Arm braced on the cabinet door, Adelaide hung her head and sucked in a deep breath, girding her loins for dealing with him. A problem most women were happy to have. He liked her better for the glimpses of her struggle. That she was fighting to make the best of their situation, the same as him, meant something. What, he couldn’t say, but something.
Glancing away, he gave her privacy, and noted a gleaming pair of keys tossed in a decorative bowl on one of the side tables next to the couch. Unless he was mistaken, and a gearhead like him never was when it came to cars, that was the Ferrari logo on the fob. The dull set beneath it must belong to the dinged-up sedan she drove to their meeting, which was parked in the driveway.
The car that must belong to the keys was so far outside her reach financially, she would have had more luck touching the moon. So, who gave it to her? Where did she stash it? Why was she hiding it from him? And what else might she be keeping from him?
“Here you go.”
Caught snooping, Boaz bristled like a spooked cat. Damn but the woman was quiet as a wraith. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She touched his shoulder, but there was nothing sexual in the press of her fingers. It was more of a guiding hand, urging his attention toward the food and away from the keys. “So…Keanu?”
Intrigued by her mysteries, he searched Adelaide’s face for more than the exhaustion that plagued her, but he found no clues. “Only if you promise not to spoil the movie for me.”
“I’m a talker.” She winced. “I talk through them, over them, and after them.”
“Can two people with differing movie ethics coexist without killing one another?”
“Put a TV in the bedroom if you need your own.” She shrugged. “This one is mine. My TV, my rules.”
The forty-inch flat screen was pristine but dated. Clearly Adelaide took care of what was hers.
Encouraging as far as revelations go, but it made that damn noose of obligation cinch tighter. He didn’t need a caretaker. He needed…
Grinding his teeth, he clamped down on that useless line of thought.
This wasn’t about his needs. Otherwise, he would be sitting on a couch in Woolworth House, stealing kisses—or trying to—from Grier. This was about family, about keeping his word, and about being the man Adelaide deserved.
“Bedroom?” He took a seat on the sofa beside her. “I figured you would move to Savannah with me.”
“Oh. Yeah. I plan on it.” Her voice softened. “I wasn’t thinking there for a minute.”
As the eldest daughter, she had inherited the title of Matron Whitaker. Had their finances not suffered, she would have brought a man into her family, into her house, and given him her last name. Instead, she had agreed to give up that title in favor of becoming Matron Pritchard. Losing her identity had to hurt, but his hands were tied. That was one line in their marriage contract he would not strike.
“You’re welcome to stay here, as long as you can handle your duties remotely.” He hadn’t meant to make the offer, but her expression begged him for some glimmer of hope he provided on reflex. “My parents are in good health, and there’s my little brother to consider too. We’ve got a packed house.” He tucked into his meal. “That doesn’t mean I can’t make room for you, and your dad, but you’ve got options.”
“Dad won’t leave this house.” She toyed with her food, pushing it across her plate. “As much as I’ll miss him, I won’t miss it. I’m looking forward to a fresh start, away from all the memories.”
“There’s no rush,” he assured her. “We can take this as slow as you like.”
“I appreciate that.” Her timid smile told him she was still trying, and he couldn’t ask for more than that. “I could use more time for Dad to adjust to the idea of me leaving, though. I’ll need to set up housekeeping too, since I won’t be around to clean or cook for him.”
“I’ll make it happen.” He didn’t imagine the relief in her expression, or the quick spark of temper behind her eyes for letting someone else shoulder a burden that was hers. “You can pick the housekeeper, and I’ll vet them.”
“Ah.” She stabbed a dumpling with her fork. “You don’t trust my judgment, but you want brownie points for framing the offer as if you do.”
Prickly, prickly. Handling her when money was involved might require wearing gloves. Maybe multiple pairs.
“The person you choose for the job is up to you. I won’t interfere with that decision. I just want to make sure we’re leaving your dad with someone we can trust to take care of him.”
We.
Just like that, she and he were a we.
The room spun around its edges, and his throat grew tight. This was moving too fast. Way too fast.
And Grier had no idea. No goddessdamned idea.
She would hate him for this, but not half as much as he despised his cultivated reputation for the message it would send her. That she was just another girl, just another kiss, just another warm body.
You’re better than me, Grier, better than I ever will be. I hope you know that.
“Giving up control is hard for me.” Adelaide kept nudging her food back and forth. “You don’t deserve me snapping at you.” She angled her head toward him but not her eyes. “You’ve been very kind, about everything.”
“We’re in this together.” For better or for worse. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” she whispered, as if trying it on to see how it fit.
The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he checked the caller ID. “I have to take this.”
“No problem.” She ditched her fork for the remote. “I’ll get the movie set up before our food gets cold.”
Standing, he walked across the room for
