In preparation for when he returned, a sea of explanations tripped through her mind. All the various things she could say the moment his eyes met hers in order to explain her presence in his house.
She hurried to the door and parted the curtains to peer out into the night. Rain and darkness stared back at her; the verdant green she’d come to associate with Scotland was gone, put to rest with the night.
Letting the curtains fall back, she moved into the kitchen, following the savory aroma of whatever was cooking in the pot on the stove. Her stomach growled. The tour bus had provided a sandwich, apple, and water at lunch, but that felt a lifetime ago. She never was one to skip a meal. That had been a bone of contention with both her exes. First Eric and then Charlie. The only boyfriends she ever had. Both guys thought she should eat less and hit the gym more.
Well, at least she could eat whatever she wanted without feeling guilty now. No more pointed glances at her plate. No more of those hated lifted eyebrows when she ordered dessert. And no more spending her money on a gym membership she didn’t want. Half the time she lied anyway and didn’t go to the gym. She’d tell Eric or Charlie she was going to the gym and then she’d go sit in a coffeehouse with a book and yummy drink.
No more pretending. Period.
No more trying to make herself fit with guys who only ever wanted to change her. For the first time in her life, she acknowledged she’d rather be alone than with a guy who felt all wrong. It was like a great weight lifted off her shoulders with that realization.
She’d tried explaining it to Grams. The funny thing was… Grams had been widowed forever. She’d lived most of her life without a husband. She was a strong, independent woman. No one told her what to do. No one dared criticize her. She ate as much dessert as she wanted.
She’d raised Thea all by herself after her parents died. Thea had been four when she went to live with her. She barely remembered her parents, but Grams had always been there. Every field trip. Every graduation. Every boy that came to the door, Grams was there to grill. Grams would never conform to a man’s expectations of her. She was no wilting flower, so Thea didn’t understand why she expected Thea to be one and marry a man who wanted her as long as she changed everything about herself.
She lifted the lid and picked up the wooden spoon resting nearby. She stirred the pot, her mouth salivating at the sight of chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots in a brown gravy broth.
There was enough in the pot to feed an entire family and still leave leftovers. No one would notice if she ate one bowl. When the old man returned she’d offer to pay him back for everything. For borrowing his clothes, eating his food, for a lift to the nearest village.
Decision made, she plucked a bowl out from a cabinet and ladled a healthy portion for herself. She had to hand it to the old man who lived here. He didn’t skimp on the meat and vegetables.
Charlie had liked soups and stews, but they’d been broth mostly. Not much else. He cut calories that way. He’d always been focused on their diets. Especially hers. She was a curvy girl: her hips, her ass, her D-size cups. That was how she was built. He had wanted all that to change, however. To shrink.
Hopefully Charlie was enjoying his newfound freedom without her. The thing that smarted the most was he had dumped her and not the other way around. She wished she’d had the courage to end it first.
At that regret, she made a sound of disgust as she went in search of a spoon, licking the bit of soup that had gotten on her thumb and moaning in appreciation. She could taste the butter. And what else was in there? Sherry? Whoever lived here, he could definitely cook.
Locating a spoon, she sat down at the kitchen table and dug in. She ate with gusto until the bowl was empty. Too bad there wasn’t any bread around to mop up the last bit of broth. Sighing contentedly, she rubbed her stomach and stood from the table. Taking her bowl and spoon, she washed them out in the sink and put them away.
Moving back to the fire, she let the warmth sink into her bones. She glanced toward the door again. The rain and wind were really picking up. She felt a stab of concern. What could be keeping the man who lived here? He couldn’t have meant to be gone long or he wouldn’t have left a pot simmering on the stove. She hoped he was okay.
Yawning, she settled down on the couch and sank into the well-worn cushions. Blinking, she trained her gaze on the door, practicing in her head what she was going to say. She’d begin with an apology and segue into how she had been stranded and had no choice but to take shelter in his house.
Her lids grew heavy and she gave herself a small shake, determined to stay awake, determined that the patter of rain, crackle of fire, and her full belly not lull her to sleep. She refused to be caught in such a vulnerable position.
With her head resting on a couch cushion, she curled on her side. Tucking her knees to her chest, she pulled the delicious flannel shirt down to her ankles. She would lay like this for a few minutes. No more than that. She wouldn’t close her eyes.
She wouldn’t fall asleep.
~
Tired and warm, her belly now full from her tasty meal, Goldilocks fell fast asleep, unaware that she had taken shelter in the house of a foul-tempered bear.
~
Thea released a startled gasp as a roar ripped her from sleep.
For a moment she couldn’t place where she was. Bewildered, she thought she was back in her apartment in Phoenix and her roommate was playing some kind of trick on her. Gina would do something like that.
But then it all flooded back. She was on a couch. In a strange house in Scotland.
And she wasn’t alone.
The man who lived here had returned and walked in on her asleep on his couch—in his shirt. Precisely what she had hoped wouldn’t happen. She’d wanted to greet him and introduce herself. Explain her situation.
She froze, feeling like prey caught in the sights of a predator. She stared straight ahead. Directly at a pair of denim-clad legs in front of her.
Mortified, she popped up in a sitting position and dropped her feet to the floor. Her blonde hair sprang into her face. She dragged the out-of-control mass back. Her hair had mostly dried, and she could only imagine the bird’s nest it looked like. Her gaze shot to the stranger’s glowering face.
Not an old man. Not by a long shot. Crap. A young man. She processed this with her quickly waking mind.
He was young. Maybe only a few years older than herself, but that was hard to know for certain. The scowl on his face undoubtedly aged him. Too bad it didn’t detract from his hotness factor. Gina would call him lickable. His dark hair and close-cropped beard glistened wetly. He wore a slicker that dripped water onto his floor. He hadn’t bothered to take it off yet, and he didn’t seem to care. He must have spotted her right away when he entered the house.
The longer she stared at him, that scowl of his seemed to deepen.