Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(5)

As the guilt-producing silence stretched out, Liz sighed. She uncorked the bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured another glass, wishing it were a lusty Bordeaux instead. “Fine. I’ll talk to Trish. I’ll see what I can do.”

“There’s a good girl! Your father will be so relieved to have this taken care of.”

“When is his surgery?”

“Friday morning.”

“Fri—?” Liz took a fortifying sip of wine. It would serve no purpose to point out it was already Wednesday. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“I’ll have Patricia call you. I’ve got to run. The real estate agent is expecting my call.”

“What real estate agent?”

“The one that’s listing the house! Really, honey, if you can’t pay better attention...”

Liz felt a little sick, the wine roiling in her gut. “You’re selling the house? That’s what this is about?”

“Why did you think we were sprucing it up like this? We’ve decided we just can’t keep up with it like we used to. Patricia suggested we get it listed as soon as possible—to take advantage of the summer buying season. Your father doesn’t want to talk about it, but ever since the markets crashed, well, our retirement savings aren’t what they used to be…”

For once her mother’s voice had grown soft, and Liz felt an odd ache of unease in her chest.

“Anyway, Patricia will fill you in. Call her! I’ve got to run!”

Liz held the phone to her ear for a full five seconds before she realized her mom was no longer there. She set her glass on the edge of the dresser with a shaking hand. Sell the house? They were selling the house?

“Is everything all right?”

Liz sucked in a steadying breath and let Grant’s sympathetic words wash over her. It wasn’t a big deal. Really. Chicago was her home now. It was just the suddenness of it all that was throwing her off. Who wouldn’t feel blind-sided? Wasn’t it only natural to picture your childhood home—however imperfect it may have been—to still be there to go back to someday? That is, if you wanted.

Not that she had. Or did. It was silly to get worked up over it.

She thought about her own hefty savings and 401(k) contributions a little guiltily. It never occurred to her that the house in New Hampshire was all the ‘investment’ her parents had left. She’d always felt she’d made college happen through her own hard work, and yet… when she’d needed a security deposit for an apartment near campus her junior year her dad had mailed her a check, no questions asked.

Liz closed her eyes and licked her lips and tried to pull herself together. Good grief. She hadn’t put all this effort into choosing special wine, scented candles and frilly underwear to stand here worrying about her father’s hip or Florida’s weather or an old farmhouse in rural New Hampshire she hadn’t seen in years!

She was here, in Grant’s bedroom, preparing to make love with the first man she’d dated in the past DECADE she could actually see herself—dare she say it?—maybe not yet, okay, at least engaged to, and it wasn’t going to happen if she stood here and didn’t even pucker her lips and make an effort to—

Crack! Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Liz’s lips froze mid-pucker. “What is that?” she asked.

“A carrot. I got hungry. You want some?”

Liz stared at the orange stub Grant had thrust toward her. “No. I’m… no.”

“You okay?”

She blinked, trying to focus. “No. I mean, yes. Yes. Everything’s fine.”

Crack! Crunch. Crunch. Grant stepped closer and reached out to smooth the hair behind her shoulder. He popped the remaining carrot into his mouth and stroked his hand down her arm, his fingertips cool on her skin.

“The music stopped,” she said inanely, hating that she was near tears and not even knowing why.

“Don’t worry about the music,” he said. “I don’t need music.”

Liz closed her eyes, defeated. “I’m sorry, Grant. I know it’s bad timing, but… I need to go home.”

“Now? Did you forget something?”

She stepped back. “No, not that home... I mean… to New Hampshire. My parents need my help with something. I have to take a couple weeks. Time off. I’m sorry. I know we’re wrapping up the merger and starting the new project next week, but…. I’ll bring Janice up to speed, and I promise to e-mail and call every day. No, twice a day. You’ll hardly know I’m gone…” She began to gather her things.

Grant stared at her for one long moment as he chewed. Swallowed.

“We’re not having sex tonight, are we?” he finally said.





CHAPTER THREE


____________________

TRISH WAS LATE.

Liz sat on a bench outside the Manchester-Boston Regional Airport and forced down another spoonful of beef barley soup as she waited for her sister to pick her up.

The flight to New Hampshire had been hell. Sandwiched in a middle seat between an overweight man with no concept of personal space and a homesick grad student who offered way too many details of his dermatologic history, she’d been forced to feign interest in the Sky Mall magazine for a solid hour and a half. Outside of Don Quixote from AP Lit Class in high school, it was probably the most boring publication known to man.