Page 10 of The Do-Over Girl

NASH

I’m definitely going to hell. Either for going out of my way to push Kali’s buttons—or for wanting to really push her buttons—and I don’t mean the metaphorical ones.

As Charline takes the brownies from the oven, I reach for one of them, and she slaps my hand away—the second assault by a female in this place in one day. Maybe I ought to reconsider staying. But as I glance at Kali, I know I’m staying. I’m a perverse fucker.

“Guess being a so-called fine man doesn’t get me a brownie hot from the oven,” I quip.

“No more, or you’ll spoil your dinner,” Charline says. “It’ll be ready soon. Why don’t you two freshen up, and I’ll ring the dinner bell in your rooms when it’s ready.”

I’m not the kind of guy who freshens up before dinner, but it seems like it would be rude to mention that to the old gal. Something about her gets to me. Maybe she reminds me of my old aunt, who’s gone now. Maybe I’m a glutton for cookies, and she’s the fairy godmother of cookie baking.

Any theoretical protest shuts down when Kali hangs up her apron and leaves, but not before giving me a sassy smile over her shoulder. I almost do a double-take because I could swear on my horny dick there was some actual friendliness hidden beneath her sass.

* * *

Imaginemy surprise when I go down for dinner, ready to face Kali—to do battle, to win her over, or to defeat her—I’m not sure which—and there’s another man seated at the table. I stop on the threshold as Mrs. Pike enters the dining room from the kitchen, wheeling a cart of food. The man jumps to his feet and offers assistance.

“No, you sit down and enjoy your dinner, Mr. Oliver.”

“Please call me Steve.” He sits back down, and I enter the room, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“Dinner smells delicious, Mrs. Pike.” I smile. Then I turn to Steve. “What’s up, Steve?”

“This is Nash Lewis,” Mrs. Pike says. “Is Kali coming down for dinner?” she asks me like I should know. I’m saved from giving her a smart-ass answer when Kali walks into the room from the parlor, drawing all our attention.

She’s stunning in her floral pink sundress and looks more like she’s dressed for dinner and dancing out at a swanky Boston club rather than here at a remote Maine inn. After I calm my stuttering heart, I do what I always did when Kali walked into a room and stunned me. I blow out an enthusiastic wolf whistle—and by enthusiastic, I mean loud as fuck.

She stops at the end of the table and suppresses her smile, though not entirely. I can see it in her eyes.

“You look like a miracle, L—Kali.” Shit. I need to stop thinking of her as Lollipop and stop thinking of why I gave her that name. “Have a seat.” I pull out the chair next to me. The table seats six, so she could sit at the end and be between me and Steve Oliver, the interloper, but I’d rather not give her the chance. Call me a spoiler. I’ll cop to that.

“Kali, this is Steve Oliver, another long-term guest here,” Mrs. Pike says while Steve, with his eyes bugging out of his head, stares at Kali like she’s an oasis and he’s just traveled through the desert for a year.

Kali nods, smiling, and after a short hesitation, she takes the chair I’m holding for her and sits. Not without giving me one perfectly arched brow like a school teacher would in a silent reprimand of a naughty boy. I don’t mind copping to being a naughty boy.

There’s a restless need in me to be very naughty, to have some fun with Steve, and to… I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with Kali, but I can’t leave her alone or ignore her for too many reasons to examine. Chiefly, we have to work together on our mission to save Andrews Point Academy. That’s a good enough reason not to look further.

“Hello, Steve. Have you been here long?” Kali tries to move her chair away from mine, but I hook my foot around the leg and hold her in place as she squirms. More fun than I even imagined.

Steve perks up at her attention. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been here all summer, and I think I’ll be staying most of the winter, too, as it turns out. I’m working on a novel, and it’s taking some time.”

“A novel? That’s amazing.” Kali’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, and my chest tightens to keep my heart from plummeting like lead to my toes. Because it comes back to me in an instant that the one secret ambition Kali always had was to write a novel and become a novelist. Shit. This guy owns my kryptonite and the one juicy apple that Kali would find most tempting in the world. He’s a fucking novelist.

“You publish anything before?” I ask.

Kali darts me a glance like I’m being rude, but hell, he put it out there. His accomplishments in his chosen field—or lack thereof—are fair game.

“Only one. It was a typical first attempt. I’m a journalist by trade, but I figured it was time to get on with doing what I’ve always thought I was meant to do.”

Kali nods, chewing her lip, and I wonder if she will spill her secret dream to this stranger and admit her ambition to write—or, for all I know—maybe she’s already written a novel or two herself. Fuck. I never asked her. I never thought to ask her.

“So, you were always meant to be a novelist?” I call him on his pretension.

He ducks his head in semi-embarrassment, and I dig into the food, passing the serving dishes to Kali. Mr. Wanna-Be novelist may not be hungry, but I’m starved since I missed lunch driving up here from Boston.

“I know that sounded pretentious,” he says apologetically.

Kali kicks me under the table, but I feel no guilt. Wait until I have something worse than a bit of rudeness to be guilty of; then, she might do a lot more than kick me.