Page 10 of Falling for the Grumpy Stranger

“They were good. I ate them all. Haven’t had a homemade chocolate chip cookie in years.”

“Oh, right, well, good. I just wanted to—you know—welcome you to the neighborhood.” I nodded and it seemed that was going to be the end of our interaction. I was about to leave but stopped. “You could have opened the door yesterday. I saw you sitting up in that top window, staring down at me like an angry crow from his nest.” I rolled in my lips and then forced a smile. “That didn’t come out the way I hoped. I didn’t mean to call you a crow.”

“An angry crow,” he reminded me. “A strange, grim, angry crow who is also a sucker.”

I could feel my cheeks warm. “You’ll have to excuse me. I tend to run off at the mouth. Motor mouth. That’s me and I didn’t mean any of those things.” I decided to switch topics because this one was making my face hot with embarrassment. “How are you settling in?” I asked briskly.

“Fine.”

“Good, well, that sounds—that sounds—fine.” I peered up at him with a sheepish smile.

“Cup of coffee?” he asked so curtly, I wasn’t sure if it was an invite or if he just decided to say the words.

I raised my brows and pointed at my chest. “Are you inviting me in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked past me and then nodded. “You’re the only person on the porch, so yeah, I guess I’m asking you.”

“Uh, a cup of coffee sounds great.” It occurred to me that I knew nothing about the man inviting me into Grimstone Manor, the cursed house on the hill, but it meant I’d be closer to some of the leftover artifacts in the house. I was a journalist now. I needed to be gutsy and take chances or my career would end before it started. Besides, even though he was rather sullen, he wasn’t giving off serial killer vibes. Not that I knew what thosevibes would be like, but I’d met people, men, who set my teeth on edge. That wasn’t him.

I’d seen the entryway when I’d spied through the front window. It opened up to a large sitting room, mostly empty except for a couch, a massive stone fireplace and windows that were crusted with dirt but that showed great promise in the vast room.

“I realize I’ve ridden my bicycle and hiked around this old house many times, but I’ve never been inside.” My gaze swept up to the coffered ceiling above our heads. Everything needed paint and some wood needed replacing, but it was in relatively good shape. I hadn’t realized Mr. Lockwood was watching me until I felt his gaze on me. “It’s in better shape than I imagined. I wonder why Hannah had such a hard time selling it.”

“Because it’s cursed,” he said wryly. He turned and I followed him down a short hallway to the kitchen.

We reached the kitchen. It was in much more need of repair than the front room. It was a sprawling eat-in kitchen, the kind I’d always dreamed of for my own house. However, this one was sorely lacking. The only appliance was a refrigerator, and half the cupboard doors were missing. A hot plate, coffeepot and toaster oven had been set up on the counter beneath the broken cupboards.

“But it didn’t give you pause?” I asked. “The story of the house being cursed?”

He walked over to the coffeepot. “I’m already cursed, so I’m not too worried.” It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. As he reached for the pot, the sleeve on his sweater slipped back, exposing the scar on his arm. I hadn’t wanted to stare in the store, but he was turned away from me, so I got a better look at it. It was definitely a burn scar.

He turned around with two paper cups of coffee. “Sorry about the cups. I’ve ordered some dishes and kitchen utensils,but they haven’t arrived yet.” He placed the cup of coffee in front of me. “Milk? I don’t have sugar.”

“Black is fine.”

He sat down. Whatever soap he was using, it was a good one. “You were mostly right,” he said before taking a sip of coffee.

“How’s that?” I asked.

“Mostly right about your assessment of me. Although, I’m far less angry than I look. I’ve come to accept some things, and now I’m just—what was the word—grim?”

I shook my head. “No, that wasn’t a good word either. I’m sorry.”

“And the more I explore this monstrosity I bought, the more the sucker label fits, too. It’s going to take a lot of work, but mostly, it’s going to take patience and enthusiasm, and I’m not sure I have either right now.”

I glanced at his left hand. The front edges of the scar feathered out across the heel of his thumb. “Was it an accident?” I wanted to kick myself right in the behind. Nonna always warned me about being too blunt, and since I’d already made some major missteps with Mr. Lockwood, I should have been more cautious.

He pulled the sleeve lower on his hand and ignored the question. Maybe I’d get a pass this time, and hopefully, I’d learned my lesson.

I surveyed the kitchen. Several pieces of tile clung to the wall behind the counter. The counter was modern, or at least last century, cheap, gray Formica or something similar. There were two large windows, one at each end of the room that would have provided plenty of light if not for the cloud cover. “It doesn’t look like much now, but this kitchen could be beautiful.”

He nodded. “I agree, but again, it’ll take patience and enthusiasm.”

“And money,” I added since that was usually the most important thing needed for a big remodel. I put down my cup. “I just realized something crazy as we sit here chatting over coffee.” I held out my hand. “I’m Ella.”

“Rhett.” His hand grasped mine, and for the briefest second, something that felt like static passed between our palms. He seemed to sense it, too, and looked up, surprised, before quickly releasing my hand.

The interaction was odd enough to leave me temporarily speechless. “Nice to meet you,” the words sort of stumbled out. I looked at him. “Did you say your name was Rhett?”

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