Kiss Me Now: A Romantic Comedy Read online

  “When...”

  She gave me a tight smile. “He was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for a little while. It made me wish I’d lived closer all along. He was a quiet man, but interesting once you got him talking. Layers I wouldn’t have expected.”

  I didn’t doubt the woman in front of me was masterful at insinuating herself into the life of a lonely old widower like Fred, peeling back those layers with solicitous questions, pretending interest in his ordinary existence. The proof was in her inheritance. She’d ingratiated herself to him late in his life, and magically, a short time later, he’d bequeathed her everything. Fred Sandberg’s house was not even a third the size of Gran’s, more cottage than estate, but it was still plenty of room for the average family, and the land it sat on made it a super generous inheritance. A strange gift for a grand-niece Fred hadn’t known well.

  “You must have been surprised when he left you his property,” I said casually, but my tone didn’t fool Gran who flashed me a warning look.

  “Ignore my grandson, Brooke,” she said. “It’s his nature to dig into everyone’s business. He claims he doesn’t work for the CIA, but I don’t believe him. Don’t know what else could explain why he’s always so nosy.” She softened the insult with a smile full of warmth.

  “I’m not a spy, Gran. I’ve been telling her that for years,” I explained to Brooke.

  “That’s exactly what a spy would say,” Brooke said.

  Gran laughed. “And that’s exactly what I say to Ian every time he denies it.” I listened to their exchange with a half-smile, but their easiness with each other made me distinctly uneasy.

  “What is it you do then?” Brooke asked.

  “Didn’t Gran tell you?” I asked. “She makes it sound like her grandkids are the only thing she ever talks about.”

  “Um, let me think.” Her forehead wrinkled. “One of your brothers is...a lawyer?” Gran gave her an encouraging nod. “And your sister is an artist. That must mean you’re the other lawyer.”

  “Gran wishes I were a lawyer.”

  Brooke’s expression grew confused. “Didn’t you tell me he works at some big shot law firm?”

  Her question was for Gran, but I interjected before Gran could answer. I wanted to see her reaction to the news of what I really did. “I do work for the most prestigious law firm in the District. But I’m not an attorney. I’m their lead investigator.”

  For a split second, her face froze, then her polite listening expression reappeared. “Sounds interesting.” But her tone was deeply disinterested.

  “It can be,” I said. “Sometimes it’s long, boring stakeouts. But sometimes it’s uncovering the kind of corruption that average Americans don’t realize is disenfranchising them.”

  “Sounds like you like your job.”

  I shrugged, not taking my eyes off her. “I’m at least very good at it.”

  She blinked and turned away, giving a slight sniff. “Smells as delicious as usual, Miss Lily.”

  Mary appeared in the doorway to confirm what our noses were telling us. “Dinner’s ready, y’all.”

  I rose and offered Gran my arm as my mom had taught me to do when I was little, and she settled her small hand into the crook of my elbow and led the way to the breakfast nook. She preferred to eat there instead of the formal dining room unless the party was large.

  As we settled around the oak table, I continued to monitor Brooke closely without appearing to do so. It was a necessary skill for an investigator, the ability to observe carefully without making the subject feel like she was under a microscope.

  I wondered first at her age. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five, but she carried herself with the confidence of someone with more life experience, which made me stick with my original guess of thirty. Next, I listened for the way she spoke. She didn’t have a discernible accent, but she was articulate in a way that suggested a good education. That or she was a gifted mimic of educated people. I’d seen it go both ways. She had to have at least a bachelor’s degree to also hold a teaching credential, but I’d uncover all these things when I did an Internet search after dinner.

  The average American would be appalled by how easy it was to examine the minutiae of their lives with a visit to a few databases, but it definitely made my job easier.

  Gran had chosen a cabernet for the roast, and I poured a glass of wine and hid a smile behind it. Poor Brooke. She might be good enough to fool lonely senior citizens with her sweet smile and interested questions, but she couldn’t fool my Google skills.

  “How’s the house coming along?” Gran asked her.

  “Slowly,” Brooke said with a sigh. I was content to let Gran steer the conversation. It gave me more opportunity to observe my subject. “It’s a great house,” she explained to me. “But I don’t think my uncle did a single update the whole time he owned it. Tomorrow I start the floors.” She followed that with a grimace. “It’s a big job, but it’s cheaper to rent the equipment and do it myself than hire a contractor.”

  She was very good. She was too smart to come out and say, “I sure wish someone would give me the money to do this.” Instead, she planted subtle hints about the scope of the work and the expense of the undertaking.

  Gran shot Brooke an admiring smile. “This one is convinced there’s nothing she can’t conquer with the right YouTube tutorial.”

  “Oh, it’s never just one,” Brooke said, with a shake of her head and a small laugh. “You have to watch at least ten, and the correct answer lies somewhere in the middle. You start to see a consensus about a few things, and then you can piece together an approach that will get the job done.”

  “Ian is pretty handy,” Gran said. “My John made all our kids help keep this place running, assigning them to shifts with the groundskeeper during the week and overseeing their chores himself on the weekend.”

  Gramps had been a gruff old man for as long as I could remember, a result of him presiding over the law school at the University of Virginia for so many years. “Lawyers make me cranky,” Gramps had told me one summer when I visited. “Don’t be one.” Somehow, I’d still ended up working with lawyers anyway, and unsurprisingly, Gramps had been exactly right about them.

  “I’ll send Ian over to help tomorrow,” Gran said in a tone that made it clear she’d made up her mind.

  Foolish Brooke attempted to argue with her. “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ve already remodeled an entire bathroom with the help of YouTube and calling Grace at the hardware store in town every time I have a question. I’m sure they’ll both get me through another Saturday without much trouble.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m happy to. My dad raised me the way Gramps raised him, and I’m handy as advertised.” Normally, I might look forward to sleeping in on a weekend visit to Gran, followed by a round of golf, and then a leisurely afternoon on the back porch with her. But I was here to assess the threat Brooke posed, and a home improvement project was the perfect cover to spend more time with her. By tomorrow morning, I’d have gone deep down the Internet, and I’d have plenty of questions for her while we worked.

  “He’s fine. You see?” Gran said, her tone smacking of “I told you so.” “He’s a good boy. Happy to help.”

  We passed the rest of dinner chatting about Brooke’s extensive (and expensive-sounding) renovation plans. When Mary came to clear the dinner dishes, Brooke placed her napkin on the table as though she were done and earned herself a stern look and a headshake from Gran.

  “Not so fast, young lady. You still need dessert.”

  “I couldn’t possibly make room,” Brooke protested. “Mary is too good a cook. I’m full to bursting.”

  “Oh, fine then,” Gran said, leaning back. “But it’s a shame to pass up fresh ice cream made with peaches straight from Jimmy Lowe’s trees.”

  Brooke promptly dropped her napkin on her lap.

  “Smart girl,” Gran said, grinning.

  By the time we polished off the peach ic
e cream and butter cake Mary had made, even I was sure another crumb would make me burst. I sympathized when Brooke pushed back from the table with a groan.

  “All right, I really need to go,” she said, rising. “I’m going to have to roll myself home, but I definitely need a good night’s sleep before I tackle the floors tomorrow. Good night, Miss Lily. I hope you dream of peaches. I know I will.”

  “I might be stuck here,” Gran confessed lazily from her chair. “Mary surely outdid herself. Ian, why don’t you walk Brooke home then come help your overindulgent grandmother up from the table.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Brooke protested. “You stay and take care of Miss Lily.”

  “Sorry,” I said, already rising. “But I never disobey Gran.”

  Gran shooed us away with a laugh, and I walked Brooke to the patio doors. But when I stepped out behind her, prepared to see her across Gran’s well-lit grounds to her unlit yard, she turned and held up her hand.

  “No need to walk me home,” she said. “Miss Lily worries too much.”

  “It’s dark,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

  “I do. You came here to visit her, and she’s been waiting a long time for that.”

  Disapproval ran through her tone.

  What did I care if she banged her shin or bumped into an oak or two in her stubbornness? She was right; I was here for Gran, and I’d have plenty of time to dig the truth out of Brooke tomorrow. “All right, then. Have a good night.”

  She gave me another of her polite nods and headed for her uncle’s place, melting into the shadows as she finally crossed Gran’s property line.

  I watched the spot where she’d disappeared for a long time, considering what I’d learned from my observations. First and foremost, it was easy to see how an astute judge of character like Gran had been taken in by this wholesome-looking woman. She had an easiness about her that appealed to Gran’s good humor and warmth, and if I hadn’t known she was sketchy, she might have charmed me too.

  But I did know, and I noticed more warning signs. Her subtle changes in topic whenever Gran’s conversation veered toward anything about Brooke’s life before two years ago. How she’d touched on her childhood a few times in the most general terms when I’d shared my own stories about summers at Gran’s. Nothing came up from college or after. It was as if her adult life didn’t exist before eighteen months ago, when she’d started her teaching credential.

  Why the gap? She didn’t fill it even when I asked questions about what she’d been up to between high school graduation and staying with her uncle before his death.

  Whatever secrets Brooke Spencer was hiding, they wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  Chapter Four

  Brooke

  The pounding on my door started at 8:30 AM. It was loud and insistent, even over the high whine of the floor sander the hardware store owner, Grace, had delivered to me at 7 AM before going in to open for business.

  I slid my safety goggles up to rest on my head and headed for the door, wrinkling my nose behind the mask I’d worn to keep out all the sawdust. I had no doubt it was Ian the Idiot standing on the other side of the door, but I didn’t want his help. I’d send him back to Miss Lily so I could get back to sanding. And there was just So. Much. Sanding.

  Ian’s eyebrows flew up when I pulled open the front door. I barely refrained from an eyeroll. Who had he expected to answer? The ghost of Great Uncle Fred?

  “Hey,” I said without ceremony. I’d almost found my rhythm with the sander and I didn’t want to lose it.

  “Good morning. Looks like you already got started. Are you renovating or doing mad science?” He pointed at the safety goggles.

  Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been at it for over an hour. Sanding, that is. I don’t start experiments until next week.”

  He blinked at me and looked confused.

  I pointed a thumb at myself. “Science teacher, remember?”

  His expression cleared. “Biology, right? I thought experiments were more for chemistry.”

  “Congratulations, you know your high school science. And I have good news for you: you’re off the hook. There’s only one sander, and I’ve got it down, so you can go hang out with Miss Lily, guilt-free.” I hadn’t enjoyed him at dinner the night before, the way he watched me so closely, like he was trying to figure out what made me tick. He’d tried to be so smooth in his questions, but I’d had too much experience with other smooth operators to find his interest flattering. It felt intrusive, and I had no interest in being under his magnifying glass again, like I was one of his suspects. I started to close the door, but he stuck his foot inside it.

  I stared down at his sneaker then back at him and gave him the teacher stare I’d been practicing. I narrowed my eyes slightly in a way that I hoped demanded, “Just what do you think you’re doing?” but with no words.

  He didn’t move the sneaker. “If you think she’s going to let me back in the house without putting in my work over here, you don’t know her. If you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to wander out of her view for a few hours, and you’re going to have to tell her you let me help you. So maybe just let me come in and do some sanding?”

  I didn’t have time for this. I only had the sander for one day, and I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing with him about it. I turned away from him and left him to decide whether he wanted to follow or not. “Shut the door behind you,” I called over my shoulder, and I didn’t care if “behind” him was him coming or going. But the door clicked shut as I resettled my goggles, and the creak of his footsteps followed right behind.

  “I’ve never been inside Fred’s house before.” He stood at the edge of the dining room where I’d decided to start. I planned to turn it into a library, and if I botched the floor horribly, it would be the perfect place to put a nice, thick rug so nobody ever knew.

  “Like I said last night, it has good bones. I’m mostly in here doing cosmetic surgery, not orthopedic, thank goodness.” I flipped the switch on the sander but before I could begin the steady grind along the oak grain, Ian waved his arms to get my attention. “Is this charades?” I asked, cutting the motor.

  “Just wondering where you’d like me to start,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There’s one sander. That’s what I’m trying to explain. I don’t have anything for you to do.”

  “I could supervise.”

  My eyes narrowed again until the corner of his lips twitched. It kind of sucked as a joke. “I guess you can sweep up the sawdust.” There. Slink home in defeat, buddy.

  But he only nodded. “Sure. Broom?”

  I had a shop broom in the laundry room, but I fetched a short-handled brush and dustpan instead. “Here you go.” I thrust it at him with a cheerful smile. Not that he could see it through the dust mask I didn’t bother removing.

  I fired up the sander and set to work, moving along the boards, going with the grain of the wood at the steady pace that Hardware Grace and a dozen YouTube videos had advised. Ian knelt without a word and began sweeping the small area I’d already sanded, but it was only a couple of minutes before he started coughing, and two more before he set the brush down, mouthed something to me I didn’t catch, and walked out.

  “I win,” I muttered.

  I wished the sander weren’t quite so loud so I could listen to music or a podcast while I worked, but I settled for the company of my own thoughts, imagining all the books I’d fill the shelves with.

  I’d organize them by frequency of use. The cookbooks definitely would go at eye level on the shelf nearest the kitchen. The classics from high school would go on the highest shelf. I wasn’t likely to pull those down again.

  I was deep into mentally organizing my shelf of book club favorites when a movement out of the corner of my eye startled me into a yelp. The sander went skittering diagonally a few inches before I steadied my grip.

  “Sorry,” Ian said, when I cut the power. “Didn’t mean to s
care you. I ran into town and rented a floor edger. Figured it would be more helpful if I did that than sweeping, although I’m happy to do that when we’re done.”

  “Okay,” I said, eyeing the shiny chrome machine he’d set on the floor beside him. “Good idea, I guess.”

  Then I crouched to examine the damage I did when he’d surprised me. I sighed. It wasn’t good, but luckily, it was near the corner furthest from either door. The shelves might even cover the short strip I’d sanded against the grain. If not, I’d shelve the books over here that people would least like to read. Maybe that was where the classics could go.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  I straightened. “I jumped when you came in. It sent the sander off track.”

  He took a step toward me like he was going to examine the damage himself, but I waved him off. “I got it.”

  He nodded and scanned the twenty feet of boards I’d sanded behind me. “Looks good though.”

  He didn’t need to sound so surprised. I didn’t dignify that with an acknowledgment, merely moved the sander over and started its high whine again, content as it ate through years of old varnish, grinding down the old oak just enough to smooth out the divots. The floors weren’t in terrible condition, but they’d been stained in the medium gold color that had been so popular decades ago. I had a vision of dark floors to complement the pale putty-colored paint I’d used on the walls. Hardware Grace had told me about a contractor who could build me custom bookcases, and I imagined them in white. I wasn’t a gifted designer, but I could copy the pages I liked in the Pottery Barn catalog as well as the next person. So far, I liked the way the vibe in the house had shifted after I’d repainted the forest green with inviting neutrals.

  Now that Ian was underfoot again, I was grateful for the noisy motor. I might not be able to hear my podcasts, but neither did I have to keep up a conversation with him.

  We worked in silence for a couple of hours, and I found a groove, going faster and watching the sanded floor emerge behind me in long, satisfying strips.

  Still, by the time I called a break to give my arms a rest from the vibrations, only about a quarter of the floor was done. Ian had finished half his section, but then again, he was only focused on the edges. Better him than me, I conceded. I hated the tedious finish work of edges and corners.