that her eyes were still a little puffy and red around the edges.
She still couldn't believe she'd cried last night - that she'd actually lain in the guest bed and sobbed into the pillow to make sure the sound didn't carry to the rest of the house. Her twin sister Sophie had always been the crier - over sad books or when someone got hurt or even when one of their brothers did something really great like win the World Series or an Oscar - but never Lori.
She'd rather hug or kiss or dance. Anything but cry.
She tried to tell herself that they had been angry tears. Frustrated tears. Exhausted tears. But it was no use, not when she knew there had been plenty of self-pitying tears mixed in, too. And those were the ones that she absolutely wouldn't stand for.
Lori Sullivan wasn't someone who felt sorry for herself. She didn't have time for that nonsense.
Moving quickly, she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt from last night and looked through the shoes in her bags. Mostly heels. The closest she had to farm-appropriate shoes was a pair of ballet flats. She sighed at the thought of just how quickly they were sure to get ruined in the dirt and mud and grass, but slipped them on anyway. Just then, she finally looked out her bedroom window and her breath caught at the view of Grayson's land in the morning light.
My God, it was beautiful here. She'd noticed the beauty yesterday, of course, but every moment since she'd gotten on the plane in Chicago had felt like such a battle, and she'd been so tired that she hadn't really seen Pescadero clearly.
With wonder, she drank in the open sky, grass so green it almost hurt her eyes, and -
Oh my. Grayson was working without his shirt on, sweat gleaming on his incredible muscles as he chopped wood like a man possessed.
The natural beauty of his farm was breathtaking, but once she caught sight of him, she couldn't pull her gaze away. Not when he had to be the most perfectly built man she'd ever seen. Which was saying a lot, considering that as a choreographer and dancer she worked with amazingly chiseled men on a daily basis.
And then, suddenly, he paused and turned his face toward her window, catching her with her mouth watering and her body reacting to him even from a distance.
Normally, she would have thought being stuck with a gorgeous man was a plus. But now, instead of being a bonus, Grayson's looks were a huge negative. Thank God he had such a gruff personality, or she'd really be in trouble.
In any case, she decided as she forced herself to turn away from the window, she was determined to be positive from here on out. No more self-pity. No more wallowing in how bad her decisions had been over the past year or so, especially those that had involved Victor. She was going to charge full speed into the fresh start she'd decided on yesterday.
Starving again, when she walked into the kitchen and didn't see any evidence that Grayson had eaten yet, she decided to make them both breakfast. When the bacon was nearly crisp and the eggs were almost ready to slide out of the frying pan, she opened the front door and yelled, "Breakfast!" the same way she had her whole childhood when it was time for her brothers and sister to come to the table.
With eight kids, everyone in her family'd had a chore. She'd been in charge of cooking breakfast, getting everyone to the table, and cleaning up the kitchen afterward. That skill set had come in handy many, many times as an adult. Not only for overnight guests, but also when out on the road with a troupe of dancers. She refused to let anyone who danced for her starve themselves when she needed them at their very best and she had wooed more than one figure-conscious performer with her signature blueberry and lemon pancakes.
She was just pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into glasses when Grayson walked in. He was sweaty and had wood chips stuck in his hair and to his clothes, but at least he'd put his shirt on, thank God. She didn't think she could handle another close-up shot of all that male perfection - not before getting some sustenance in her to build up some resistance, anyway.
He didn't say anything, not "Good morning" or "Thanks for breakfast," just