Page 57 of The Havenport Collection

Declan

W hat did I do? Why on earth did I invite a strange woman into my house?

I never invited people to my house. My parents and brothers just sort of showed up sometimes, but certainly not because I wanted them there.

This was my sanctuary, my place where I could just be me.

I never invited people here if I could help it, especially women.

I ran around furiously picking up and trying to make everything look presentable.

My time in the navy had turned me into a little bit of a neat freak so I tended to get anxious if things were out of place.

I carefully folded the knit afghan my grandmother had made for me over the couch and fluffed the throw pillows.

Everything in my home was carefully and deliberately chosen.

Unlike most guys, I wanted to live in a real home, not some glorified frat house with a big-screen TV and no couch.

My house wasn’t fancy, but I took a lot of pride in it.

It had taken years to build this place. After I bought the land, it took a while to save enough to start building.

I did some work myself and just waited until I could get things exactly right.

I painted and sanded and built some basic furniture and waited while my dream slowly came together over the years.

This house was a labor of love. And it was my special place.

Ginger was the only woman in this house.

My mom dropped by occasionally, usually with baked goods, and sometimes Cece, my future sister-in-law, stopped by when Liam was working late.

She was cool and didn’t force me to talk too much, so I didn’t mind.

Why couldn’t I have offered her some to take home?

Why did I invite her to eat dinner with me?

What was it about this girl that made me act so strangely?

Also, eating ribs was the last thing I wanted to do with a pretty girl.

They were messy and required the use of your hands.

I was going to feel embarrassed the whole time.

But there was something about her. On the surface she looked like a supermodel and carried herself like a CEO. But once she started talking, she seemed lonely and kind of bored. I was intrigued, which doesn’t happen often.

I could lie to myself and say I was just being neighborly.

But, I had lived here for six years and never entertained my other neighbors, the Shulmans.

They were a nice retired couple that spent the winters in Florida and hosted big parties in the summer for their grandkids.

I liked them well enough, but we certainly didn’t hang out.

And let’s face it, I wasn’t exactly the neighborly type.

The good news was that it was just one dinner.

And it wasn’t like anyone was going to find out.

If my mother got wind of this she would be thrilled.

Then, once she took a look at Astrid and confirmed she was a woman under the age of eighty, she would be trying to schedule a wedding.

The good thing about living up here on the bluff was that no one knew my business, and I liked it that way.

“So I brought you something.” Astrid thrust a very fancy bottle of scotch into my hands and immediately bent down to greet Ginger.

I took a step back to hang up her coat and got a whiff of something feminine and spicy and a bit bold.

Desperate for something to do to keep me from sniffing her again, I stared at the bottle. “Wow. Lagavulin 16. This is really good stuff. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She slipped off her boots and walked breezily into the living room.

“I debated what to bring you. I have a bunch of nice stuff. Including a small batch rum that was flown in from Haiti on a private jet. But I pegged you for a scotch guy.” She turned around and smiled at me, and I noticed a dimple in her left cheek.

“Yes. It’s great.”

“I have lots of fancy booze. Every time we closed a deal or fixed a regulatory filing for a client, they always sent expensive liquor. I never had any time to drink it.”

She walked around my house looking at the photos of me and my family that hung on the wall across from the fireplace. “And so, when I was packing to come here, I threw a bunch of it in a duffel bag.”

I had no idea what to say to this blunt, random, and beautiful woman who was currently performing an FDA-grade inspection on my living room and apparently traveled with duffel bags full of booze. “Thanks. Would you like some?”

“Sure.” She kept walking around. “So you live here alone?”

I watched her as I grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet. She walked with such purpose, I half expected her to pull a white glove out of her pocket and start swiping all the surfaces. “Yes. Just me and Ginger.”

“Wow. Then I’m impressed.”

I poured the scotch and shrugged. I don’t know what was so impressive to her.

“This is not a bachelor pad. This is a real home. Did you hire an interior designer? It definitely screams manly, but it’s homey too. You have throw pillows! And framed photos.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. I spent a long time building this place and getting everything the way I wanted it. I did it all myself. But those frames…my mom bought those. But I did hang them.”

“It’s like a magazine spread in here. I don’t read magazines, so I don’t know which one. But one of the fancy home decor ones, definitely.” She shrugged and continued to stare at the photos.

I walked back toward her with our drinks.

I gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”

She stopped her inspection long enough to sit on the deep leather couch and crossed her long legs. Her white-blonde hair glowed in the firelight. Ginger approached and sat in front of her, gently nudging her hand. Astrid responded by scratching Ginger’s ears and nuzzling her neck.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit betrayed. It had taken months to get Ginger to even tolerate me. And after years together, I was the only person she really liked. Seeing her open up to this complete stranger was jarring. But also cute. I wanted to be annoyed, but they were pretty adorable together.

I handed her a tumbler and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. She held up her glass.

“To neighbors who invite themselves over,” I said teasingly.

She glared at me, and I thought I felt my balls shrivel slightly.

“To neighbors with extra meat.” I choked back a laugh, but she kept a straight face.

We clinked and took a sip. Damn, this was good.

We sat silently for a few minutes, watching the fire and enjoying our drinks.

It felt nice. I couldn’t remember the last time I had sat quietly and contentedly with a woman.

Most women I dated felt the need to chatter and fill every silence.

Astrid was confident and seemed to value the quiet just as much as I did.

I studied her profile as she gazed into the fireplace.

She had a cute upturned nose and long, dark eyelashes.

Her hair hung like a shiny curtain to her collarbones, highlighting a long, graceful neck.

She was wearing a sweatshirt, but one of those fancy, expensive sweatshirts that hung off one shoulder exposing a tantalizing triangle of flesh and what looked to be a pink bra strap.

I tried to keep myself from staring, focusing instead on Ginger, who got bored of all the human attention and walked back over to her dog bed. Thanks, Ginger.

As much as I loved the silence, I needed to know more about her. I wanted to know everything about her. That thought scared me so I started to babble. “So you are Connie Jensen’s niece?”

She nodded.

“What brings you to Havenport?”

She shifted away from me and suddenly looked uncomfortable. I instantly felt guilty for asking.

“It’s hard to explain.” She twisted her hair around her fingers, and I saw her poker face begin to crack.

“I am taking a little break from work and didn’t want to stay in my apartment in the city, so Connie, my aunt, offered me this rental property for a while.

” I got the sense that was not the whole story, but I was not one to push.

I took a sip of whiskey and chose my words carefully. “Welcome. It’s much nicer in the summer, but January is a quiet month here.”

“That’s what I’m looking for,” she said eagerly, “some peace and quiet.” She stared at the fire as if she wished she were a thousand miles away from here.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Oh my God, this is so good.” She groaned, licking the barbecue sauce from her fingertips.

I smiled and tried to stay focused on my food and not the sex moans coming out of her mouth. I thought the moans were bad, but watching her lick her fingers had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat, grateful I had worn jeans and not sweatpants.

“I can’t believe you made this.”

“It’s not that hard,” I replied.

“Um, don’t sell yourself short, dude. This is incredible. This is easily the best thing I’ve put in my mouth in years.”

She was not making this easy.

“And this jalapeno cornbread? You baked this?”

“Yup. My mom’s recipe. It’s super easy.”

“A man who cooks. Goddamn, you are a catch.” Her smile was so big and genuine, so different than the cold, formal woman who had shown up an hour earlier. Perhaps it was the second glass of scotch or the barbecue, but she was warming up and I liked it.

I could feel my face heat. Thankfully my beard concealed my blush.

As the night went on, I found myself getting more and more comfortable with Astrid.

She was serious and intense but had a silly streak.

And watching her eat was amazing. I had been on dates with so many women who refused to eat or acted like they were afraid of food.

Why did women think men were into that? I hadn’t realized how much I liked a girl with an appetite until I saw Astrid destroy a rack of ribs and then lick her fingers.