Inappropriate - Vi Keeland Page 0,41
plush navy linens. One of the walls was covered in black and white photos of boats sailing on the water with matte black frames. I walked over and looked at some of them.
“These are beautiful. Did you take them?”
“No. They’re all the different models my grandfather built over the years. The photos are all of the prototypes taking their first sail.”
I pointed to the one in the center. “Is this this boat?”
Grant stood close behind me, close enough that I felt the heat emanating from his body. “It is. That was taken in 1965.”
“Crazy. I can’t get over how old this boat is. If you told me it was a year old, I’d believe it.”
“That’s what people loved about his models. They have a timeless quality about them.”
I looked closer at the photo. “There’s no name on the back yet.”
“The showroom samples and prototypes were never named. It’s bad luck to change a boat’s name. So it was up to the first owner to name her.”
I turned around, and suddenly the big room seemed much smaller. Grant didn’t back up. “Her? Is a boat always a her?”
He nodded. “Pops would say sailors of the past were almost always men and often dedicated their ships to goddesses who would protect their vessel in rough seas.” Grant brushed a hair from my shoulder. “But I think they’re women because they’re high maintenance.”
“High maintenance, huh? Well, you live on a boat, so you must not mind high maintenance, then?”
His eyes dropped to my lips, and he smirked. “Apparently high maintenance is my type. Easy is boring.”
I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me, and in the moment, I would have let him, but instead his eyes caught my gaze. “Come on. I promised you a drink and a sunset.”
We went out to the front of the boat, and Grant set up a tray of all different finger foods he’d bought at the Italian market. It was enough food for three meals.
“Do you always buy enough for ten people? I’m sensing a pattern here between lunch the other day and all of this.”
“The pattern is wanting to make sure you’re taken care of, not being wasteful.”
I smiled. “Are you always this accommodating to your dates?”
“Considering you’re the first woman sitting on my boat for a sunset, I’d have to say no.”
I tilted my head. “What’s your story? You said the other day you haven’t had a relationship in seven years. Is it because you work a lot?”
Grant seemed to consider his words. “Partly. I do work a lot. Contrary to your initial opinion of me—where you assumed I was a spoiled silver spoon who didn’t work—I put in a ten- to twelve-hour day at the office most weekdays and a half day on Saturday.”
“I’m never going to live that email down, am I?”
He shook his head. “Not likely.”
I sighed. “Okay, Mr. Workaholic. So let’s back up. I asked if you hadn’t had a relationship in seven years because you’re busy, and your answer was partly. What’s the other part? For some reason, I feel like you’re leaving out an important piece of the story.”
Grant’s eyes settled on mine for a few heartbeats, but then he looked away to pick up his wine. “I was married. Been divorced for seven years.”
“You must’ve been married young. Or are you older than you look?”
He nodded.
A few minutes ago, he’d seemed relaxed, but his composure totally changed now. His jaw tightened, he avoided eye contact, and his movements were rigid, as if all the muscles in his body had contracted at once.
“I’m twenty-nine. Got married at twenty-one.”
Even though he looked completely uncomfortable discussing the subject, I pushed a bit more. “So you were only married for a year, then?”
He gulped back his wine. “Almost, yes. A few months less.”
“Were you high school sweethearts or something?”
“Sort of. Lily was one of my parents’ foster kids for a while. Actually, she came and went a lot over the years.”
Though he was answering my questions, he wasn’t really offering too much information. I sipped my wine. “Can I ask what happened? Did you grow apart or something?”
Grant was quiet for a moment and then looked me in the eyes. “No, she ruined my life.”
Okay then. He spoke so sternly that it caught me off guard. I had no idea how to respond. Though Grant took care of that for me.
“Why don’t we talk about you? I’m trying to work my way up from drinks to a full-blown date.