seemed genuinely startled. “I don’t need to. I was born in Iceland, but I’m a U.S. citizen.”
“Citizenship doesn’t guarantee you know American customs. You don’t get that kind of knowledge through an umbilical cord.”
“I’m getting by just fine.”
“Whatever.”
Hannah bent over and picked up a stack of books piled haphazardly on the floor near the native stone fireplace in the living room. Her great-aunt and uncle had loved books, and they were in abundance around the lodge, especially the classics and nonfiction.
She put the books on the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace and went into the kitchen. Phew. There was a pizza box on the sandstone counter by the stove, one on the floor, another on the window seat behind the breakfast nook and a fourth was on the table. The sink and nearby surfaces were covered with dirty dishes and cups and wadded-up napkins. A jar of raspberry jam was tipped over on its side and red syrup dripped from it onto the floor. An empty jar of peanut butter sat nearby.
Jake limped past her. He dug a slice of pizza from the box on the table, liberally sprinkled it with crushed red pepper flakes and chomped down on the crust end.
“Uh, have you eaten anything except pizza and peanut butter since you got here?” She set the jam jar upright and wiped up the mess with a wet cloth.
“I don’t cook and Luigi’s only delivers pizza. And that’s only Friday through Sunday, as you’ve pointed out.”
“Ask for Luigi when you phone and sweet-talk him into sending one of his other dishes at the same time you sweet-talk him into delivering Monday through Thursday.”
“I don’t sweet-talk well.”
She widened her eyes in mock astonishment. “Really? That’s hard to imagine when you’re so charming and tactful.”
Jake snorted and ignored her sarcasm.
Wrinkling her nose, Hannah got a plastic garbage bag from under the sink and began collecting trash. Huckleberry Lodge was equipped with the latest in kitchen appliances, yet her tenant was eating delivery pizza and peanut butter. She was appalled at his diet, but it was his concern; he was an adult, capable of choosing his own food.
“There’s still half a pizza in here,” she said, picking up the box from the floor and putting in her bag.
“It’s old. Got it on Friday and wasn’t that hungry.”
“Then this one must be from Saturday,” she said, peering into the box from the window seat. There were several pieces in that one, as well. “There’s a refrigerator, you know. It’s that large, rectangular thing over there.” She pointed to the stainless steel commercial-grade refrigerator. “Amazingly, it keeps food at a safe temperature for future consumption.”
“Very amusing. But I have an iron stomach after the way I’ve lived. Besides, I don’t cook.”
“There’s also a stove, microwave and toaster oven—reheating doesn’t require any culinary ability.”
“Neither does ordering another pizza. Got two on Sunday and figured they’d last awhile. So don’t throw those away.” He gestured to the boxes on the table and countertop.
“Well, I guess it’s a break from PB&Js.”
“PB&Js?”
“Peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Seriously, how much time have you spent in the U.S. if you don’t know that?” Hannah swept dried crusts of bread and wadded-up paper towels into her sack of trash.
“Almost none,” Jake admitted. “I’m normally on assignment fifty weeks out of the year. And usually in remote areas. I have a small work studio in Costa Rica, but I’m hardly ever there, either.”
Lord. Hannah couldn’t imagine living like that, with no real home, just a suitcase, or whatever passed for a suitcase in his line of work. She glanced out the window at Mahala Lake, the water so blue it almost hurt her eyes. Except for the years she’d been at college, it was a sight she’d seen every day of her life, yet she never tired of it.
“Traveling can be fun, but I’m mostly a homebody,” she said, raising her chin and practically daring him to say something else that was rude. Jake had made his opinion about staying in one place quite well-known.
“Yeah, I figured that out. The domestic stuff is okay if that’s what you like, but home, marriage, kids—those things end my kind of career.”
Hannah stared. “That isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned something along those lines, and it’s starting to sound like a warning. I don’t need to be told to keep my distance. My ex-husband was a thrill seeker and I have no intention of making that mistake again. If I get married again, it’s going to be to someone stable and caring who can put me and my son first. It certainly won’t be to a man with one foot out the door and a habit of risking his neck.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jake protested. “It’s on my mind, that’s all. I talked to my former photography assistant this morning. We won’t be working together any longer because he’s getting married, and all he could talk about was the house they’re buying and his great new job. He may be better off on his own, but he already had a great job. With me.”
“You fired him because he’s getting married? Is being single a rule in the photography business?”
Jake sank down on one of the chairs, rubbing his left leg. “I didn’t fire him, but most spouses don’t appreciate being left alone for months at a time, and Toby’s fiancée is no exception. Vera must have given him an ultimatum after the accident and he caved under the pressure.”
Hannah began putting cups in the top rack of the dishwasher, thinking about the mixed emotions on Jake’s face when he’d mentioned Toby’s enthusiasm for his new job...emotions too complicated to fathom. One thing was quite clear, however—Jake Hollister didn’t understand people who wanted a home.
“Maybe your assistant didn’t ‘cave.’ Maybe he made a choice,” she offered finally.
Jake shook his head. “Toby liked the travel. He complains about stuff, but that’s just his way—he’s the one who suggested going to the Gobi Desert three years ago. For Pete’s sake, it’s not as if he was cheating on Vera, and they talked on the satellite phone almost every day.”
“A phone call is hardly the same as having someone with you. And if Toby loved the travel that much, he didn’t have to quit.”
“But he is quitting.”
She rolled her eyes at Jake’s sulky, little-boy tone.
“Well, your feelings about domesticity are hardly a secret,” she informed him. “Whenever a reporter or an interviewer asks about marriage, you declare you’re a confirmed bachelor.”
“You’ve read about me?”
“Don’t read anything into it. The rental agent for Huckleberry Lodge was excited about the idea of a celebrity living in the area. Lillian gave me copies
