Page 25 of Peril in Piney Woods

But she usually woke up on her own. Maybe knowing someone else was in the house with her had helped her sleep more deeply. She dragged on her jeans. Not just someone but a friend. A good friend.

She pulled on a tee, finger-combed her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail using the scrunchie she wore as a bracelet whenever it wasn’t in her hair. Not just a friend, she admitted. A guy she respected, thought was sexy and was kind of attracted to. Truth was she’d lain in bed for hours last night thinking about him just down the hall. Wondering what it would be like to be in his bed. Wishing she could just enjoy that opportunity and never worry about consequences.

That was the reason she’d overslept. Even at thirty-four, a girl could be kept awake by fantasies.

“Not smart,” she muttered, slipping on her favorite sneakers.

She straightened the covers on her bed and hung her nightshirt on the footboard. She folded yesterday’s clothes and set them on the bed. Maybe she’d have a chance to launder them later. She didn’t have many things with her and she had to stay prepared.

At the door, she opened it wider and peeked out. The hallway was clear. She hurried to the bathroom, freshened up and did necessary business. Then she headed for the stairs. Raymond followed her to the top of the stairs. As they descended the staircase, the scent of coffee had her moving faster. Downstairs, she headed for the kitchen. The smell of toasted bread and maybe bacon had her stomach rumbling. If the man cooked too, she might just have to marry him.

Even the thought had her feeling an odd little jab in the center of her chest.

Not possible.

Approaching the kitchen, she paused and grinned at the scene. An apron was cinched at Griff’s waist. He carefully lifted pieces of browned bacon from the pan to a plate lined with a paper towel. The light in the oven showed a tray of biscuits. The man made biscuits? Then he turned to another pan and gave it a stir with a spatula. Eggs? Grease popped and he swore. Meg leaned against the door jamb and folded her arms over her chest to watch.

But Raymond had other ideas. He scooted in around her and gave a single deep-throated bark.

Griff turned around and looked from Raymond to Meg. His face flushed a little. “Morning.”

“Were you just going to let me sleep all day?” She pushed off the door and joined him at the stove.

He shrugged. “I figured you didn’t sleep much the last couple of nights and needed a little extra.”

A reasonable conclusion. “Thanks.” She surveyed the bacon and eggs. “Looks and smells great. What can I do to help?”

He turned off the oven, removed the pan of biscuits and gestured to the table. “Have a seat. It’s all done.”

“Then it’s only fair that I do the cleanup.” Meg crossed to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup.

Griff plated the eggs and bacon, then added a biscuit to each. He settled the plates on the table and then rounded up forks and napkins. “You may have noticed I don’t have a dishwasher.”

“Neither do I.” Truth was, she mostly used paper plates. Not to mention, she ordered from the diner really often. Cooking for one was not so much fun. She took a seat at the table and savored a taste of coffee. So good she moaned. “You make really great coffee.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He sat down in the seat opposite her. “How about we do the cleanup together, and then I don’t have to feel guilty about my guest washing dishes by hand.”

She laughed. “I certainly wouldn’t want you feeling guilty.”

Raymond decided he wasn’t getting a treat, so he stretched out on the floor next to Meg’s chair.

“Please tell me you didn’t make these biscuits from scratch.” She bit into the soft, fluffy baked good and moaned again. She might just moan and sigh through this entire meal.

“My mama’s recipe.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You put me to shame, Avery Griffin. I couldn’t make a biscuit from scratch if my life depended on it.”

He chuckled. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you.”

The suggestion filled her head with all sorts of notions that had nothing to do with baking.

“Speaking of family,” he said after a few minutes of devouring the delicious meal, “my sister called this morning. She insists that we come to lunch at her place on Sunday. You have any plans?”

She would so love to say yes, but she couldn’t even be sure she’d still be here. Yet, the hope in his voice, in his eyes, had her agreeing. “I do not have plans. I would love to go.”

“Great.” He dove back into his meal, but not before she noticed the sparkle her answer had put in his eyes.

She really hoped she didn’t have to disappoint him.

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