“It looks like everyone’s fantasy of the perfect Victorian summer home, only better.”
“I haven’t had time to buy much furniture.” Al’s enormous dog bed sat in front of the fireplace, a twin for the one that graced the lobby of the lodge. He owned one tan sofa—a reject from his parents—and an old round coffee table, which had been left there by the previous owners. Two plastic laundry baskets full of toys sat in one corner, an enormous and very bare Christmas tree in the other, though hills of wrapped gifts lined the wall under the windows. Seen through Grace’s eyes, the place would seem pretty sparse. As if he wasn’t doing it justice or something. Suddenly he doubted his wisdom in bringing her here. “Getting the restaurant back up to—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Grace interrupted, her voice soft. “You should take your time, buy only what you want, what feels right.”
“Exactly,” he said. That was the way he operated. He waited for exactly what he wanted, which might explain why Grace was here, in his arms and in his house. “It drives my sisters crazy. They’re dying to decorate this place.”
“You have a close family.”
“Close would be an understatement. Three sisters, three brothers-in-law, a nephew, four nieces and another baby on the way. They are constantly in and out of here.”
“Which explains the toys in the living room.”
“And the jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table. Anna is eleven and she’s crazy about them. It can get a little hectic.” But he was never more grateful to his sisters than he was now. Marie and her three children, who lived less than half a mile away, took care of Al. Cathy came every Monday and cleaned, telling him she needed the exercise and the excuse to get out of the house with the kids, who were two and four. Beth, the sister with an MBA, oversaw his investments, handled his money and managed his manager. His parents ran Vitelli’s, with the help of their three daughters, two excellent assistants, a head chef and an aging but devoted staff.
He headed past the living room to the master bedroom, a large white-walled room with a king-size bed and its own bathroom, complete with soaking tub and separate shower.
“Here you go,” he said, setting Grace on the quilt-covered bed.
“This is your room.” She frowned up at him. “I can’t take your bed.”
“I don’t sleep here. My room and office are upstairs, along with two more bedrooms and two bathrooms.”
“Really?” Those beautiful blue eyes held doubt.
“Really.” He grabbed the neatly placed bed pillows and tucked them behind her. “Time for dinner and pain pills. And ice.”
He handed her the remote control and pointed to the television set mounted on the wall across the room. “See? All the comforts of home.”
“I just need my cell phone.”
“I’ll get it,” he assured her, moving away from the bed. He hoped Patsy had handled any emergencies, though what could go wrong with pizza and raffles in the bar? He’d donated gift certificates to the restaurant and also to Vitelli’s, as his parents supported every charity in town.
“Thank you.” Grace winced as she stretched out her foot. “You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble, but it feels really, really good to lie down.”
“Good. I’ll come back with your things and then you can tell me what you want to eat.”
“I get to boss around the famous Nico Vitelli?”
“Not many people can say that,” he said, fleeing the room before he said something stupid, like, You can boss me around for the rest of my life if you want.
“ARE YOU GOING to need any help getting your clothes off?”
Grace looked up from her tray of food. He’d brought her ravioli stuffed with some kind of wonderful cheese filling and drizzled with a light pesto sauce. He’d offered salad and an apple tart, but she’d politely refused. He’d left her to eat while he took Al outside, but he’d been in and out of the room making sure she had everything she needed.
“I think I can manage.” She eyed the crutches propped against the nightstand. “I’m pretty sure I can get my nightgown on without falling over.”
“Well, if I hear a crash I’ll come racing in and pick your naked body up off the floor, so don’t lock the door.”
“Okay.” She felt herself blush again and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Dinner was delicious,” she said, changing the subject from nude bodies to food.
Al padded over and rested his chin on the mattress next to her hip, so she reached over and stroked his head. The dog closed his eyes and inched closer.
“He’ll want to sleep with you,” Nico warned. “Don’t be too nice.”
“I don’t mind. There’s plenty of room.” She’d had a dog after her mother passed away, a little spaniel mix that followed her everywhere. He had died during her junior year of high school, and stepmother number three had refused to consider adopting another, which had left a pretty big gap when it came to having someone to love.
“Not a good idea. What if he rolled over on your foot?”
“It’s my right foot. He can sleep on the left side. If he wants to.”
“I usually carry him upstairs at night.”
“You do?”
“His hind legs are bad. He can’t do stairs.”
That was a sweet picture, the fancy Hollywood chef carrying his old dog to bed. “Did he live with you in California?”
“Yes. He loved the pool.”
“I’ll bet.” Al leaned closer and whined. Nico leaned over and removed the tray. “What else can I get you? Tea? Coffee? Cookies? My mother sent over a platter two days ago. She’s obsessed with baking right now.”
“I could eat a dozen cookies, so don’t tempt me.” She set her cell phone on the nightstand. The pain pill she’d taken before dinner was making her drowsy, and now that she’d checked her messages, all she wanted to do was crash. “I got interesting news from Julie Barrett.”
“The runaway bride?”
“Don’t call her that. She didn’t run away. She just...changed her mind. Better than marrying the wrong man.”
Nico perched on the edge of the bed and looked at her foot, now devoid of the boot and covered with an ice pack. “There would be nothing worse than marrying the wrong person. Have you ever been married?” he asked.
“No.”
“Engaged?”
She hesitated. “No. I thought we were heading in that direction, but I was wrong. What about you?”
“No.
