“What was your next job?” That index finger trailed downward, circling her belly button through the cotton of Humphrey’s T-shirt. Shivers danced along her nerve endings, down to her toes and back up again.
“My next job? I don’t even remember. I think I worked at The Gap.” Back to the lies. Her job after the music studio had been at a swanky boutique in Beverly Hills. She’d worked there while she dabbled with college. It wasn’t a bad job, just sort of mindless. She went from dressing emotionless mannequins to dressing overly emotional starlets. Conversations with the mannequins were more riveting. “What was your first job?” she asked.
His hand stilled, his palm flattened on her stomach. “Um, I mostly worked with my dad. He had a charter fishing boat based out of Bell Harbor Marina.”
He wasn’t looking into her eyes now, but staring at her shoulder instead. There was more. She could see it.
“And?” she prompted softly.
“And he died in Iraq. So no more charter company.”
“Oh, that’s sad. I’m sorry.” Her parents were a pain in the ass, but she loved them and couldn’t imagine life without them.
His head gave a single shake, shooing away a memory. It was subtle, but she noticed. Or maybe she was learning to read him. His eyes came back to her.
“My brother and I used to talk about starting the company back up,” Grant continued, “but things went crazy pretty fast after my mom married Hank. Ty says the boat is still sitting in her barn, though. He told me he’d nearly sold it to pay off some debts last fall but Evie talked him out of it.”
“He still has it?”
“Apparently, although he’s got a job and a wife, and they’re about to adopt some kids so I’m not sure when he thinks he’s going to fish.”
“You’re out of a job. Maybe you could do it now, although I really like the idea you have for a TV show.”
Grant shook his head, finally smiling again, showing off his subtle dimples. “I’m not cut out to be a fisherman. I like my feet on dry land, or at least dangling over dry land.” The finger tracing began again. “And I also like that you like my idea for a TV show.” Mildly melancholy faded away, turning to sweet and sexy. “Maybe you could be the host of my show? That would be fun, right? Any interest in being on TV?”
Delaney’s laughter came forth so fast and loud she had to clap a hand over her mouth. The S.S. Irony had just set sail. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have no interest in being on TV.”
“What’cha making there, honeybun?” Reggie asked, sitting down next to her on the green sofa. They’d been on the road for a while, but another arctic blast had paralyzed the entire east side of the country, making travel slow and treacherous. They were still hours away from Memphis and Delaney was about ready to get out and push this bus just to make it go faster.
She paused at Reggie’s question and held up a wad of soft blue yarn. “A baby hat.”
His expression registered surprise, followed by tenderness as he glanced at her stomach, then back at her face. “Aww. Congratulations, darlin’.”
Grant looked up quickly from the magazine he was reading, eyes rounding like a startled cartoon character. Finch and Humphrey stared at her too. This must have been how Snow White felt when the seven dwarves came home from the mines—assuming Snow White had just announced her unexpected pregnancy.
Delaney let out a short burst of laughter. “Not a baby hat for me. I’m not . . . well, I’m just . . . not. These hats are to donate to charity, although I’m not very good at knitting. I’m not sure any charity will want them.”
“If they take used bras and undies, I think they’ll take your hats.”
“Let me see that,” Humphrey said, moving to sit down on the other side of her. “You’re doing that wrong. Wrap the yarn around this way.”
She let him take the needles from her hand. “You’re a knitter?”
His smile was confident. “My grandma taught me. I can crochet and sew too.”
“Humphrey is going to make someone a wonderful wife one day,” Finch said.
“Hey!” Reggie reached over and cuffed his brother on the kneecap. “That is pure chauvinism talking. If he wants to explore his feminine side, we should encourage that.”
“Yeah?”
“Hells, yeah. Somebody on this bus should learn to cook.” The brothers snickered but Humphrey seemed unfazed.
“I didn’t realize those were baby hats you were making,” Grant said. “What made you decide to make baby hats?”
Delaney shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seemed like something I could do to make the world a sweeter place.”
His gaze held hers, and she didn’t know why he was looking at her that way, as if he was working through something in his mind. Almost smiling, but mostly not. It sparked a fire down low, and she wondered how much longer she’d be able to resist him. Had they been in any other setting last night, things would have gotten much hotter, so maybe getting snowed in with this bus full of chaperones was for the best.