Page 54 of The Icing on the Cake
“Let me think about it,” she says.
I start to smile, but she holds up a hand. “Just for the record, I’m not ready for anything serious. But I will admit that night at Maple Fest was nice. Even if you are exactly what I said I’d never date again.”
A knock at the door breaks the moment between us. “Were you expecting someone this early?” Neesha asks as she looks from the door to me.
“No,” I say, standing slowly and wincing.
“Stay,” Neesha says, nudging me back into my seat. “I’ll get it for you.”
When the door opens, Mrs. Nelson takes in the scene before her: Neesha in rumpled pajamas and messy hair, me shirtless at the kitchen table, and what’s clearly the aftermath of a sleepover.
“Oh, pardon me!” Mrs. Nelson gasps, clutching her chest like she’s witnessing something scandalous.
Neesha’s face turns what looks like five shades of red. “Mrs. Nelson! This isn’t what it looks like?—”
“Then what exactly is it?” Mrs. Nelson asks, blinking rapidlyas she takes in Neesha’s pajama pants. “Because in my day, when a young lady was found in a gentleman’s kitchen wearing sleepwear, there was usually onlyoneexplanation.”
I clear my throat. “Mrs. Nelson, I can explain?—”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, young man,” she says, then squints at my bruised face. “Good heavens, what happened to you? Did she do that?”
Neesha’s mouth drops open. “Did I—what? No! I would never?—”
Mrs. Nelson crosses her arms, not buying it.
“I…” Neesha freezes, floundering for words. “I…was just helping a neighbor. Lucian got hurt last night.”
“And you expect me to believe a grown man can’t take care of himself?”
I stand slowly and walk toward the door. “Actually, Mrs. Nelson, it’sexactlywhat it looks like.”
Neesha shoots me a glaringwhat are you doing?
“I made her breakfast,” I explain. “A blatant attempt to win her over with my homemade waffles after she helped me last night. As you can see,” I point to my face. “I needed it. Neesha was kind enough to play nurse.”
Mrs. Nelson’s usual scowl returns. “Is that so?”
“We even had a chaperone.” I point to Henry, who chooses that precise moment to jump up and lick my hand like it’s covered in bacon. “Okay, maybe not the most reliable witness. His standards for appropriate behavior are pretty questionable.”
Neesha puts a hand over her mouth, hiding her reaction.
“Well,” Mrs. Nelson says primly, “I’ll just come back later. I’m getting signatures on this petition to stop Alexander MacDonald, the billionaire who claims he owns half the town. His plans include part of downtown—including the building where Neesha works.”
Neesha frowns. “Mary-Ellen told me we were making progress against him. She said the town is looking into environmental and historical protections.”
“We’ve got a long way to go,” Mrs. Nelson says, shaking her head. “He won’t even show up to defend his claims—just sends his lawyer, Jeremy Hunt, to do the dirty work at town hall meetings.” Then she turns to me. “I’m sure you already know that if he wins, the team will have to move since he claims he owns your parking lot.”
“I do,” I say. “Which is why I’d be happy to sign your petition, ma’am.”
“Wonderful.” She holds out her clipboard and pen.
I take the clipboard, then pause. “But I’d appreciate it if you could keep this situation here between us. I know how quickly news travels in small towns, and I’d rather not have everyone speculating on Neesha’s personal life.”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her cardigan.
“I’m glad we could get that ironed out,” I say, adding my signature to the bottom, then handing it back to her. “But there’s no need to rush off—we have plenty of waffles, if you’re hungry?”
“I’ve already eaten, thank you,” she says. “And I have to get to the post office before it closes after I finish with this. I have something very important to mail.” Then she gives us a quick wave as she turns to leave.
