Rainy Day Friends Read online

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “I know.”

  She gaped at his back. “You’re the one who keeps leaving me coffee.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How did you even know I like three sugars?”

  “Because I pay attention,” he said. “And by the way, that stuff’ll kill you.”

  “Says the guy who inhales three pieces of lasagna and cheesy bread almost daily for lunch.”

  “See, you pay attention to me too.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “And it’s hard not to notice because you eat whatever you want and you still get to look like you do.”

  He smiled. “So you do like the way I look while you’re pretending to hate me.”

  She sighed. “I don’t hate you.”

  When he stopped walking, she nearly plowed into him, having to plant her other hand on his back, which was how she discovered that the promise of a great body he gave in clothes most definitely was true because beneath his shirt, he was solid, lean muscle.

  When he gave a soft laugh, she realized they were standing in front of her cottage and she was still staring at his body, so she closed her eyes. “What are we doing, Mark?”

  “You’re going to go inside and get your bathing suit. We’re going somewhere.”

  “Somewhere where?”

  He let out a long breath and stared at his shoes for a beat, either trying to hold himself back from strangling her or trying not to laugh. “Are you always this difficult?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately. “And I’m not getting my bathing suit.”

  Because she didn’t have one here—not that he needed to know this . . .

  “Fine.” Once more they were on the move. Two minutes later, they were out front and he was helping her into the passenger side of his big truck.

  “I’m not going swimming, or whatever you have in mind—” she started.

  He shut the door on her, rounded the front of the truck, and ambled in behind the wheel.

  “Wow,” she said.

  He slid her a look. “I know enough about women to know that even when she says ‘Wow’ I should be shaking in my boots.”

  “So why aren’t you?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  She snorted. “Right. Like you’re afraid of anything.”

  He shrugged. “You’d be surprised.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m afraid of something happening to the people I care about,” he said and slid her a look. “Including you.”

  “What else?” she asked, trying to ignore the flutter at the “including you” thing.

  “Dating apps. And a woman saying ‘Wow.’”

  She laughed. “This is kidnapping, you know. You’re an officer of the law and you’re breaking that law.”

  He just flashed her a grin that, damn, was potent as hell. “You want to call 9-1-1?” He tossed her his phone. “Go for it.”

  “I have my own phone.” But she looked down at his and swiped her thumb across the screen. “Passcode required.”

  They were on the highway now. “It’s Sam and Sea,” he said.

  She had to try three times to get the code right. It was SamNSea. “Sweet,” she murmured, not liking that she thought so. Because now that she knew a little bit about him—things like the fact that he was a pretty amazing dad—something was happening to her inner decree not to like him.

  Emotionally detach, she ordered herself, no matter that he smells good and has a body you want to lick like an ice cream cone. But instead of calling 9-1-1, she accessed his photos. Hey, he’d been stupid enough to let her into his phone . . . There weren’t many pics. A few of a group of military guys, of which he was one. It wasn’t odd to see him in uniform, armed to the teeth. But it was odd to see him in military uniform, face blank of emotion, standing tall and stoic.

  Then there were pictures of the twins. More of those than his military life.

  And . . . little else.

  She went to his texts next. He had a few ongoing conversations. A group text with Samantha and Sierra, and another with some guys named Boomer and Mick, something about an upcoming fishing trip, and one with his mom.

  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked in a lazy, casual voice that told her he was amused, curious about her curiosity, and . . . had nothing to hide.

  “No,” she said, almost annoyed she couldn’t find anything to fault.

  He pulled into a Taco Bell and turned to her. “What’s your poison?”

  “You live at a winery that has the best food on the planet and you’re choosing this for dinner?”

  He shrugged. “I’m hungry. You want something or not?”

  She sighed and leaned in over him to read the menu, ignoring the urge to press her nose to his throat and inhale the yummy scent that was one Mark Capriotti. “Three Taco Supremes, nachos, and an order of Cinnabons,” she said. She sank back into her seat and sneaked a peek at his face.

  He was fighting a smile.

  “You have a problem with my order?” she asked.

  “Hell, no.” He turned to the window. “Double that order, please, and add a few chalupas.”

  Gaze still locked on his because she couldn’t seem to tear it away, she did her best to shrug casually. “Decent choice in food,” she gave him.

  He laughed.

  “This is still kidnapping, you know,” she informed him after he’d paid and taken them back on the road.

  “Noted,” he said, and ten minutes later pulled into a deserted parking lot.

  “Uh-oh.” She looked around. Green rolling hills, all wild grass, gorgeous sprawling oak trees reaching to the sky. No one for as far as the eye could see. “You’re going to let me eat before you murder me, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She snorted and he gave her a look that, well . . . made her damp in places that had no business going damp. Then he grabbed the food and got out of the truck.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He shut the door. She watched him walk off and said “Hey” again, not that he could hear her. “You’re not going to follow him,” she said out loud. “No way.” She really wasn’t. But . . . she was hungry.

  Dammit.

  Rolling her eyes at herself, she got out of the truck and looked around. Ahead of her was nothing but a set of bluffs as far as the eye could see and . . . a set of long, steep stairs that led straight down to a beach.

  The sun was close to setting, which meant that the entire horizon was on fire in glorious golds and reds, making everything look soft and beautiful.

  Mark had walked over to a rocky cliff overhang and sat, his feet dangling over the ledge. He reached into the bag and grabbed a taco and a hot sauce packet, which he poured liberally over the taco. Then he did a wash-and-repeat with a second sauce.

  “Hope you’re saving some of those for me,” she said.

  “There’s two kinds of people out here. The quick and the hungry. Learned that early at home.”

  Not wanting to be one of the hungry ones, she moved toward him. He gestured with a jerk of his chin for her to sit.

  Which she did, keeping a healthy eye to the edge, where she most definitely did not hang her feet like he did. He handed her the bag, letting her choose what she wanted from it. “I’m trying to picture the insulted expression on your mom’s face over our dinner choice,” she said.

  He snorted. “Don’t let her fool you. I caught her last week at McDonald’s inhaling a Big Mac and large fries. It was a long-standing joke date between her and my dad; they’d sneak out once a week for Mickey D’s and sit on the beach and eat alone together. They did that for three decades until he died a few years ago.” He said this with clear affection and something inside her melted a little bit.

  “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thanks. Me too.” He caught her look and cocked his head. “So is your mom as batshit crazy as mine?”

  “Yes, but not the nice kind of crazy. More like . . .�€