“You’re plenty presentable,” he said, walking in past her. “You don’t need a bit of make-up and you’re wearing more clothing than most of the people I hang out with. We’re at the beach. No biggie. Where’s the kitchen?” He carried on into the room and down the hallway.
Callie shut the door and followed behind him, unsuccessfully tugging on her T-shirt to try to make it longer. “Do you always just burst into other people’s houses?” she asked quietly as they entered the kitchen.
She had no idea about the state of her hair but she couldn’t comb it with her fingers or her T-shirt would ride up. When he turned to look at her, she squared her shoulders proudly as if she didn’t care a thing about how she looked. Why should she anyway? But then she wondered if anyone had followed him. The paparazzi might be taking photos of them right now through the window. She’d be the scandalous Other Woman in a feature about that actress girlfriend of his or something. She yanked her shirt down again.
“I didn’t burst in,” he said. “I knocked. You opened the door.” He handed her a paper cup of coffee. “It’s a caramel macchiato.” He started rooting around in the bag that he’d set in the only clear area on the counter, paint supplies and extra floor tiles taking nearly all of the space.
“How do you know I like caramel macchiatos?” She did, but she wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that right away. He was too smug.
He didn’t look up. “All girls like caramel macchiatos.”
She gasped in disbelief at his generalization. Just because all the girls he knew liked them—
But before she could say anything, he redeemed himself a little. “But if you didn’t like it, I was going to offer my vanilla latte.” He handed her a breakfast sandwich wrapped in paper. “This is a buttermilk biscuit with eggs, cheese, and bacon. Is it safe to say that you like this?”
“Yes.” She took it from him and allowed herself a little smile.
“And just so you know, the barista told me that all women like caramel macchiatos. I’ve never been to the coffee shop before. I have someone who cooks for me usually. I went there because I thought you’d like it.”
She stood still for just a tick, letting his gesture sink in. “What made you think I’d like it?” she asked, trying to will the flutter from her chest. He’d surprised her.
“Because I asked a few people on the street to tell me where to get the best breakfast in town, and they said it was the best. And when I got there, I saw their lunch menu had crab cake sandwiches, so I thought it was a good sign.” He grinned at her, his smugness now taking on a new light. He wasn’t being arrogant, he was proud of himself for following a hunch and getting it right. She had to drink her coffee to keep the silly smile off her face. He was thoughtful.
“Do I smell coffee?” Olivia said from down the hallway. She entered the kitchen in her thin nightgown. “Oh!” She crossed her arms, her panic-stricken gaze flying over to Callie’s bare legs and then back to Luke before questions filled her eyes.
Luke handed her the other caramel macchiato.
Clutching her coffee to her chest, still trying to cover herself, Olivia smiled nervously. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“It’s a caramel macchiato,” he said with a nod.
“Oh, that’s my favorite!”
Luke and Callie shared a glance and she shook her head with a grin.
“So he just… came over?” Olivia whispered to Callie as they finished getting dressed.
Callie nodded. “He seems to do what he wants, doesn’t he?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean any harm. Maybe he really wants to help out.”
Callie squinted her eyes at Olivia in doubt. She led the way downstairs, her long hair pulled up into a high ponytail, no make-up on purpose. She wasn’t going to do anything special just for Luke Sullivan. In fact, she wanted him to see how average folks got things done when they didn’t have a staff to do it for them.
Callie grabbed Olivia’s arm, stopping her as they entered the large living room. They hung back, Callie watching to see how Luke handled himself. Wyatt—still in his Spider-Man pajamas, his red curls in a tangle on top of his head—was going through his Matchbox car collection. Luke, holding one of the cars in his hand, was smiling and had squatted down to Wyatt’s level.
“I made a ramp outside yesterday,” Wyatt said. “It’s still there. Wanna see it? We could try it out.”
“Absolutely.”
“Wyatt, honey, Luke brought breakfast,” Olivia said as she and Callie came into the room. “Maybe you can show him after.”
Callie took Luke outside through the back door while Olivia got Wyatt the breakfast he’d brought. She stood, facing the view, her hands on her hips, wondering why he’d come today but not wanting to ask. It was early still, and the sun had just risen over the horizon—a glorious bright orange orb floating above the glistening sea as the waves crept ashore, the powdery sand soaking up their foam. The wind tickled her face with wisps of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail. She pushed them behind her ear. Callie was glad that most of the work on the front of the house was nearly done. She wouldn’t mind working with this breeze at all.
Luke looked over at her and smiled before turning back toward the shore. “There’s nothing better than this, is there?” he asked.
“It is a great view,” she agreed. “We’re going to have porches that stretch across the back of the house here.” She pointed to the top of the cottage where the construction had begun. “Each level will have its own double doors that open on to it.”
“That sounds nice.” His shirt rippled in the wind, pressing against his body, revealing the shape of his chest, and erasing any doubt about whether or not he worked out. She noticed the round of his bicep as he lifted his arm to run his hand through his blowing hair.
Callie dragged her eyes away and focused on the house. “I’m going to paint the trim on the side of the house over there.” She pointed to a small section with a bay window allowing a view of Wyatt and Olivia in the kitchen. “I figured I could do that first before it gets too hot, then I’ve got a little bit of sanding and painting to do where I took wallpaper off in the living room. Since you’re here, I might as well put you to work.”
“Sounds good.” He had his game-face on, that air of challenge returning, but a flirty look in his eye. She ignored it. He was easy to like, and while he hadn’t listened when she’d told him not to come, she admired his perseverance. Maybe he really did want to get to know her better.
“Why don’t you go around front and get the ladders. They’re leaning on the house by the porch. I’ll pour the paint for the trim.”