Page 48 of Spring Showers

She threw her hair towel over the back of a stool and cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

He turned, a lowball filled with an amber liquid in his hand, and smirked. He was devastatingly handsome, with stubble shadowing his cheekbones and jawline.That man should need a license for being single and looking the way he looks with his buttery skin and tousled, wavy hair, she thought.

She bit her lip and blinked slowly to make certain he was real. “Shower’s yours,” she said.

He met her in the middle of the space and handed her his glass.

There was a marked lack of words between them. Perhaps they were too exhausted to talk, or perhaps there was so much to say and neither of them wanted to start that conversation. She sipped his whisky and watched him take his suitcase into the bathroom. He closed the door, and she heard the shower start, her cue to take a load off for a few minutes. She let the couch absorb her, and she sank deep into the pillows while allowing her eyes to close.

Grant Goldie, she said in her mind.Thandie Goldie? No, that’s bad. Thandeka Goldie is better.

An image played out in her mind. She was walking down the small aisle of a rural church, bathed in the sunlight that was streaming through stained glass windows and painting the room in warm colors. She knew the exercise was futile, but it meant she was ready to move on all the same. And why not with Grant Goldie?

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer on the couch. It was no longer dark outside. Sunshine streamed in through the windows in her room and illuminated tiny dust particles floating through the air. Tucked beneath the fluffy down comforter and crisp sheets, she was alone in her bed. She sat up and searched for Grant. Last she knew, he was showering.

He must have put her to bed sometime after she dozed, relaxing on the couch, though she had no recollection of him moving her, let alone him coming out of the bathroom. The previous day had caught up to her and knocked her out. Nothing could have kept her from sleep last night, not even her thumping heart or the butterflies fluttering in her belly at the sight of Grant’s roguish smirk.

She tiptoed to the living room and saw her knight in shining armor lying peacefully on the sofa in front of the fireplace, its faux embers still glowing between the black-and-gray logs. An empty glass lay tipped on its side on the floor below him, where his hand hung off the side of the couch. A pillow propped up his head on the armrest, and a blanket hung halfway off of him, exposing his shirtless top half.

She righted the glass and kneeled down beside him. His face was calm and his skin smooth. He had shaved the stubble from his cheeks, and a tiny piece of toilet tissue stuck to his chin where he had likely nicked himself. Thandie liked the stubble, but his clean skin begged to be touched.

Taking his hand that hung off the side of the cushions, she laid it across his upper body. She traced the outline where his ribs met his abs and continued upward to his well-formed chest muscles.

He cracked an eye open. It was only a sliver, but she knew she was caught. “Good morning,” she said and pulled the blanket up over his chest as if that’s what she was doing all along. He responded with that dangerous grin again, the one that pulled at one cheek and lit a fire in his eyes. The one that she looked forward to seeing, to reacting to.

“Morning,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. “Thank you for putting me to bed last night.”

“Of course. You needed a good night’s sleep after the week you’ve had. Do you feel any better this morning?”

“I do,” she said, and the words felt thick with meaning. She shook her head and stood away from his heat. “Coffee?”

Thandie didn’t wait for an answer. She needed coffee, and she would make some coffee.

Grant stood, and the blanket fell off his bare chest. He threw it over the couch’s armrest and stretched his arms high over his head. “How about I get dressed while you do that?”

She nodded and stared, though she tried not to, at his sculpted body, his booty-hugging, light gray sweatpants—Grant tugged at the cotton rope strings at his waist which brought more attention to the area—his white crew socks, and his wavy hair falling down by his left eye. “Yes. Definitely go put some clothes on.”

He chuckled in his throat and moved towards the bathroom. He passed through a beam of light, spilling in through the east-facing window, and illuminated his skin like marble. Looking away for fear of losing herself, she wiped her forehead with the kitchen towel and shook the swooning away. The bathroom door closed, and her hand flew to her forehead.

“What are you doing Thandeka Nkosi?” Thandie scolded herself while the coffeepot began percolating. Moving around the space, she picked up the dishes and straightened the couch cushions. Pulling back the curtains from the south-facing window, the previous day’s turmoil was evident. The place was wrecked. Downed trees, a seemingly new river running through the property, washed out sections of the pathways, and wooden roof shingles were scattered all over. This was not good.

Saturday was meant to be the guests’ final morning and checkout. She had planned a trust course followed by a luncheon barbeque, but now there would be none of that. The guests had all checked out and been evacuated to the town yesterday evening, and for all she knew, would not be coming back anytime soon.

The pot beeped. “Milk?” she yelled, so that Grant could hear through the wooden bathroom door, as she splashed some into her own cup.

“Black,” he said, though his voice was muffled. Before she finished pouring his coffee, he emerged from the bathroom wearing his signature khaki cargo pants, white t-shirt, and plaid button-down. A smile plastered from ear to ear as though not smiling would be more painful. She knew this smile well.

“Do you own any other clothes?” she teased.

“Well,” he said and showed off his outfit. “I thought this would be appropriate for today. Cool, casual, but still pulled together, attractive, but not memorable. And”—he took a long sip of his drink—“you like my plaid shirts.”

He got the attractive part right, and it would be a difficult task to ever forget about Grant Goldie. Thinking of her own repeated outfit, at least he had had the chance to pack. She only had the clothing that she had thrown into her suitcase in haste when she had left her home a few months earlier, and no spare money to buy anything more than was essential. Her cute activewear was better suited for gym photoshoots than it was for hiking in the rain, but she had made it work.

Judging by how the week had gone, Thandie guessed she would be on the job hunt again. There was no way that the investor would give the money The Foundry needs now. No matter how much attention she showed the guests, how delicious the food was, or how wonderful the accommodations were, there was no way to overcome the obvious drawbacks of a retreat that featured more rain than anything else.

Though she was unsure whether Grant was the person sent by the investor, she still wanted to know his thoughts. “As the activities director here at The Foundry, can I ask you a question?” He nodded while taking another sip of his coffee. “If you could ignore all the rain, how would you rate your experience here?”

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