Coming Apart at the Seams (4 page)

“Letty Andrews,” she said with a heavy Boston accent.

Nick shook her hand, and as usual, he didn't bother to introduce himself. Letty's gray eyebrows rose at his silence, probably in disapproval. He knew people thought he was rude, but if he didn't have to talk, he wasn't going to.

He gestured for her to come in, and she reached into the hallway to grab the handle of a rolling suitcase. He eyed it with trepidation.

Is she planning to move in? I haven't even hired her yet.

Letty sailed through the door ahead of him, and he got a whiff of something spicy. Saliva burst in his mouth, and he swore his teeth elongated at the thought of eating whatever smelled so good. He laughed under his breath, imagining himself as a vampire scenting fresh blood, and Letty turned to look at him, a curious expression on her face.

Ignoring her unspoken question, he led her to the kitchen
and pointed to one of the chairs surrounding the rectangular wood table. “Ha . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat, a trick he used to hide his stutter. “Have a seat.”

Tilting her head toward him, she gave him an assessing glance before pulling the suitcase toward the table. As she leaned down and grabbed the tab of the zipper, he noticed it opened from the top.

“It's a rolling insulated bag, not a suitcase,” she explained, clearly reading his mind.

The moment she flipped open the top, the spicy smell he'd noticed earlier poured from the bag. He dropped into the chair closest to it, almost drooling.

Letty pulled a red cloth placemat from the bag along with a white china plate and a set of silverware wrapped in a white cloth napkin before arranging everything in front of him. As she removed a small bud vase with a white daisy from the bag and placed it on the table, she slanted an amused glance toward him.

“You can't enjoy a meal without a nice table setting.”

Nick barely heard her because his eyes were fixed on the bag, eager to see what delights she'd brought. Taking several aluminum containers from the bag, she deposited them on the table in front of him. She popped the tops off the containers, and pointing to each dish, she described the food within.

“Roasted chicken with asiago polenta. Crab cakes with spicy rémoulade. Pan-seared flank steak with mushroom sauce. Sautéed shrimp with wasabi cream. Poblano mac and cheese. And chocolate mint bars and peanut butter pie for dessert.”

Nick knew he probably resembled a cartoon character with his eyes bugged out of his head and his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He licked his lips, unsure where to start.

Letty chuckled. “Allergies?”

He shook his head.

“Anything here you don't want?”

He shook his head again, and she dished up spoonfuls from every container, filling his plate to the brim. She unwrapped his silverware before handing him the fork and placing the napkin in his lap.

“Eat,” she ordered as she sat down.

Spearing a shrimp on the tines of his fork, he brought it to his mouth. A world of flavors and textures hit his tongue: the slight
sweetness of shrimp, the hot bite of wasabi, and the smooth silk of cream.

“Umm,” he moaned. “Good.”

She frowned. “Don't talk with your mouth full.” She made a
tsk
ing noise. “It's rude.”

Nick narrowed his eyes at her bossiness. They'd known each other for less than ten minutes, and she thought she could tell him what to do? He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“You're hired.”

The oven timer sounded at the same time Teagan's phone rang, and she sprinted across the room to grab the phone.

“Hello,” she said as she rushed back to the oven. She didn't want her double-fudge brownies to burn.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

Her father's strong baritone rumbled across the line, and her heart expanded. She was a daddy's girl through and through, and she loved it when he called her out of the blue.

“Hi, Daddy,” she replied, holding the phone against her shoulder so she could don an oven mitt. “What's up?”

“Oh, I'm just driving home from work, and I thought I'd call my favorite daughter.”

She laughed. “Funny. As far as I know, I'm your only daughter,” she said as she pulled the brownies out of the oven.

He chuckled. “As far as I know, too. How was your day?”

“Pretty good.”

She was lying, just a little bit. Despite her efforts to keep her head down and wear ugly clothes over the past several days, JD continued to pursue her. She'd had the misfortune to be alone with him in the elevator today, and he'd backed her against the wall and tried to kiss her. She was going to have to be very careful not to be alone with him.

Grabbing a knife, she stuck it in the brownies to see if they were done. It came out clean, so she turned off the oven and put the brownies on the stove to cool.

“Learn anything new?” her father asked. “Do anything fun?”

They were the same questions her dad had asked her every single day of her life since she was a little girl. When she'd been a teenager and sullenly answered
no
to his queries, he had speared her with his blue-gray gaze.

“That's your fault, baby girl,” he'd said.

Not a day went by that she didn't think about his response. It was a reminder that she was responsible for her own happiness.

“I did learn something new, and I'm about to do something fun.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you have planned? A boy?”

She laughed. “Daddy, I'm twenty-six years old. I don't date boys anymore. I date men.”

And then she laughed when she realized that she didn't sound very mature, since she still called her father “Daddy.” But if all daughters had fathers as fabulous as hers, they'd call them “Daddy,” too, no matter how old they were.

“Well, now, that's good to know. But you still haven't told me about your daily dose of fun.”

“Brownies. Fresh out of the oven.”

He laughed. “Teagan, honey, if you think brownies are fun, maybe you need to go out with a boy. A bad boy.”

A hard knock on her door distracted her. She frowned. It was seven o'clock on a Thursday night, and she wasn't expecting anyone.

“Daddy, I need to go. Someone's at the door.”

“Make sure to check the peephole. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” she replied before disconnecting the call.

She reached the front door and, heeding her father's advice, leaned up to peer out the peephole. She blinked a couple of times, certain she was seeing things because it looked like Nick Priest stood on the other side of the threshold.

He raised his fist and banged on the door again, and she jerked in surprise.
Why is Nick here?
She hadn't seen him for a couple of years.

Her first thought was something was wrong with Quinn,
but then she discarded that idea because she'd just been on the phone with her dad. If something had happened to her older brother, he would have told her immediately.

After unchaining the lock, she disengaged the deadbolt and pulled open the door. “Nick, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, reaching up to give him a hug. “I'm so happy to see you!”

He hugged her back, a light squeeze like he always gave her, and she leaned back to look at him. God, he was gorgeous. He must have sold his soul to the devil, because no one could be so handsome just by the luck of the draw.

He smiled down at her, his even, white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. Golden stubble covered his lower face, and his light green eyes sparkled. His hair was almost down to his shoulders, so blond it was the color of corn silk.

“I can't believe your hair.” She tugged on a strand. “You look like you should be on the cover of a romance novel or in a pirate movie. Arrgh.”

Laughing softly, he cocked his head toward the interior of her condo. “Inside.”

She stepped back and waved him in, enjoying the view as he walked ahead of her. Yes, Nick was Quinn's best friend, and no, he'd never once shown any interest in her as anything other than his best friend's little sister.

But that didn't mean she was blind. The man was physically perfect, at least in her opinion. And his choice in jeans was perfect, too. She got a weird thrill as she saw her last name sewn on the fabric hugging his butt.

She pulled her gaze from his tight behind and ogled his broad shoulders, which were covered in a plain black T-shirt. Too bad it wasn't tighter. She wouldn't mind seeing some hard muscles outlined in soft cotton.

He stopped near the kitchen, his nose twitching like a rabbit's. Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised her eyebrows.

“Let me guess . . . you want me to share my brownies?”

His only response was a smile. She'd known this man for more than a decade, since Quinn had brought him home from college the summer between their freshman and sophomore years. Over time, Teagan and Nick had figured out a way to communicate even though he barely talked.

At first, she'd thought Nick was shy. She had been sure he'd warm up once he got to know her and her family. But eventually she realized he wasn't shy at all. He just didn't like to talk.

His silence didn't bother her. She'd grown up with two brothers who talked too much, and it was kind of nice to be around someone who listened more than he talked.

Beckoning him into the kitchen, she headed over to the stove, where the brownies were cooling. She grabbed the knife, and as she cut two big pieces, Nick came up behind her and leaned over her shoulder.

He was focused completely on the brownies, and she would bet her last dollar he didn't even realize he was pressed so tightly against her she could feel the heat from his chest and his breath against her hair. He might be oblivious, but she noticed.

Teagan wasn't ashamed to admit she found Nick attractive. Heck, every female who had gone through puberty felt a little quiver of longing when faced with his hotness. But there was nothing between them. There never had been, and there never would be.

From the first moment she'd met Nick, Teagan had known he was way out of her league. That knowledge had prevented her from crushing on her brother's best friend. It also had made it possible for them to become friends—buddies who hung out when the opportunity arose.

She elbowed Nick in the ribs to get him to step back, and he grunted a little before moving away from her. Grabbing a couple of napkins, she wrapped his brownie and handed it to him.

“Milk?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

She shook her head in amusement. They'd fallen back into their old habits pretty quickly.

“You're like a five-year-old,” she teased as she poured him a glass of milk.

Nick shrugged, clearly not offended by her assessment. He took the milk and brownie and waited on her to lead the way to the living area.

She sat down on one end of her navy velvet sofa and tucked her legs under her. He plopped down next to her, taking up way too much space. With a sigh, he propped his tennis shoe–clad feet on her coffee table. After placing his napkin-wrapped
brownie on his flat stomach, he broke off a piece of it and popped it into his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again.

He turned his head, and their eyes met. He swallowed before answering, “Traded.”

Quinn had told her Nick had been traded to the Colonials, but for some reason, it hadn't really dawned on her that they'd be living in the same city. “Right. I forgot. How long have you been in town?”

He made a humming noise. “Seven days.”

She cocked her head. “Are you counting the days or something? Why not just say a week?”

He took a big gulp of his milk and waved his hand around the room. “Like your place.”

“Me, too. Although I probably paid way too much for it.”

“You can afford it,” he noted with a shrug.

He was right. Thanks to Grandma Violet, Teagan was an heiress. Her grandmother had divided her estate equally among her grandchildren, and they all had trust funds in the millions.

“When I got the news I had been accepted to my program, I planned to rent an apartment near campus. But the rental housing in Cambridge is horrible.”

“Spoiled,” Nick noted, giving her a big wink.

She laughed. “You think I'm spoiled?”

He nodded emphatically as he took another bite of brownie. The teasing glint in his eye took the sting out of his words, though.

“If you had seen some of the apartments . . . they were worse than a frat house.” She shuddered dramatically. “They were
disgusting
.”

He chuckled. “Spoiled.”

Her condo was one of two penthouse units in a six-story building that had been built in the early 1900s. It had been a hotel prior to being redeveloped into housing, and every single unit had a different floor plan.

Her particular condo featured a large living area that flowed into the kitchen and dining space. It had two bedrooms, one of which she used for an office, and two full bathrooms. By Cambridge standards, it was luxurious.

“You're right,” she admitted. “You know, this is the first time I've ever lived by myself. I think I'm officially an adult,” she added.

He stared at her for several moments, his eyes assessing. She was a little unnerved by his scrutiny, so she nabbed his glass of milk and took a drink. He pointed to her mouth.

“What?” she asked, running her fingers across her lips.

“Milk.”

“I have a milk mustache?” He nodded, and she laughed softly. “So much for being an adult.”

*   *   *

Nick couldn't take his eyes off Teagan—who was definitely an adult, despite her milk mustache. He didn't recall the last time he'd seen her, but something was different. He frowned, trying to figure out what it was.

He had known her since she was a teenager, and he still remembered the first time he'd met her. He had expected a female version of Quinn and Cal: tall, lean, and blessed with good looks.

As a horny twenty-year-old, he'd thought he might have the opportunity to break the best friend commandment that said, “Thou shalt not mess around with younger sisters.” But he'd quickly discarded that notion as soon as he received his first glimpse of Teagan.

He and the O'Brien brothers had been tossing around a football in their expansive backyard when a short, round, young girl ran out of the house to greet them. She'd worn a Catholic school uniform complete with white button-down shirt, navy plaid skirt, and knee socks.

A lot of guys fantasized about girls in school uniforms, and maybe, just maybe, Nick had been one of them . . . at least until he'd seen Teagan in hers. She definitely had
not
been sexy.

To say she'd been an awkward teenager was being generous. Truthfully, she had been downright unattractive with her frizzy hair, splotchy skin, and mouthful of braces.

Teagan placed the remains of her uneaten brownie on the coffee table. She leaned back and pushed up her glasses before flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder.

Glasses!
That's what was different. She wore glasses with
thick tortoiseshell frames that turned up at the ends like cat's eyes.

He gestured toward her face. “Glasses?”

She touched her glasses, almost as if she'd forgotten them. She shrugged.

“Too much time reading law books and looking at a computer screen.”

He studied her. Her eyes were a deep, pure blue, and the glasses made them look bigger. They glinted behind the lenses, and when she blinked, he noticed her dark eyelashes. They were long and kind of feathery.

“Cute,” he said.

She cocked her head. “What's cute?”

“You. Your glasses.”

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink. He stared at Teagan, realizing he hadn't really looked at her in a long, long time.

On purpose.

Her skin wasn't splotchy anymore. It was smooth and unblemished and reminded him of the whipped cream Letty had put on his mixed berry parfait this morning. And now that he thought about it, Teagan's mouth was almost the same color as the raspberries that had been in the parfait, and her eyes were a similar shade to the blueberries.

He licked his lips, remembering how delicious the parfait had been. Then he shook his head a little, trying to dislodge the sexual thoughts about Teagan that had no business being in his mind.