“See something you like, slick?”

  Heat crept up my neck as I realized I’d been caught in the act. I put a little more punch into my scowl than necessary. Crossed my arms a little tighter and leaned against the pantry door. “Slick?’” I repeated.

  Casey shrugged, feigning disinterest, but I could see that he’d enjoyed finding me checking him out. “You’re a city girl, aren’t you?”

  “Did Frank tell you that?”

  “Didn’t have to,” Casey said, turning his attention to a casserole dish with a layer of mystery-brown coating the bottom.

  I grimaced as he submerged it in the soapy water that filled the sink and began scrubbing away. My gaze dropped lower and caught on the way his jeans hugged his hips just so.

  “It’s written all over you like a neon sign at happy hour.” He gave a lopsided grin at his own joke.

  I snorted—probably not a very “city girl” response. “You would use a small-town reference as a metaphor,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” He glanced my way, but I didn’t answer.

  He let go of the casserole dish and turned to face me with narrowed eyes. “You have something against small towns?”

  I snatched my open beer from the windowsill beside me. The snark poured out before I could stop it. “Not at all. Without small towns, country music lyrics wouldn’t survive which are, I’m sure, of value to someone somewhere. And I like buying farm-raised poultry, so there’s that.” I tapped my chin, as if I couldn’t come up with another single feature to add.

  Casey’s expression took on a sharp edge. There was a flash of something I didn’t expect or recognize before he abruptly went back to the caked casserole dish. “Don’t forget the most important one,” he said, intent on his scrubbing. “Without small towns, you’d have no one left to ridicule in your spare time.”

  “I wasn’t…” I scowled. “Okay, maybe I was. A little.”

  “And by ‘a little’ you mean you’ve got a bone to pick with towns that sport dirt roads and sweet iced tea consumed on porches. What’s the big deal? A redneck spit in your kool-aid or something?”

  “No one spit in my kool-aid,” I mumbled, staring down at the beer bottle I held loosely in front of me.

  I made the mistake of letting my mind wander too far, to all the reasons I had for disliking towns like Grayson. And for never wanting to come back but feeling like I had no choice.

  Dad’s last wish—his dying words—had been to ask me to come here. To meet the mother who had disowned him simply for wanting to move to a city that could provide a better life for his family. He wanted me to hear her out. As if her side of the story would make a damn bit of difference after all this time. He knew how I felt about my grandparents. So he’d waited until he was on his deathbed to ask it of me. How could I say no?

  The sting of it—of a lifetime of bitterness toward a family that didn’t deserve their own son—got to me and my temper flared. “You’ve got to admit, though, places like this are so … ancient. It’s like the word ‘progress’ doesn’t exist here. People get stuck in their ways and there’s no changing the way they think. You’re either right or you’re wrong and heaven forbid you’re wrong.”

  I fell silent as I realized my rant bordered on personal. I hadn’t meant to say all that. But Casey’s reproachful look had gotten to me. As if he had a right to judge me or assume anything. He had no idea what I knew about small towns, about what they were capable of. I’d watched it firsthand; my mother still carried that hurt and bitterness around.

  I caught Casey watching me, dishes forgotten once again. “Are we talking about places or people?” His hands were propped on the counter, bracing himself and making his biceps flex and tighten. My train of thought evaporated at the sight of his bared muscles. I forced my eyes back up to his face and found him smirking at me—caught again.

  Dammit. My mouth went dry.

  I opted for a long swig of my beer in lieu of an answer and Casey went back to the suds. While I drank, I shoved aside my real reason for being here. And for hating every minute of it. Mentally, I put it all into a drawer right next to how hot Casey Luck was when he did domestic chores. Neither one deserved my attention just now.

  Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d found a guy this hot. Or been distracted so fully from my grief—a constant ache that felt like anger and always seemed to simmer just underneath my forced smile. Still, Casey was a local, and that was the exact opposite of my type.

  The silence stretched and I stared out the window at the long shadows of dusk. A bird sang in a nearby tree but I couldn’t see it. All I saw was a lawn that would soon need cutting broken by a worn path carved out between the house and the barn. He must spend a lot of time in there, I thought idly. Wonder what for?

  “So, which Ivy League was it?”

  Casey’s question jarred me. “What?” I blinked, but Casey was staring hard at the baking pan he was scrubbing. Even so, I could hear the challenge in his words. I’d insulted him. Guilt pricked at me but my defenses were made of insults and I couldn’t afford to drop a single one just now.

  “Ivy League,” he repeated. “College. It must’ve been one of those top-tier schools that educated and enlightened you until you were so high above the rest of us, you could so easily look down on the world.”

  Okay, I deserved that one. “University of Pennsylvania,” I answered.

  “UPenn? Really?” Casey asked, surprise coloring his words. When he spoke again, his demeanor shifted, the irritation dissolving. “I have a friend that went there before law school. Nice place.”

  “You’ve been there?” I asked.

  He cast a sideways glance at me, one brow lifted. “Is it so shocking to think I’ve left Grayson and seen the rest of the world?”

  My cheeks heated at how easily he’d read me. I stared absently at my beer, unable to look up while I tried to think of something to say. But for reasons I couldn’t fathom, he let me off the hook.

  “What did you study?” Casey asked.

  I found him studying me with no trace of judgment and realized I’d been way too hard on him. I was a guest—standing in his kitchen, drinking his beer—and I’d done nothing but insult the guy and his whole town. My dad would have tossed a dishrag at me by now and muttered about manners. I decided to make more of an effort. “I graduated with a Bachelors in Architecture last spring,” I said.

  “Buildings, huh? Any kind in particular?”

  “I studied city planning and interned at a firm that did urban design, but I really love restoration and classic design. In fact, I’m working on starting my own place that specializes,” I said. And because I knew he’d find out anyway, I added, “I’m here to consult for Summer Stafford’s new build. We have our first meeting tomorrow.”

  “No shit? Wow,” Casey said. “Summer’s been a broken record about this project for months. Glad she’s finally getting started.”

  I smiled at the thought of how excited Summer had been earlier when she’d realized who I was. Practically promised me the job. I had to admit there was a certain level of self-satisfaction, not to mention relief, in that. “It sounds like a fun project.”

  “It’ll get Ford out of that camper anyway.”

  “Ford, right,” I said, remembering him from town earlier. God, that felt like a lifetime ago. “I met him today in town. You mean he lives in a camper right now?”

  “He used to room here, but Dean offered his old camper a while back and Ford towed it up the hill and parked it beside his future home site. I think, despite the lack of amenities it provides, he and Summer wanted their own space.”

  “And they’re engaged, right?” I asked, remembering the emails we’d exchanged and the details.

  “Wedding’s this September. Hopefully just in time to see your handiwork,” he said, pointing a soapy hand at me.

  “No pressure,” I joked.

  “I have a feeling you’re a girl who thrives under pressure,” Casey said.

  I didn’t answer.

  I wasn’t sure if he was flirting again or if he’d just insulted me. Just in case it was the latter, I didn’t want to mess things up. Not when we’d just found some solid footing.

  “Did you go to college?” I asked.

  “I did two years in Philly at Mechanics Institute of America,” he explained.

  “That’s right, you and Frank have that shop in town,” I said, thinking again of my deceased car.

  “That’s all Frank,” he said and there was a trace of something—resentment?—before it passed. “I help out when he needs me, when I’m not down at Dean’s beating on that damned tractor.”

  “I see.” I wanted to ask him why he did all of that when it didn’t sound like he enjoyed it very much, but I wasn’t about to pry right now.

  Casey went back to washing and I went back to pretending not to notice his broad, bare shoulders and the muscles that bunched and rippled along his forearms when he lifted a dish, dripping wet, and set it aside for another.

  When had doing the dishes become foreplay?

  Casey startled me by suddenly turning away from the sink and opening the fridge. He snagged a fresh beer and walked up to me, holding it out like some sort of peace offering. I took it but he didn’t move.

  “Look, I’m not disagreeing with you about small-town thinking. Thing is, that sort of closed-minded mentality can exist anywhere. In my mind, limiting it to residents of places like Grayson is pretty closed-minded in itself. And I don’t think you are. So, something must’ve happened.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him it wasn’t his business, to … something, but he plowed ahead.

  “Whatever it was, it’s none of my business, so let’s just leave it at friendly for now. I’m not asking for more although anything less would make the whole roommate thing pretty awkward. What do you say?” He dropped his eyes to my mouth for an instant and then met my gaze. “Can we agree to be friends?”

  “I haven’t agreed to the room yet,” I pointed out, my mouth suddenly dry. My heart pounded at his closeness and I forced my eyes not to roam the smooth expanse of his tanned chest and broad shoulders right in front of me.

  Slowly, he reached for my beer, cracked it, and took a long swig. I stared—I tried not to, I really did—at the dark circles of his nipples, at the way his pecs stretched when he raised the can to his lips and lowered it again.

  A ball of heat formed in my stomach, dropping lower and lower.

  Casey’s grin was a little teasing and a lot smug. “If you didn’t want it, you’d have left already.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he handed my beer back and returned to the sink, leaving me with my mouth half-open and my thighs tingly.

  Why did I suspect he wasn’t only talking about the room?

  I thought about telling him no, just to prove a point. But, in this moment, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what that point would be. And I did need a place to stay. At least until I knew if I got the job with Summer. If that didn’t work out, I could make my appearance in Windsor a quick one. In and out and on the road again. Not that the road held any sort of destination on the other end.

  But this, a furnished room to sleep in, a place to unpack a little, and far enough from Windsor they wouldn’t be looking over my shoulder sounded nice.

  Screw it. At least I had a yummy view in the meantime. Even if he was made up of everything I’d sworn to avoid.

  Chapter Six

  Casey

  I finished the dishes in silence. After our little tiff about Jordan’s ridiculously prejudiced comments regarding small town folks, I was sure she was going to storm out. Hell, at one point, I considered doing the same. I recognized bitterness when I heard it, though, so I let it go. Chalked it up to a bad experience. Obviously someone had burned her. An ex-boyfriend maybe. Not my business.

  But the idea of her walking out, of never seeing her again, wasn’t a thought I enjoyed. This girl was sexy and mysterious and the first interesting thing that’d happened to me in a long time. Her outer shell was pretty hard to crack, but the glimpse I’d caught underneath her armor intrigued me. I wanted more. Of what, exactly, I didn’t know yet. But I damn sure wanted the time to figure it out.

  So, I’d resorted to flirting. Shameless, unfiltered flirting. And I’d laid it on thick too. It was probably too much. But the look on her face when I’d chugged her beer was priceless. And the fact that she didn’t know what to say after was just as good. I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning while I finished a month’s worth of dirty plates.

  When the last of the pans were washed and set aside, I dried my hands and wandered into the living room. Jordan had settled on the far end of the couch—a clear message. The set of her shoulders said she was in deep thought. I knew better than to interrupt that. Curiosity was killing me, though.

  I sank onto the center cushion and punched the remote until the TV powered on. Sports channel. Good as anything else. I wasn’t really paying attention anyway. But I leaned back and propped my feet up on the coffee table all the same.

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a stunner before. But shit, girls like Jordan didn’t exactly find their way to Grayson often. Or, more specifically, to my front door. I couldn’t help but shake my head at Frank again. What was that guy cooking up? Did he really think it was that easy to overcome whatever melancholy I’d been fighting these past few months?

  Hell, did he think he could deliver me a beautiful girl and I’d what? Fall in love? Settle down? Was that his idea of happiness for me? I definitely needed to set him straight because that was absolutely not happening. Especially with a city slicker like Jordan. Beauty. Brains. Ambition. Nobody like that would ever be interested in what I had to offer—which wasn’t much.

  The TV droned on and I snuck a glance over at her. She stared back at me in a way that suggested she’d been doing it for a while now. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth and when she let go, she blew out a breath. I didn’t miss the rise and fall of her ample chest. Eyes up, Case.

  “Fine,” Jordan said as if I’d just now asked her a question. “We can be friends and I’ll take the room. But it’s temporary. Just for the summer, and I pay cash.”

  I muted the TV and turned in my seat until my eyes met Jordan’s. Clear Caribbean blue framed by wispy blonde hair. I could be all sorts of friendly with that face. “Friends. Just the summer. Cash,” I repeated, nodding. “Sounds good.”

  “Two conditions,” she said.

  “All right, lay it on me.”

  “One, we are not the sort of roommates that walk around half-naked.” She eyed my bare chest pointedly.

  I grinned. “Clothing is mandatory. Got it. And the second?”

  “No more personal questions.”

  I’d seen this one coming from her reaction earlier and already knew I’d have to agree, like it or not. It should’ve made the whole deal even sweeter. Hot blonde sleeping across the hall, doesn’t want to get personal. Anything could happen. But this girl was obviously on a mission to stay platonic and she wasn’t taking any chances. The problem was some part of me was disappointed at her shutting it down before it even began. Part of me wanted to know her story, an extra layer I usually left out of my relationships when possible.

  Growing up here, dating the girls in a place like this, you couldn’t escape knowing someone’s story, baggage and all. So when someone came along whose dirty laundry I didn’t know, I usually opted to keep it that way. No strings. No stories.

  But Jordan was different. She made me want to know what lay underneath the surface. What brought her here and what made her hate country folks so much. And for the first time in my life, I was determined to earn it. I’d have to be sneaky, though. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to share it willingly.

  “Only public questions then?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I twisted so I could get a better look at her—or give her one last good look at me—and swung my arm over the back of the couch between us. “Public. You know, as opposed to personal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  My fingertips extended just shy of her shoulder and I itched to lean in and let my hand brush her hair. “For example, do you have a boyfriend?”

  She frowned. “That’s personal.”

  “Not true. I need to know if you’re going to be bringing strange guys into the house. Maybe we should create a system. Like a sock on the door or a special knock or you take Mondays at one and I’ll—”

  “I told you earlier, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Great, just wanted to clarify. In case you’re wondering, I don’t have a girlfriend. See how easy that was? That definitely settles it. Public questions only.”

  I grinned and went back to the TV. She scowled, but when I glanced over a minute later, I caught her staring at my bare chest—again. Hell, yeah. This was going to be so much fun.

  Chapter Seven

  Jordan

  The next morning, the stillness inside the house was a direct contradiction to the chaotic aftermath I found in the kitchen. Dirty dishes and spilled egg yolk littered the counter and stove. I stepped cautiously, careful to avoid anything liquidy or spongy underfoot, and grimaced when my foot landed in something soft and not made of tile.

  “Yuck,” I muttered.

  And I’d thought the kitchen was bad last night. That was nothing. Girls, be careful what you wish for. Clearly, this guy could cook. But cleaning was a whole different—and obviously foreign—concept. The dishes he’d done last night had clearly been for my benefit only.