Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,61
As it is now, technically, it’s just an additional burden. As the landlord, I’m responsible if anything goes wrong with the place. I mean, the management company is still on the lease agreement, so that’s who Lani would call to come fix whatever . . . but then they’ll call me for payment.”
“There are ways around that, but that’s not the main thing at the moment.”
She looked at him. “Ways around it how?”
“Your aunt was infirm and had no choice but to sign on with a management company. You’re not in the same position—that’s all I’m saying.”
“I don’t know the first thing about doing building repair or whatnot.”
“True, but you’re on a small island where if you ask pretty much anybody how to fix something, they will tell you who to call. I think if you handled whatever came up on a case by case basis, you could cut out the middleman.”
“Because the management company will charge a fee on top of the repair fee.”
“Exactly. When you lived out in that barn of yours, surely things came up that you had to deal with.”
“True, but—” She blew out a breath. “Actually, there are no buts. I didn’t always fix the things that needed fixing, but when I had to, I did. So, you’re right. One less thing to worry about. Maybe.”
He grinned over at her. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
She couldn’t help it—when he grinned like that, she grinned, too. “Yeah, I have enough actual trouble already.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She laughed. “You didn’t have to.”
It surprised her that she wasn’t more spun up at the moment, given the avalanche of crap she had to figure out and the healthy dose of terror that went along with the idea she was going to try to open a shop, anyway. In fact, though there were a hundred different thoughts fighting for first place on the worry list, she was a lot more relaxed than she’d imagined was possible. And she knew she owed that to the man sitting beside her.
She scrunched up her nose. That was funny, because the very last thing he made her feel was relaxed. Maybe it was just having someone to talk things through with again. It helped. A lot. She knew she’d missed her aunt a great deal, but she was realizing the loss ran even deeper than she’d known.
She turned toward him. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her as he took the turn toward the causeway, a lifted brow his only response.
“For . . . well, for all of it, but mostly for the ear. And the shoulder.”
“Everyone needs one now and again.”
“I’m thinking you don’t.”
“Just because I don’t bend someone’s ear or cry on their shoulder doesn’t mean I don’t have my fair share of frustrations. Just ask Lolly. Good thing she’s a dog and not a kid, because she’s heard some very naughty words.”
Honey snickered.
He slid a glance her way again, accompanied by that slow, sexy grin that did shivery, tingling things to her insides. Now that she knew she hadn’t imagined how good that mouth of his tasted, it also made everything that could ache . . . ache that much harder.
She pressed her thighs together and tried like hell to keep her thoughts on the more important business at hand. And tried not to remember the look on his face when he’d lifted his head from that last kiss. Like maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d been completely and utterly poleaxed by it. There’d be time for endless analysis later. And probably one or two very heated dreams as well.
“For the record,” she said, “I might have whined a little, but I didn’t cry.”
“Oh, those eyes of yours were swimmin’ yesterday. How soon you forget.”
“That doesn’t count. I can’t help things like that when I’m . . . seeing stuff. It’s . . . emotional.”
Dylan slowed the truck as he bumped over the grids at the island end of the causeway and looked at her. “How does that work, anyway? Do you just see things, like you’re watching a movie, or—”
Honey shook her head. “I see things like I’m actually there. Sometimes I’m an observer and I want to rush in and help. It’s very frustrating, because it’s like I’m running through mud and what I see is always out in front of me. I can never catch up, never change what’s going to happen. Other times, it’s like I’m the person it’s happening to. Or I’m in their head, seeing what they see.