of the dishes when we get back.”
He pointed to the dishwasher. “It’s all under control.”
* * *
WHEN CASSIE AND Grady met at the front door twenty minutes later, she wore a pair of dark blue pants with a gray cardigan pulled over a cotton shirt. It was wrapped tightly around her. She wore boots and carried a small folded umbrella.
He tried not to laugh. “Mostly, we don’t use umbrellas around here because the wind’s usually blowing and you end up with a mouthful of metal ribs.” He held out his serviceable green, hip-length, hooded jacket.
She looked at it doubtfully but allowed him to help her into it. He pulled up the hood. With a jolt, he noticed how gorgeous she was even lost in the dung-colored fabric.
Her height provided him with a different perspective on the feminine face. At six-two, he was used to looking down on the top of a woman’s head, on the curve of her eyelashes, the shape of her nose. With Cassidy close to six feet tall, he looked into fathomless eyes that looked right back into his and somehow seemed to see more deeply than he was comfortable with. He watched the subtle movement of her beautifully shaped lips, covered in pale and glossy pink. Those lips now inverted in a frown.
She gasped her disapproval and pinched the leather on the arm of the ancient bomber jacket he wore. “Let’s swap,” she said, the tension between them from breakfast seemingly put aside. “I can wear your jacket, and you can wear this.”
“Not a chance, Blondie,” he replied with a grin. “This jacket has been with me through college, nature hikes, pickup football...”
She held out her arms. “And this has been with you through putting out the garbage and covering tomato plants against the cold. It has absolutely no style.”
“Do you want to be warm and dry, or do you want style?”
“Life should allow you both.”
He turned her around and opened the door. “I’m sorry, but today it doesn’t. Let’s go.”
* * *
GRADY WAS AMUSED, even charmed, by watching Cassie shop. The Beggar’s Bay Boutique had to be far less interesting than the places she usually patronized, but she really seemed to be enjoying herself.
The clerk, a twentysomething whose badge read Molly, ran to the dressing room to take garments Cassie handed out and then brought her more pants, dresses, sweaters. She scoured the racks with avid intensity while Cassie shouted suggestions from behind the curtain. “The jeans are still too short!” Cassie called.
“That’s the longest I’ve got in women’s! What about the smallest, longest pair from the men’s department?”
There was a moment’s hesitation then, “Sure.”
Cassie emerged twenty minutes later with dark jeans from the men’s department that were sparely designed but seemed to fit well. She’d pulled a bright yellow sweater over them and dropped everything else on the counter. She stood still while the clerk cut tags off her outfit.
“Why didn’t you buy a jacket?” Grady asked. “Or slippers?”
“The jackets are all too short for me. So, it’s back to the tomato plant cover. And my feet are too big for the size range here.” She pulled on the green raincoat, looking bright and happy. That made him feel better. She grinned. “Good thing I brought my boots along.”
“You going to wear those to the wedding?”
“No, I’m going to have something sent to me One-Day Air.”
Of course. Whatever her problems were, getting whatever she needed wasn’t one of them.
The clerk took Cassie’s card and swiped it. Then as she studied the card, her fingers began to tremble. She looked up at Cassie in astonishment. “I thought it was you,” she breathed.
Cassie smiled as he imagined royalty would smile. “Thanks for not outing me. It was fun to shop in peace.”
“No wonder you seem to know what you want. And can pull it together out of odds and ends and look fabulous.”
Molly packed everything into two shopping bags, and Grady took them.
“Thanks, Molly,” Cassie said, leading the way to the door. “You were so much help. You’re an excellent sales associate.”
The young woman beamed.
* * *
CASSIE OPENED THE door for Grady, who walked out ahead of her.
His phone rang. “Do you mind getting that?” He raised his left elbow so she could reach into his hip pocket to retrieve it.
She ignored the warmth of his body through the pocket and took out the black iPhone. Ben’s face lit up the screen.
“It’s Ben,” she told Grady.
He moved toward the truck. “Ah, they must be home. Answer it. My keys are in the right side pocket. Want to get the door?”
She answered the phone as she dug for keys.
“Grady’s phone. This is Cassie.” She was distracted again by how warm he was. For someone who was perpetually cold when the weather dipped below 70 degrees, she felt the absurd desire to crawl inside that cozy pocket.
“Cassie!” As she aimed the key remote to unlock the car, she heard Ben’s voice as he apparently handed off the phone and said, “Corie, it’s your sister.”
“Hi, Cassie. You escaped the press?” She loved the sound of the word. Sister. She had a sister. She was a sister. Cassie opened the truck’s passenger door and watched Grady put her bags on the seat. She wondered for a minute if she was going to have to ride in the truck bed.
“We did,” she told Corie. She swallowed and asked, “Did you see me on the news?”
“Yes. How cool that you’ve started a trust for women needing clothing and transportation to job interviews. I can contribute clothes.”
Cassie couldn’t help the little glow that started in her heart. Sisterly support. “I meant the scene—”
There was a smile in Corie’s voice. “I know what you mean. I’ve made a few scenes myself, so it’s hard for me to criticize anybody else’s. Don’t worry about it. Nobody cares.”
Except for the millions of people who probably now saw her as a bratty diva and an abuser of the deaf. “You’re not embarrassed?”
Corie laughed. “No, we’re not embarrassed.” Cassie heard Ben’s laugh. “Listen, we’re all meeting for lunch at someplace called...uh...”
“The Bay Bistro,” Ben shouted into the phone. “Grady knows it. Can you be there in ten minutes?”
Cassie went to Grady, who was now placing her packages in the jump seat. “Can we be at the Bay Bistro in ten minutes?”
He
