Page 41 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
He taps one finger on the table. The back of his hand is freckled. “You talk fast. Real fast.” As he says it, his voice drawls, sounding more Southern than usual.
I grin at him. “I have heard that before.”
“So what happened? I thought you were headed home.” He raises his arms and folds them behind his head, leaning back in his chair. I have a strong suspicion he is doing this to draw attention to his biceps, which bulge out of the sleeves of his white T-shirt. Not that I’m looking at them. Not at all. That would be entirely unprofessional.
I flick my gaze upward as though I’m lost in thought. “Well, thestuff with Pebble Cottage felt unfinished. It felt a bit premature to fly back home. And my grandpa seems…” I trail off. I was going to say he seems like he needs me, but I don’t even know if that’s true. He did chase me out of the condo this morning, after all. But then there was his panic attack. He might not show it, but I know he doesn’t want to be alone.
“I’m helping my grandpa out,” I conclude.
“I see.” Daniel leans forward again, his face more serious. “Is he in poor health?”
“Not exactly, but he recently lost his wife—my grandma.”
“Aw, no, I’m sorry to hear that.” He reaches across the table and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. The gesture doesn’t feel forced or flirtatious, it just feels natural, like it’s just the kind of person he is.
“Thanks.” I pat his hand before he pulls it away, and that—my hand pat—definitely feels awkward. Because that’s just the kind of person I am.
“How long will you be staying?” he asks.
A week, tops, my panicky, rule-abiding brain shouts. But I say, “I’m not sure. I can work remotely, so.”You are illegally working remotely, my brain reminds me.And it’s not going so well, by the way!
“Oh, shoot,” I say, glancing at the time. “Speaking of which, I have a meeting starting in a minute.”
He slaps the table and stands up quickly.
“I’ll let you get to it. We’ll be in touch. Have a good one, Mallory.” And with a little salute-like wave, he heads back to his table, packs up his laptop, and leaves.
I watch him ride away on his bike, and I’m so distracted by the broad muscles in his shoulders and the view of his thighs peeking out from his shorts that I end up being three minutes late to my meeting.
Oops.
Luckily, I remember to turn off my video. I’m not sure how I would explain the blue sky and water visible behind me.
And I’m not sure if it’s the proximity of the beach or the encounter with Daniel, but I find it nearly impossible to focus on work for the rest of the day.
Chapter 17
Over the next couple days, Alan begins his work on the house, saying he’ll call me for a walk-through later this week, and I manage to work something close to eight-hour days, between working from my bedroom and Paradise Coffee.
I am not loving being out of my routine. My body feels discombobulated from eating heavy food for breakfast and then not starting work until noon—not to mention the lack of yoga and the working until eightP.M.But I know I can’t go home until I’ve accomplished certain things—and one of those things is getting Gramps to see Dr. Shauna Mellors.
“I am in full possession of all of my faculties,” Gramps says stubbornly. We’re sitting at the kitchen table in front of steaming bowls of minestrone soup. I’d found the recipe on Pinterest—veggies, beans, and pasta all in one pot. (Unfortunately, in order to have dinner before Gramps’s bedtime, I have my laptop on the chair next to me just in case someone pings me.)
“I know you are.” I try to make my voice soothing. “The doctor would be someone for you to talk to about Lottie.”
“I talk to you about Lottie.”
“About losing Lottie.”
Gramps is silent. His furry white eyebrows come together, like he’s angry about the idea of discussing his grief.
“What is this, something Italian?”
I sprinkle our soup with grated Parmesan cheese.
“Yes, it’s minestrone.”
He blows on a spoonful, gulps it down, and smacks his lips. “Mm.”
