Two bags of groceries sat on the counter, exactly where she’d left them before touring the house. She’d still felt pretty good at the grocery store and had vowed not to stray from her normal diet too much. She’d spent all her life fighting a losing battle against her curves, and she hadn’t wanted to slip up just because her life was in shambles.
Vegetables, salads and non-fat everything filled the bags. As she packed it all into the fridge, she regretted her decision to stick to her healthy eating plan. Right then, none of it appealed to her in the slightest. The very idea of choking down a spinach salad filled her with such hatefire she was almost surprised she hadn’t spontaneously combusted.
Spinach, the devil’s tool.
Luckily, the caretaker had stocked the freezer with tastier, more fattening fare—mostly in the form of frozen dinners—but she spied a tub of her favorite chocolate-peanut butter ice cream tucked in the back. Pulling out a lasagna, she dropped it on the counter with a thunk and set the oven to preheat.
Sighing, she leaned back against the counter to wait. Her gaze slid across everything that reminded her of her mom, finally landing on the archway that led into the kitchen. In a daze, she drifted over to it and kneeled down, her fingers lightly grazing a series of marks etched into the doorframe. Her mother’s writing noted an age next to each carved line, transporting Lucy back in time.
She’d always groaned when her mom wanted to commemorate how much she’d grown, but deep down she’d loved her mother’s excitement. Tears burned her eyes and no amount of sniffing would hold them back. She rested her head against the marks and fought for breath as tears pushed at her. They filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, sobs bursting past her lips while she trembled until she had nothing left.
Pain shot up her leg as she stood, but she pushed past the ache and shuffled down the hallway, searching for more memories. She first came to an oblong dent and ghosted her fingers across the indentation. Boy, her parents had been mad when they’d seen the evidence of Lucy’s practicing her softball swing inside the house. Though later that year, they’d cheered the loudest from the stands when her team had clenched the finals.
She was torturing herself by seeking out these reminders of her parents, but she couldn’t stop. She eyed the stairs, knowing the rooms up there would only bring her more suffering. Hell, even the sound of the tenth stair creaking, as it always did, would probably send her into echoing sobs.
There was a sweet nostalgia drifting through her too—mixing with the dark turmoil. She’d left the house shortly after her parents’ memorial never to return, leaving these memories fresh and raw. Though she sensed that the longer she remained in the house, those memories would ease to bittersweet. Perhaps one day they may become simply sweet…
For now, she’d sleep on the couch downstairs. At least for the first night. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could make it up the stairs with her leg.
A heavy knock echoed through the house, the front door jarring in its frame, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She jolted, and a tiny bolt of pain attacked her with the movement. The silence had settled on her like a heavy blanket, so she assumed any sound would have startled her, but this had been no little knock. Taking small, slow steps, she padded to the entryway. Which apparently wasn’t fast enough for her mysterious visitor since he decided to bang on the door again, the old wood creaking beneath his strength.
“Cool your jets, asshole,” Lucy mumbled as she peeked through the peephole.
Oh, damn.
The man on her front porch stood almost as tall as the door itself. She actually had to stoop a bit to see his face. Not that she minded her initial view—muscled chest and tight black t-shirt that accentuated all that muscle-y goodness. But that face…
He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. Regardless, her breath caught in her chest at his chiseled jaw, covered with two days’ worth of stubble. Just enough to make a girl swoon. She caught a glimpse of his eyes and she nearly did swoon then. Her parents had taken her on a cruise to Bermuda once and this man’s eyes matched the color of the Caribbean Sea perfectly. A lock of black hair swooped down across his brow in a perfect imitation of young Johnny Depp, though he clearly wasn’t trying to be someone he wasn’t. When he lifted his fist to pound on the door again—his bicep bulging nicely—Lucy’s senses returned.
Wrenching the door open, she glared up at him. “Would you mind not breaking my door down?”
The devastatingly hot dude on her doorstep glared right back at her. She had no idea what kind of beef he might have with her, but she wasn’t about to be glared at without giving as good as she got. Instead of his narrow-eyed stare remaining on hers, his attention drifted down her body. His focus paused on her cleavage before moving on to her sweats-covered hips, and all the way down to her pretty pink toenails. The return trip was even slower and something about the way he stared made her think of a wild predator—hungry and fierce.
Lucy cleared her throat and arched an eyebrow. “Well?”
He jerked back a little, almost as if she’d just insulted him. Then a veil dropped across his stormy eyes. “I’m Mason Blackwood.”
Lucy waited for him to explain why he’d almost knocked her door off its hinges, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply looked down at her expectantly, as if she was supposed to know who the hell he was and why she should care. The name sounded familiar…
“Okay… What can I do for you?”
“What happened to your leg?” His gaze flicked to the bloody spot that had grown since she’d last looked.
Dammit! It was just her luck to be caught in bloody sweatpants when a sizzling hot dude dropped by for a chat. Still, his demanding tone set her teeth on edge.
“How is that any of your business?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
His jaw worked as she waited. Tension radiated off him in waves and infected her, but he didn’t reply.
“I know gossip travels fast in a small town,” she huffed, “but usually folks talk behind your back. They don’t huff and puff and try to blow your house down.”
The guy’s lips twitched and he tightened his mouth, suppressing a smile at her sarcasm. That would have been a first. Most men were turned off by her “keepin’ it real” attitude. He opened his mouth to speak, but a loud buzz from the kitchen interrupted him.
“What was that?” he looked past her into the house, his body seeming to grow before her eyes.
What the everloving fuck?
“Not that it’s any of your business, Mr. Nosy Parker, but that was my oven telling me it’s time to pop my frozen lasagna in.”
Mason wrinkled his nose in a way that should have insulted her, but it only made her smile over his cuteness.
“You’re not eating that crap for dinner.”
The fuck?
Lucy stood there, completely gobsmacked. The guilt she already felt for ignoring her diet increased tenfold and fueled her outrage that some random hottie was judging her dining choices.
“Excuse me?” she finally managed to pushed through gritted teeth.
Mason backpedaled like a champ, his tone softening right along with his expression, which of course had Lucy melting into a gooey puddle.
Hotties made her weak. What could she say?
“I only meant that you’re injured. You need more protein to help your body heal.”
Gripping the doorjamb until her knuckles went white, Lucy did her best to maintain her composure in the face of his scorching hotness. His oddly sensitive hotness. She had no idea why the guy gave a rat’s ass about her, but his attention sent her body into a tizzy.
“I’m fine.” She heard the quaver in her voice and winced at the display of weakness. “I’m perfectly happy with my dinner plans, thank you very much. Now if there’s nothing else…”
She said it as if she needed reminding. A little childish, but it was empowering to put the hottie in his place.
“Mason.”