Grant had said their relationship had changed for him, but he’d also grabbed at the first opportunity to back off. He’d been all too willing to follow her principal’s advice and spend less time together. Not a week ago he’d had a rule against kissing her. Why?
And why did thinking about him and Carlene hurt so much? Zoe should be angry, not hurt. After all, it was supposed to be physical for her—a way to get over the desire for Grant that had plagued her since she was sixteen.
Her emotions were not supposed to be involved.
She yanked her glove back on and surveyed the bathroom, looking for something else to clean. The small room sparkled more than it ever had when she’d cleaned it for her mom, when her family had lived in this house.
And she still felt the ache in her heart.
She had already vacuumed every inch of the Pattersons’ home. Even the rooms she had left closed up. She had scrubbed down the counters in the kitchen, the floors, the windows and the mirrors. She pushed herself to do one more thing, to clean the last little nook, hoping that in doing so she would fall exhausted into bed tonight.
Then perhaps she would not lie awake for hours, tormenting herself with thoughts of Grant and Carlene.
Sighing, she peeled off her gloves and sat on the toilet seat. Right. She could work sixteen hours shoveling horse manure and she’d still go to bed and dream about Grant, with the dreams becoming nightmares mixed with memories from four years ago now Carlene had entered them.
The insistent chime of the doorbell penetrated her acidic thoughts. She considered not answering. Maybe whoever it was would go away. She knew it wasn’t Tyler this time, because he’d been with Jenny when Zoe called. Which left Grant.
She’d told him to call her, not come by. She wasn’t up to seeing him.
She tucked her feet up on the toilet seat and locked her arms around her knees, staring at the opening to the hall and willing him to leave. Loud pounding was interspersed with repeated peals from the doorbell. She tried covering her ears, but the sounds penetrated. She glared at the bucket of cleaning supplies, but they weren’t going to help her—unless she planned to get rid of him with a squirt from the ammonia bottle.
She pushed herself up and went to answer the door.
Opening it a crack, she peered out.
She’d been right. It was Grant. “Open the door, Zoe. It’s damn cold out here.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m not leaving.” His tone had the implacability of a rock wall. “You might as well open up and let me in.”
The thought of sending him away hurt more than the prospect of talking to him, so she obeyed, and then stood in shocked amazement at the sight before her. She could barely see Grant for all the flowers he held in his arms. He had at least three dozen roses in different shades, a bunch of colorful blooms made into a bouquet cradled in one arm and a potted mini-rosebush clutched in his free hand.
“Do you think I could come in?”
She stepped back and let him inside.
“Where do you want these?”
“Are they for me?” She wasn’t taking anything for granted.
“Who else would they be for?” When she just stared at him, his mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t answer that. Just tell me where to put them.”
She led him into the kitchen. “I’ll look for some containers.”
She found a box of wide-mouth quart-size mason jars with Mrs. Pattersons’ canning supplies. Zoe used them for the roses and the colorful bouquet. Grant went back outside and returned with several more bouquets and potted flowers. She put the mini-rosebush and other live plants on the counter next to the sink. When she was done, and Grant had made one more trip out to his truck, Mrs. Patterson’s kitchen resembled a florist shop.
“What’s this all about, Grant?”
His blue eyes speared her with their intensity. “It’s about giving the right signals. I didn’t want there to be any more confusion.”
“You mean it’s not an apology for me catching you entertaining Carlene dressed like a male fantasy come true?”
He frowned, running his tanned fingers through the thick blackness of his hair. “No. I didn’t invite her over. I know you believe me about that.”
His eyes dared her to disagree with him. She didn’t. The fact she believed he hadn’t invited Carlene over didn’t make the memory of the other woman standing in his doorway wearing fishnet stockings any less painful.
His gaze speared her. “The only fantasy come true for me is you…dressed any way at all…but undressed would be even better.”
Her heart jogged and her betrayer of a body jolted at his words. “Then why did you bring the flowers?”