Page 27 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

Just as I’ve talked myself into going over, a knock interrupts my thoughts. When I open the door, Adam is standing there in black pants and shirt, looking yummy enough that I have to remind myself I’m here temporarily.

He blinks and clears his throat. “I’m on my way to the restaurant. Does around three tomorrow work? It’s better to go later, but we’ll be lucky if we find anything. It’s not the best time of year for antler shed hunting.”

My pulse skips. Somehow, I’d forgotten about the antler shed. A breeze blows through my open door, but it’s not the cold air that makes me shiver. It’s the thought of spending time with Adam that does it.

“I appreciate you taking me. I didn’t realize there were antler shed seasons.” I shrug. “But, then, I didn’t know there were antler sheds.”

Adam presses his fingers over his mouth and traces them down his beard. “Yeah, well, I could have been a little clearer about that.” His lip moves just enough to almost be a smile.

“True.” I rub my arms, which only warms them for a second. “I’m guessing you get a lot of out-of-towners asking stupid questions.”

“A few.” His lip inches—centimeters? No, millimeters—closer to a smile. A silence follows that should be uncomfortable, but the warmth in his eyes keeps things from becoming awkward. “I should go.” He wags his head toward The Garden of Eatin’. “You’re welcome to come by if you get hungry.”

His invite brings a smile to my face. “I may do that. If I ever feel hungry again. Britta’s keeping me full of ebelskivers.”

“Ebelskiver. Nos. It’s already plural.”

I nod. “Good to know.”

Adam takes a couple of steps back, then stops just as he’s turning to leave. “Do you have hiking boots?” He blurts.

“Hiking boots?”

“You’ll need them.” He swallows and his Adam’s apple (Adam’s Adam’s apple?) bobs, drawing my attention to his throat, the length of it and the tightness of his tendons. “For tomorrow. We’ll be hiking.”

“Oh.” I let the door open wider. “I don’t have any. At least not any boots that I can hike in.” I had plenty of boots for dressing up or wearing in the rain, but neither of the Manhattans I’ve lived in offered a lot of opportunities for mountain hiking.

“I can see if Britta has some. Or my mom. You’re about the same size as them.” Another swallow before he sweeps his hair back. “Do you need a parka?”

I shake my head, then stop. “I mean, maybe?” I don’t know how to do autumn in Idaho, but if it’s going to keep getting dryer and colder, I’m going to need all the parkas.

“I’ll bring one, just in case.” With that, he leaves. He’s half-way down the walkway leading to the sidewalk before I remember to say thank you.

“You’re welcome,” he calls over his shoulder, then he stops and turns around. “If you’re interested, Pastor Ruth at the community church asked me to give a testimony tomorrow at eleven o’clock service, if you want to come.”

His ears pink, but for the first time, he meets my eyes without looking away. I can’t tell if he’s challenging or inviting me.

Doesn’t matter. He’s definitely off-limits now. I’ve had enough religion in my life, and I’m not about to fall for a preacher. Mom made that mistake when she fell for my dad.

“Probably not, but thanks for asking.” I step back to close the door. Conversation over. And I’m relieved—I think—that Adam’s given me an even better reason besides his grouchiness to keep my distance.

Chapter 14

Adam

The problem with asking Britta to help me find boots and a parka is that she wants to know why I need them.

“Evie wants to borrow them,” I mutter while digging through the piles of coats and boots in Mom’s mudroom.

Britta is living at Mom and Dad’s, helping take care of Mom, so even though Mom wouldn’t have noticed what I’m doing, there was no way to avoid my baby sister.

“Evie, huh?”

I don’t have to turn around to know her eyebrows are raised in a suggestive arch. Her voice says it all.

“Is there something going on? Are you taking her out?” Britta follows me across the skinny room, talking to my back.

“She’s been here a week.” Ten days, actually. But who’s counting? “She asked me to help her find antlers.”

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