“Yes, I did. My brother said I looked like a homeless crackhead. I think it was his way of saying he missed me.”
Delaney giggled spontaneously and pressed a thumb to her lip.
He stared at her for a second, then held up both arms. Bags dangled from each. “I bought clothes too, because apparently what I was wearing wasn’t acceptable enough to impress his fiancée either.” He stepped around her and put the bags on the kitchen table. He reached over and flipped the light switch. Nothing.
“I think I must’ve blown a fuse or something. The light’s out in my bedroom too,” Delaney said.
He shook his head. “It’s probably not a fuse. Power is out all over town because of this storm. I’ll check, though.”
He was down the stairs and back up before Delaney had sufficient time to snoop in those bags. She’d seen enough to know that one was a suit, though. A charcoal-gray suit. It was probably for the wedding, and he’d probably look pretty good in it, even though the quality wasn’t particularly great. And she should probably stop thinking about how he’d look wearing it, because that was making her just as flustered as she’d been when catching him in the buff in the shower.
He came back into the kitchen. “Yep, power’s out. No telling when it’ll go back on. Could be a cold night so I guess I’ll start a fire.”
“A fire? Have you got wood?”
A curve played at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, yeah. I got wood.”
The door slammed before she realized what she’d said.
Two trips outside, an old newspaper, and some matches was all it took before the fireplace crackled with flames, and Delaney realized having a rugged outdoorsman as a housemate might be the first lucky break she’d had in a long time. He’d found a couple of lanterns and a few candles in the basement, and now the living room glowed with light and warmth—and hormones bubbling just under the surface, like maple syrup waiting to be tapped.
“Did you have dinner before the power went out?” he asked as Delaney wrapped a blanket around her legs and sat down on the sofa.
“No, did you?”
“Nope. But I’ll trade you a beer for a peanut butter sandwich.”
“Done.”
Just a little friendly barter. Nothing sexual about that.
Two beers and two sandwiches later, she reconsidered. Grant was chatty, and relaxed, funny, and charming as he talked about his travel adventures. He was melting her determination to keep things strictly platonic, and everything he shared made her want to tell him her story. Her real story, because the lies were a burden, and that load of insults she’d seen on Facebook was a misery she wanted to unload.
But she didn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Because she didn’t really know him, and she couldn’t really trust him. She’d trusted Boyd and look where that had landed her. And at what point in a new friendship, romantic or otherwise, was it appropriate to mention that one’s sexcapades had been caught on film?
Or that you were hiding from the scandal-hungry paparazzi?
Or that your name was now a verb in the urban dictionary?
Yeah, that chick totally Delaney-d me under a Snuggie, bro.
Never.
There was never a good time for that.
“So what made you decide to become a cameraman?” she asked instead.
Grant opened two more beers and handed one to her.
“Is this going to cost me another sandwich?” she asked, taking the bottle from his hand.
“Nope. This one’s on the house.” He sat back down and pulled a pale green blanket over his own legs. “I didn’t set out to become a cameraman, I just sort of lucked into it.”
“How so?”
“Well, I left Bell Harbor after my dad died and my mom got remarried. You probably picked up on that back at her house.”
Delaney nodded and took a sip of beer.
“Yeah, so I headed to Los Angeles. I had some friends who’d moved out there and I figured I could hang with them for a while. I got hired by a little TV station, running cables and doing odd jobs and such. One day a guy asked me to hold the camera for a minute, and I haven’t set it down since. Moved up the chain, moved around stations, did a few different shows. Just about the time I was getting really sick of LA, this on-location gig came along. Once I’d tasted filming out in the wild like that, there was no going back to a studio. No regrets either. I’ve seen amazing places, worked with some incredible people.” He paused for a moment, contemplating. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t made it home very often. Up until recently, my job was pretty fun.”
“Until recently? What changed?”
He took a slow drink, as if deciding what to share. Maybe she wasn’t the only one running away from things.
“I left home at nineteen, and took my first location job at twenty-three. Now I’m thirty-one. That’s a long time to be traveling.”