Page 26 of Doctor Grump

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.” I laid a hand on my chest to quell my runaway heartbeat. “How long have you been standing there?”

He didn’t say anything for some time as he simply stood there and watched me. And just when the awkwardness ratcheted up to new heights, he finally said, “Not long.”

I couldn’t say whether or not he was telling the truth, but something told me that he was lying. That he had been standing there longer than he cared to admit.

But I didn’t want to dwell on that in case I got an answer I wasn’t ready for.

“Oh.” I turned around, trying to refocus my attention on flipping the bread in the pan.

“What are you making?” Ian asked, walking deeper into the kitchen, closer to me, until I felt him stand right behind me and look over my shoulder. I instantly froze. I could smell him, that subtle woodsy scent under the smell of clean soap he sported. I could also feel a hint of his minty breath, feel the heat emanating from his body.

God, why did everything about this man have to be so damn sexy?

“J—just French toast,” I stammered out. “With some scrambled eggs.”

“Mmh,” he murmured, sending goosebumps racing over my flesh. “Looks delicious.”

“Uh-huh,” I responded stupidly. The truth was that I was trying desperately to get my brain to work again but was failing majestically at the task. Instead, my mind was playing about a dozen romance novel scenarios, imagining the part where the hero grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, and laid a kiss on my lips.

Or perhaps he would do something even more.

Perhaps he would just keep me in this position as he slowly ran his hands up my thighs and under my sundress, maybe go all the way up to my pussy as his other hand plucked my nipples.

Or maybe keep me here and simply bend me forward until I was doubled over before he slowly took me from behind.

I could feel myself getting soft and damp in the middle just at the thought of it.

But, suddenly, his presence was gone.

I turned around and found him at the dining table instead, with his back turned to me. He didn’t say anything at first and seemed to be profoundly analyzing the cutlery on the table. Then, finally, he turned around and asked, “Do you need any help?”

I shook my head, clearing it in the process. “No. I’m almost done here. Just sit. I’ll have it on the table in a jiffy.”

“I’ll help you set up,” he said as I turned away to flip the eggs. I didn’t hear him moving around much. Despite his size, the man moved like air. It was odd in a sense because I didn’t expect such a huge man to be so graceful.

“Did you learn that from the military?” I asked to make conversation. “Sneaking up on people?”

He seemed surprised by the question because it took him a few seconds to reply. “Something like that,” he said. And then he continued, “Do you always say whatever comes into your mind?”

“Something like that. Bad habit.”

“Not necessarily.” I turned, surprised by his statement, and he gave me a small smile. “It’s refreshing.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply turned away and continued cooking, trying not to think about his eyes behind me as I worked. Soon enough, Kendy came down dressed for school. If she was surprised to see her father there, she didn’t show it, simply plopping down and texting on her phone without another word.

Breakfast was a somewhat awkward affair. Both father and daughter seemed occupied with their phones, neither responding much to my attempts at conversation. Halfway through breakfast, Ian had to take off, stating that he had something important to take care of.

Before he left, he maintained eye contact. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.”

I paused, then nodded.

Kendy didn’t say much at her father’s departure, but I got the sense that she wasn’t feeling great about it. And during the drive to school, she barely said anything either. I felt for the girl. I knew a little from what she had told me. She and her father recently moved to town, and she was having trouble making friends this close to the end of the school year. This had to be hard on her, and her father wasn’t making it any easier.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked her as we drove.

She shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“Come on. Everyone has a favorite. You can tell me. What is it? Let me guess, is it lasagna? You loved it the last time I made it. Oh no, you’re more of a sweet person, and you love some heavy cream. Ice cream? Cookies?”

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