When Adam Came to Town

“Sylvie, child, are you in there?” Pops shook her shoulder and smiled quizzically into her face.

She blinked and tore her gaze away from Adam’s armpit. Oh, help. She was mesmerized by a man’s armpit. Maybe Pops was right. Maybe she was going stir-crazy and didn’t even know it.

“Sorry. I was just thinking...” She glanced at Adam and hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing.

Pops put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “She does that sometimes, goes off into a cloud. Back to earth now, honey?”

She made herself smile. “I’m back.”

“Moonbeam’s inside,” Adam said.

He’d stepped back a pace, as if he knew exactly where she’d drifted off to and didn’t want to go there with her. “She kept hanging around, and I was afraid one of the shingles would hit her, so I put her in my house. I should have told you. Sorry.”

In case some of her rapture of studying his armpit still lingered, she kept her gaze trained over his right shoulder. Pathetic. If she was going to stay in Collina, she’d have to get a social life and start dating because lusting after Adam Hunter didn’t work for her. She needed someone else to drool over. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

“That cat spends more time over here than she does at home.” Cal grabbed an old towel draped over the workhorse and brushed the dirt off his arms as he squinted up at the roof. “We’re almost done this side. We should get a good start on the other side today.”

“Then you can spare a few minutes for your old man,” Pops said before turning to Adam. “I was thinking of your grandmother this morning.”

Sylvie stiffened and watched Adam from the corner of her eye as he hesitated before hanging his tool belt over the workhorse. Did Adam know anything about his grandmother and Pops’s friendship? Probably not. How could he? She hadn’t known and she’d lived right here at the time.

It wasn’t his fault what had happened, but still, the situation was uncomfortable. Except as far as she could tell, she was the only one who had a problem with it. She sighed. She was acting like a bitch, taking her resentment out on Adam. She could at least act neighborly toward him. Maybe even offer the use of her kitchen and bathroom while he was working on his house.

And maybe when she got everything straightened out, she could paint his portrait. It would be a sin not to try to capture something of Adam’s... What?

Well, body for one thing. But the appeal was more than that. He was a delicious mixture of contrasts that intrigued her. He was, in a word, a challenge. Maybe that was what her problem was. She’d been stuck doing seascapes for so long, she needed new, fertile ground to mine.

When she heard a note of longing in Pops’s voice, she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying about Adam’s grandmother. Not exactly the confirmation she sought, but something had definitely happened between them.

“She was always excited when you came to visit. You were her only grandchild, weren’t you?” Pops said.

Adam smiled. “Yeah. I loved spending time with Gram.”

Pops stretched his legs out in front of him as he leaned back against the workhorse. “Your parents still live in Toronto?”

“My mom’s in Vancouver.” Adam shoved some of the discarded shingles to one side with his foot. “My dad’s dead.”

“Sorry to hear that, son. No doubt he’d be proud of you, coming here and making a home.”

Adam shot him a look from under his brow. “Maybe.”

Sylvie could see he didn’t like talking about his family from the way his shoulders had drawn together, and how his hands made a couple of spastic fists before he relaxed them.

“What kind of work was your dad in?” A question Pops had asked every one of their friends at some point.

But Adam had gone somewhere deep inside himself. He did his stillness thing, as though if he didn’t breathe or take up space, they wouldn’t notice him. Silly to feel that she should protect him. And from what? Her father?

“He was in security,” Adam said.

“Ah.” Pops smiled. “You mean like a security cop?”

“Something like that.”

Pops nodded, looked at the roof. “You boys are making good progress. I won’t hold you up. Ready to go, Cal?”

Cal slung his tool belt beside Adam’s. “I’ll be back in a bit. We’ll start on the other side after you eat.”

“Great.” Adam scratched his arm as both he and Sylvie watched Cal back his truck out of the driveway.

“I’ll get Moonbeam if you want.” Adam didn’t look at her as he brushed dirt off his jeans.

“If she’s happy where she is, leave her. I’ve got to go to work, anyway. I was just worried she’d get hit by a shingle. I see Romeo’s smart enough to stay out of the way. Just so you know, you don’t have to feed Moonbeam. She has lots of food at home.” Shut up. She had the urge to babble about anything but...armpits.

She looked at the debris on the ground, at the roof and finally at Adam. Why did the workingman thing look so fantastic on some men? Oliver would just look dirty. Adam looked manly. Scrumptious, if she was being honest.

Sylvie tore her gaze away. Oh, God, she wasn’t getting a thing for him, was she? Of course not. He was a healthy, vibrant male in his prime, and she...

She was an artist and couldn’t help noticing details about people. Like how Adam withdrew at times or how he did that thing with his hands. She had no intention of adding to her messy life by becoming attracted to another man. Going out on a few dates with a guy was fine. But an intense attraction? No way.

“Are you all right?” Adam frowned at her.

“Me?” Her smile faltered. “Of course. I was thinking...well, I haven’t actually thought it out, but if the inside of your house is going to look like this.” She pointed at the exposed roof. “You’re welcome to use my kitchen and bathroom for cooking and stuff. If you want.” That hadn’t been so hard. She could act neighborly.

Adam folded his arms. “I don’t know. It’s nice of you to offer, but um...your family. They might not think it’s such a great idea.”

She laughed. “I haven’t had to ask their permission to do anything for a long time. I don’t need their stamp of approval.”

“Thanks.” He nodded. “I’ll, ah...think about it. Appreciate the offer.”

“Right.” Was that a yes or a no? “I’ve gotta go.” She dipped her head toward the village and the café. “Have a good day.”

She sprinted over to her car and climbed in. Have a good day? How lame could she get? He probably thought she was a spastic dweeb. And if he didn’t yet, her brothers would make sure he did by the end of the week. Knowing them, they probably already had plans to introduce him to the available women in town.

Which was a good thing, because Collina needed more people living here. And she needed Collina. That was where she wanted to direct her time and energy, making a place for herself here. She already had several ideas of how to increase business at the café at this time of the year. If she could stage one successful event, maybe Pops and her brothers would take her more seriously and agree she was capable of running the café.

Feeling more optimistic than she had in months, she whistled on her way to work.

* * *

THE SUN PEEKED over the horizon as Adam knocked softly on Sylvie’s door, then slipped inside and deposited his two bags of food on the counter. Cal had told him no one locked their doors here. Details like that—unlocked doors, wide-open, deserted beaches, and people stopping on the street to talk to each other—reinforced his decision that this was where he wanted to live.

According to Cal, Sylvie wasn’t an early riser. He liked that Sylvie had suggested he use her home for cooking and washing up, but hadn’t seriously considered the offer until he mentioned the idea to Cal, who agreed, albeit a tad reluctantly.

Adam’s water was a rusty brown. He could buy water to drink and cook with, but he hadn’t figured out what he was going to do about having a shower. Collina was too small to have any public facilities like a community center with showers or a Y. Plus, this way he didn’t have to waste time putting stuff away every day before they continued ripping his house apart.

After giving it some thought, he’d realized that using the kitchen and bathroom next door sounded like the perfect solution. But now that he was in Sylvie’s kitchen, he realized he should have given the idea more thought.

With her working nights at the café, he figured he should be able to avoid her most of the time. But it felt weird tiptoeing around her kitchen while she was still in bed. Sylvie and bed—intriguing, but not an image he wanted stuck in his head.

He pulled out the coffee beans he’d thought to grind before leaving his house. He’d make enough coffee for both him and Sylvie. Same with the blueberry pancakes he had planned. If she didn’t want them, he’d leave a note for her to put the batter in the fridge, and he’d use it for tomorrow’s breakfast.

After whipping up the batter and covering it, he crept into the hallway to find the bathroom. He stopped, listened for sounds of Sylvie moving around upstairs and continued on to the bathroom when all remained silent.

Moonbeam sat square in the middle of the hallway when he came out of the bathroom after the fastest shower he’d ever taken. The shower shelves had been full of Sylvie’s stuff, and the room had smelled like peaches. He swore the girly smell still clung to him.

The cat’s tiny pink tongue slipped out once as she practiced her cat stare on him. “You’ve got my number, don’t you?” He scooped her up and laid her across his shoulder as he shoved the kitchen door open.

“Oh. Hey.” He halted in the doorway.

Sylvie leaned a hip against the counter, sipping coffee. She wore those tight black pants she seemed to favor and a faded, blue-and-white flannel shirt that had probably belonged to one of her brothers or her father.

The curious expression on her face closed down. “I thought you were Pops.”

“Sorry.” He stopped, tried to form his thoughts into a cohesive sentence.

She looked warm and sleep-tousled, and he was back to thinking about how great she’d look in bed. Not a direction he wanted his thoughts to go. What the hell had he been thinking—that he could ignore a woman like Sylvie?

He slipped Moonbeam off his shoulder and edged toward the coffee, planning to grab a cup and run. With his back safely to her, he continued, “It didn’t occur to me to tell you I decided to take you up on your offer to use the house until I walked in this morning. Sorry.”

“Make yourself at home.”

He stiffened. Was she being sarcastic? Had he crossed some invisible boundary? People questioning his integrity was a by-product of the life he’d lived, but somehow he’d gotten it into his head that life would be different here. He would be different. Resigned to the inevitable, he put a half teaspoon of sugar in his coffee and turned to face her.

“I’ll get out of your way. Sorry to wake you.”

“No, I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t welcome. I’m not my best in the morning.” She smiled. “Where’s Romeo?”

“Outside.” He allowed himself to relax against the counter as he suppressed a laugh. Wow. It suddenly dawned on him that he was playing in a whole new ball game now. One where people didn’t automatically assume the worst of each other. That someone would apologize to him for indicating, not assuming, but only hinting he may be out of line, brought home how much he wanted to live here. “We went for a five-K run already, so he’s pretty pooped. That’s such a great beach. It’s amazing not many people use it.”

“One of the perks of living in a sparsely populated area, I guess. Romeo’s a great dog. Did you train him?”

“No. I got him from the animal shelter when I knew I was moving to the country. The previous owners loved shepherds, but having a large dog in the city is difficult for even the biggest dog lover.” He sipped his coffee. “Cal says you live in Toronto.”

“Yeah.” She let out a weary sigh.

He watched as she slipped into a chair at the table and leaned her head on her hand. Either she hadn’t completely woken up yet or living in T.O. wasn’t doing it for her.

“What part?”

“Yorkville.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a classy part of town.”

“It’s okay.” She stared into her coffee.

He moved to the stove and turned the heat on under the frying pan. He might as well cook the pancakes he’d started. Sylvie didn’t seem to mind him being there, and he could use a big breakfast to start his day. He poured a scoop of batter into the pan and watched it sizzle along the edges. “Any idea when you’re moving back?” None of his business.

“Haven’t a clue.” When she continued to stare into her coffee, he felt a wrench in his gut. The same feeling he’d had a couple of days ago in the backyard when she’d looked sad. He flipped the pancake over. She had a family to support her—hell, she probably had the whole village at her beck and call. It wasn’t his responsibility to cheer her up.

He slipped the pancake on a plate and placed it in front of her, then poured more batter into the pan. “You don’t want to move back to Toronto?”

Her head jerked up. “I didn’t say that.”

No, she didn’t, and if he were smart he’d stop talking right now. What Sylvie felt or didn’t feel was none of his business. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic at the prospect.”

“There’s nothing to go back to.”

“Cal said you have a boyfriend. A doctor?”

“You and Cal had quite the conversation.”

He turned his attention back to the stove. “Cal—” did not find a halfhearted sketch of him doing tai chi “—just mentioned you were a really good artist and lived in Toronto.”

She lathered butter and maple syrup on her pancake. “That’s all in the past. I’m going to have to figure out something else to do now. Mmm,” she said around a mouthful of pancake. “These are fantastic. I don’t suppose you want to work at the café? We’re desperate to hire a second cook.”

“Sorry. I’m too busy right now.” But once his house was finished, he’d consider it. The café was probably the hub of the village, and that was the kind of thing he’d like to get involved with.

He put another pancake on her plate, poured more batter into the pan and expertly cooked up a stack of pancakes as Sylvie ate hers. When he had what he hoped would be enough, he sat at the table, slipped a couple more to her and added syrup to his.

“Thanks.”

Adam forked up a mouthful and sat back to watch her eat. He was a good cook and he liked feeding people. He might not be able to help Sylvie with her problem, but at least he’d made sure she started the day with a good breakfast.

When she finished eating, Sylvie shoved her plate to one side and leaned toward him. “Would you teach me how to cook?”

Feeling as if he’d been dropped into the middle of a minefield, Adam placed his forkful of pancake back on his plate. “You don’t know how?”

“No, and I want to learn.”

“Um...” He looked everywhere but at the hint of sadness in her eyes. “Teressa. Ask her. She’s a cook.”

“Teressa hates me. She won’t teach me.”

“I met her yesterday. She seemed like a nice person. I doubt she hates you.” When Sylvie skewered him with a snarky look, Adam smothered a smile. He liked her sass.

“Okay, she doesn’t hate me. She thinks I’ve got it made, and her life stinks. She loves her kids, but having two different fathers for them is hard. Nothing’s ever come easy for her.”

“And it has for you?”

“No. I’ve worked my butt off. But no one sees that, or at least wants to see it. I’m the one who left and made it in that big, cold world out there.” The corners of her mouth crimped tight. “Sorry. I don’t usually indulge in self-pity.”

He had to admit that he didn’t understand what her problem was—she was young, beautiful and apparently successful. What he did know was he needed to come up with a reason why he couldn’t teach her how to cook.

No way could he spend time around this woman and not have rampant fantasies about her. She was just too damned hot. It wouldn’t take long for him to want to act on those fantasies, and then he’d be back to the Carson men wanting to know exactly who he was and where he’d come from. Assuming, of course, Sylvie was interested in him. “Your father and brothers don’t know how to cook?”

“They do, and they won’t teach me, either. Everyone either thinks I should be painting all the time, or they’re afraid I’m going to slice a finger or hurt myself if I work in the kitchen. But they don’t get it. I need to know I can do something other than paint.” As Sylvie paused, the pleading in her eyes damn near broke his heart. “We don’t have to tell anyone. It would be our little secret.”

No. He tore his gaze away from her angel-blue eyes and said the word inside his head again to make sure he got it right. No.

“Sylvie, I—”

“Please don’t say no.” She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I’ll get up early, and I’ll clean up whatever mess we make. And I promise I’ll be really, really careful so I don’t hurt myself.”

Because if she did, the Carson men would fry him alive. “You don’t know how to cook anything?”

“I can make coffee. And scramble eggs. Sandwiches, of course.” She shot him a crooked smile. “And I excel at ordering takeout.”

Her smile hooked into him and his resolve softened. “You’d think your family would want you to know how to take care of yourself.”

“I was always good at drawing.” She dipped her finger into the pool of syrup on her plate. “I won an art contest when I was nine. That’s the year my mom died, and somehow my family saw that contest as my consolation prize for losing Mom. Or so my therapist tells me. After that, Pops and Dusty and Cal couldn’t do enough to...I don’t know, nurture my talent, I guess. I was the baby of the family and the only girl, so... They were all hurting, and maybe it was easier to concentrate on me rather than deal with their own pain.”

She stared at the pattern she’d drawn in the syrup. “It eased their grief every time I drew a picture, so I kept drawing and drawing and drawing. I thought—I don’t know—that if I kept it up everything would be okay, and we’d be happy again. I drew my way into a scholarship when I was sixteen, and I’ve been living away from home ever since.”

He’d left home at fifteen for entirely different reasons, and he was sure he’d been a lot tougher than her. Even with his false bravado, it had been a rough go sometimes. Sixteen was a tender age. Too young to leave home.

His unexpected anger at her family caught him by surprise, and he stood and picked up the plates to dispel the feeling. The world was full of nasty, dangerous people. What had her family been thinking to let Sylvie leave at such a tender age?

He let the dishes clatter into the sink and turned on the water as he did his deep breathing exercise. Okay. None of this was his business. Keep things on track and get out.

“They never had a chance to teach you how to cook,” he said as he started washing the dishes. “Doesn’t mean they won’t now. You should ask them.”

“I have.”

Adam closed his eyes and prayed he hadn’t heard her voice tremble. He grabbed the frying pan, scrubbed it with more gusto than necessary. “I gotta go. Cal’s going to be here soon.” He drained the sink and bolted for the door, keeping his back to the table where Sylvie sat.

Not sat, huddled.

Man, why did he look at her? He’d almost made it out the door. What was it about this woman that unhinged him? He liked women well enough, had even fallen victim to a few and had a couple of semiserious relationships. But he’d always felt a measure of reserve with them, because truthfully, he didn’t quite get women, and that usually resulted in him saying as little as possible. So far, that didn’t seem to be happening with Sylvie. If anything he had to work at keeping his mouth shut.

He walked back to the table. “I’m not saying I’ll be available every morning, but okay, maybe tomorrow. I’ll show you how to make an omelet. You’ll have to get up early, though.”

Her eyes twinkled as she beamed up at him. He sighed in resignation and tore his gaze away from the stunning picture she made, with the morning sun kissing her face. “And you’ll have to clear it with your father first,” he added.

Her twinkle dimmed at the same time the delicate line of her jaw hardened. “I’m twenty-six years old. I do not need my father’s permission.”

But he did. If he pissed off her family, he could lose Cal’s help, and work on his house would grind to a halt. Things were getting off track, and he’d just started working on his house. “We’ll try one morning, then.”

“And go from there.”

Adam backed up fast when Sylvie jumped up from her chair, looking grateful enough to give him a hug. Not going to happen.

“I’m not making any promises. Just so you know.” He rushed the door and escaped outside.

Teach her how to cook. He shook his head and headed toward his house. Most people when they met him kept their distance because of his size and because he looked like a scrapper. But for some reason Sylvie seemed to have locked right into the fact that he was a pushover. He didn’t want people to be afraid of him, but neither did he want it getting around that he was an easy mark. Saying no to anyone had never been his strong suit—another reason to stay away from Sylvie. Half an hour, and she’d convinced him to teach her how to cook. What next?

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