his needs.”
Well, if that statement didn’t send a jolt of blood rushing to Zane’s groin, nothing would. She looked gorgeous now that she’d dried out and changed her clothing. Snug jeans and a long-sleeved knit top hugged her sweet curves. Her hair was shorter than he realized, long enough to brush her shoulders. It wasn’t flat, it wasn’t spikey. It was adorably messy and way too sexy. He wanted to run his fingers through it and test its softness against his palm.
Down boy. She’s not that kind of woman, and you’re not that kind of guy.
“I’d love a cookie,” Zane said, trying to distract himself from his undeniable, and apparently unavoidable, attraction for Clara.
She set his coffee in front of him and started plating the cookies. They smelled incredible.
“Fresh gingersnaps this morning. I’ve got a few kinds I’m still test driving. I know these ones work great. Even if some people don’t care for them. I’ve also got a great recipe for oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip too.” She almost bubbled with enthusiasm.
A lot of women would still be melting down over the plumbing mess. Clara was bustling around like the perfect hostess. Maybe a little nervous, as one would be in a new situation. She’d put the crisis behind her and was moving forward with a smile. Naturally optimistic sprang to his mind, though the flashes of her self-doubt kept popping up in his thoughts. Maybe it was a result of how her father had treated her. He had the impression it wasn’t nice. Growing up with crappy parents sucked. He’d lived that nightmare.
“Oatmeal raisin is my favorite. Unless you count chocolate chip, chocolate brownie drops, or chocolate macaroons.” He laughed. “Okay, anything chocolate.”
Robert laughed. “I can get behind chocolate cookies.”
“Dad,” Riley said warningly. “Mom’ll kick your backside. You can’t eat treats until you get your weight under control.”
“I’m not fat. I’m stout. It’s all muscles.”
“Stout?” Riley laughed. “That’s not the word the doctor used to describe you.”
“Show some respect, boy.” Laughter rang in Robert’s voice.
