Wrapped Up in a Beau (13 page)

She shrugged. “That's up to you.”

“Really? You wouldn't mind?” he asked with sarcasm, realizing the verbal game they were playing would escalate unless one of them gave in. It wouldn't be him, though. She started it.

“Why would I mind? We've been spending a lot of time together. If you'd like to add a little more variety to your holiday, I definitely won't stand in your way. All I ask is that you give me advance notice so I can make other plans.”

“Good to know,” he gritted through his teeth. His grip on the steering wheel tightened at her sassy tone.
Variety?
What kind of man did she think he was? A sizzling silence filled the cabin as Mason drove through the residential streets toward downtown. The plan was to drop Greta off at the hotel to help out Sophie while Mason went home to collect Grandfather for dinner. The idea was to get Christopher out of the house for an hour or two but Mason doubted it would be easy. Unable to stop himself from getting in another quip, he added, “I'd also appreciate you telling
me
in advance if you decide to take an earlier departure to England.”

“I was actually asking about a later one. I prefer overnight flights.”

“Make sure this time you don't leave without saying good-bye,” he drawled, then regretted it.

“Yes, master.”

There was that sass again. “Call me skeptical. You've done it before.”

She crossed her arms. “That doesn't mean I have to do it in person. My mobile will work just as well.”

“Great. Whatever is more convenient for you.”

“Great! I appreciate that.”

As he pulled up to the hotel, brakes squealing at his abrupt stop, he knew he should apologize before she got out of the car. But he didn't.

Her hand on the door handle, Greta climbed out, grabbing her purse with the haste of a woman who couldn't wait to get away from him. “I'll see you at dinner. Try to be less of a jerk when convincing your grandpa to come out with you.” She slammed the door.

Damn it. Women! He lightly hit the steering wheel before shifting into drive and heading to the estate.

An hour later, Mason came to the conclusion running a lumber company in this economy was a walk in the park compared to persuading a cantankerous elderly man to accompany him to dinner.

“When was the last time you got out of the house?” Mason asked, a handful of ties in his grip.

“Bah!” Christopher flipped his arthritic hand. “Nurse No-Smile parked me outside when the leaves started to turn. As if I wanted to sit there and witness the colors change from green to orange. I barely see in black-and-white, boy. Stuck me out there for over an
hour
by myself.”

Probably for sixty minutes of peace, Mason thought wryly. “Well then, it's about time you got out there again. It's an ideal afternoon, Grandpa. Temp is over twenty degrees for once, the sun is out…”
And Greta will be even madder if I show up by myself
. “All right. Forget the ties. We don't need to dress up. It's that…well…” With only one tactic left, Mason feigned helplessness, hoping this would convince his grandfather once and for all. “It would mean the world to Greta if you joined us for dinner. Personally, I would rather leave you here and have her all to myself, but she seems to think your company is as good as mine—”

“Greta's expecting us?” he glowered. “You dolt. Why didn't you say so?”

“Excuse me if I thought spending an evening with your grandson would be sufficient enough motivation.”

“I see your face all the time! Greta is leaving soon, isn't she? That girl is wasted over there in Sweden.”

“England.”

“Blah blah. Sweden. England. What's the difference these days?” He eyed Mason for a long moment, pointed a finger at him, with a rare smile. “You should use your magic charms and get her to stay awhile. Convince her to live here and be my nurse. Ha! I'd pay triple to keep her around this house.” He guided his electric chair to swivel around. “Where are my teeth?”

“Maybe you can extend her a job offer tonight,” Mason joked as he went to grab the glass holding his grandfather's floating dentures. The old man's idea held serious appeal. To persuade Greta to make her visit a permanent one… Nevertheless, he was pretty sure there was nothing that could entice her to make roots here.

Chapter Twelve

Jealous? No sir.

Greta strode from behind the hotel's front desk with a box, across the lobby to a side table near the house phone. Sophie had asked her to set out leftover goody bags from the hotel's Christmas stock. None too gently, she dropped the box on the table and plucked out the red-cellophane wrapped bags filled with candy, arranging them in neat, orderly rows.

Just because she'd pointed out how impolite it would've been to interrupt Mason's conversation didn't mean she was jealous; Shannon had clearly wanted a private chat. How catty would it have appeared if Greta had jumped in the middle? She'd seen the way Shannon smiled up at Mason. It was the same adoring gaze his “friend” gave him at the restaurant. So she'd decided against introducing herself, lest Shannon judge her as competition. In her experience, it was best to avoid stepping on another woman's shoes, whether they be Coclico or Crocs.

Shannon would have Mason all to herself once Greta left.

Or even sooner than that if he wanted, as Greta had foolishly proposed. When she'd told him to ask Shannon out, she'd been fishing for a protest. She wanted him to say he had no intention of going out on a date with Shannon, to insist his only desire was to spend time with her. On top of that, she hoped he'd tell her how absurd it was to imply he'd like some variety. How ridiculous it was to mention such a thing. However, he didn't say any of those things, only responded with sarcasm.

She'd been playing a game she never participated in, then tried to cover up her foolishness. Of course she didn't want to share him or make other plans while he romanced someone else. The thought of Mason doing so twisted an instant hot knot in her stomach and she pressed a hand to it, wincing.

Oh no. She
was
jealous.

With a sigh, she snatched one of the goody bags, untied it and poked through the assortment. Jelly beans, no. Gummy bears, peppermints, no no no. At the bottom, she found a gold-wrapped treasure. Her favorite. She unwrapped a mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, slid it into her mouth, then plopped on a chair to enjoy it. Admitting jealousy to herself was humiliating enough. Even the wonderful sweetness of chocolate couldn't ease her discomfort with the knowledge. She dug for another Reese's.

An older couple walked by. She gave a little wave, mouth full, before gulping her shame.
Well, this will not do.
She needed to keep a clear head…and her pride. Jealous though she may have been of Shannon flirting with Mason, it didn't mean anything. Once she flew home, they'd go their separate ways and start new relationships, although the prospect of doing that held little appeal to her. Nevertheless, that was where they were headed, to an inevitable end.

With a lift of her chin and a quick tug at her light blazer, she rose and resumed her task. Regardless of the ugly emotion beginning with the letter J, she had to get over wondering who he would be with after her.

“Greta.” Sophie laughed, coming up beside her. “All you had to do was put these on the table. You didn't have to arrange them like we're offering sacks of diamonds or anything.”

Happy to have her friend interrupt her thoughts, Greta sent her a glance, setting her hands on her hips. “Am I trying too hard? I couldn't just throw them in a pile. They should be presentable.”

“Job well done. But don't sweat it. After the guests see our sign offering complimentary candy, they'll disappear faster than it took for you to make them all pretty.” Sophie spotted an open bag and raised a brow. She snatched it up and shook it before Greta's guilty gaze. “Sampling the goods, are we?”

“You caught me. I couldn't resist.”
Needless jealousy was the culprit.

“You are so quick to be honest! I would've come up with a story it was already open and that I didn't want to give a guest a used bag.” They shared laughter as she dumped chocolate balls in Greta's hand and took a few for herself. “Waste not, want not.” She unwrapped three, tilted her head back and dropped them in her mouth, giving a satisfied “mmmm” as she chewed.

Greta had already eaten two Reese's cups. Still, she bit off of one chocolate ball, spoiling her dinner even more.

“Sophie?” A male voice spoke behind them.

They turned around in unison. A dark-blond man appearing to be in his early thirties stood before them with a disarming smile. He wore a black peacoat, jeans and sneakers that came straight out of an eighties movie. Good-looking to boot.
Very
good-looking…in an All-American sort of way. Clean-cut and strong. Greta smiled, but he was only gazing at Sophie.

Her friend turned, gasped, covered her mouth, cheeks full of chocolate. “Um, hi Dr. Kessman,” she greeted as best she could through the candy.

He grinned, shaking his head. “I've told you a hundred times to call me by my first name.” As if he just realized Greta's presence, he blinked and held out his hand. “Hi. I'm Blake.”

“Greta. Nice to meet you.” She smiled as they shook hands, glancing askance at her friend, who seemed to be a little nervous in front of this Blake fellow. Interesting indeed.

“Likewise.” He returned his attention to Sophie. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to say hello. I haven't seen you at the Sandwich Club in a while. You've been missed.”

Sophie gulped some of the chocolate, still covering her lips with her manicured hand. “Oh. Well, I've been busy. Holidays. Managing the hotel. You know how it is.”

Greta hid her amusement, fascinated with the exchange. Sophie chewed furiously, swallowed, then gestured with her hands. “I mean, I guess you wouldn't know how
that
is, but probably know what it's like when you're pulled in a hundred different directions, and you've got a million things going on and suddenly time flies by—along with any semblance of a social life. Just when I think I can get away, my mother forces me to attend her friend's cooking parties so I can pour wine and play sober cab. And since my grandfather kicked out his last nurse, I'm on standby in case no one is around. Busy bee, that's me.”

Greta folded her hands together and leaned back on the table. Oh my. Did Sophie say that all in one breath? It wasn't like her sassy friend to ramble on. As Greta observed the two, she swiftly realized three things. Blake liked Sophie. Sophie definitely liked Blake. And neither of them had made a move.

“I can imagine what it takes to run a place like this,” he remarked, roving his gaze around. “Of course I understand family comes first. I told the kids you had an important job and you'd make the time when you could. I wanted you to know they ask about you every day. The Ping-Pong tournaments aren't the same without you there to tell me how lousy my hand-eye coordination is.”

“I never said that,” Sophie quickly defended. “You always let me win. You have—great hands and eyes!”

Greta stifled outright laughter, pressing her lips together, but the effort proved poor when Blake and Sophie both looked at her. Sophie's cheeks turned bright red. Sobering, Greta swallowed her giggles.

Sophie cleared her throat lightly. “Being good at Ping-Pong is minor in comparison to being a great doctor. I was kidding about your eye-hand coordination that day so the kids would get a good laugh.”

“At my expense,” he spoke in a flat tone, but with a twinkle in his eye.

Sophie's mouth opened and closed. “I…I…it was only meant as a joke.”

Couldn't she see the doctor was only teasing? Oh, poor Sophie. She was too smitten to even speak.

“Well, it's part of my reputation now,” Blake pointed out with a shrug of his nicely broad shoulders. “It's important to keep up appearances, so while you've been gone, I've had to lose countless Ping-Pong games, walk into walls, drop things…”

Sophie crossed her arms, her mouth twitching with a smile. “You're just putting on a show. I'm sure the kids see right through you.”

“I know but they always think it's hysterical. They're a good bunch.”

“They are. I miss them,” she spoke softly.

He paused, gazing at Sophie with thoughts Greta could only imagine. “And they miss you.”

Whoa. A crackle of hot, sexual tension hung in the air, and Greta began to feel like a third wheel. An invisible third wheel.

Blake cleared his throat. “Anyway, I have to go. It's really good to see you. Not used to seeing you all dressed up in a suit, though. You definitely couldn't play b-ball in that skirt, but we'll take you any way we can have you. The kids, I mean.”

Sure he did.

Sophie tucked her hair behind an ear with a shy smile. “I'll try my best to make it down there.” Suddenly, she grabbed Greta's arm and pulled her close. “In the meantime, if you need an extra hand, Greta can take my place. She's awesome with kids.”

The doctor raised his brows. “Really? Well, now that she's put you on the spot Greta, are you interested? Don't feel obligated because Sophie is throwing you to the front lines.”

Greta bumped her hip to her friend's. “It's okay, she's done it before. I'd love to help.”

He smiled. “Cool. We'd only need you for a couple of hours. Most of the staff are retirees and stay-at-home moms, but we're a little thin this week because of the holidays. Only about half the kids we usually supervise are there. It's not a complete jungle, but it can sound a lot like one.”

Greta laughed softly. “Count me in.”

“I'll let you borrow some clothes to play in,” Sophie said. “No wearing your killer designer boots to this place. You're likely to get paint, mud, puke, or chocolate milk on your feet by the time you leave. Unless you want to start a new trend over there in Great Britain.” At the question in Blake's eyes, she added, “She's here on vacay, so I can only loan her out temporarily.”

“You're far from home,” he remarked.

Home? Not exactly. More like a place where most of her belongings were stored. “I am, but Swan's Crossing is the next best thing.”

“No doubt. It's a great place to live.” He glanced at his watch. “I'm running late for an appointment. Sophie can give you directions but it's pretty easy to find. I'll show you around and introduce you to everybody. How does two o'clock sound? You'll be relieving a busy mom who won't leave unless someone takes her place.”

“Two o'clock is perfect.” Another blissful morning to sleep in.

With that settled, he set his warm gaze on Sophie. “I'll tell the kids I spoke to their Crayola Queen. I hope you don't wait too long before you come back, though. It's not the same without you.”

Sophie blushed again. “Good to hear.”

“All right.” He started to back up. “Well, see you then.”

As he started to turn away, she blurted, “Wait. Here, Dr. Kessman.” She grabbed a goody bag and handed one to him. “Take one. I'd give you some for the kids, but I don't think we should hand out sweets when we're suppose to promote good nutrition.”

He raised the bag. “Good call. Thanks. And it's Blake, remember? See you around,
Ms. Renclair
.” He dipped his head with a charming smile. “'Bye, Greta.” He smoothly turned around and walked out the revolving doors.

Sophie's gaze lingered on the doctor's back before she realized Greta was staring at her with a grin. “What?” Sophie asked, blinking innocence.

Greta crossed her arms, one brow raised. “You. I've never seen such a flaming color on your face before. Or heard you trip over your words like that! Not since you had a crush on my Scandinavian neighbor, that is.” She smiled as her friend rolled her eyes, then asked, “What exactly did you sign me up for, Crayola Queen? What's the Sandwich Club?”

“An after-school program,” Sophie replied. “But since the kids are out of school for the holidays, they run it all day at the old rec center. A community group started it last year and it's been a going well so far. It's for kids thirteen and younger who have no real parental supervision once the bell rings and for the parents who can't really afford day care. We hand out sandwiches, veggies, set up games and arts and crafts in the gym. Less of a strict daycare, more of a casual kids' club.”

“I love the idea.”

“It's worked out nicely. I get out an hour or two early to make it down there a couple times a month. The kids wear me out, but it's worth it. They crowned me the Crayola Queen because I bought boxes and boxes of new crayons one day and drew some caricatures. I get to be a kid again in that place. Wish I could go more often.”

“So does Blake if you can't tell. Why do you insist on calling him Doctor?”

Sophie shrugged. “All doctors should be addressed with their titles. They've earned it. In any case, if I call him Blake, people might think we have something going on.”

“Clearly he's okay with that, Sophie. Didn't you see the way he stares at you? He likes you. You like him. Why the heck aren't you two an item?”

Sophie fiddled with the goody bag, scrunching her nose. “I don't
want
to like him. Every unmarried girl in town has been after Blake Kessman since he moved here a year ago. He's a catch and a half. Handsome, single. A doctor. He volunteers for the Sandwich Club once a week and runs a successful practice. He can dance, loves animals and kids, listens to jazz
and
rock, plus, he's one of the kindest, most generous men I know. Ugh! I can't date that!”

Greta laughed with incredulity. “Huh? Why not?”

“Isn't it obvious?” She made a face. “He's too good to be true.”

“Nobody's perfect. He sounds like a good guy. Who cares how many gals have their eye on him? He wants
you
.”

“No, he doesn't. He's nice to everyone like that.” She looped her arm in Greta's and grabbed the empty box with her free hand. “Come on. I've got more slave labor in store for you before dinner. I'm so happy it's the end of my day. My feet are killing me. That's what I get for trying to break in new shoes at work!”