The Best Next Thing

Her jaw dropped and he felt his own face heat at the inanity of that question. But before he knew it, even more stupid words spilled from his lips, “I mean, which parts go where? It’s not like there are corresponding bits. No inserting Tab A into Slot B as it were.”

He sounded like a bloody fool.

“Well, you’re overlooking the most common mermaid trope,” she said, after a long, measured pause. “They can take on human form for limited amounts of time. I would assume that’s when the…uh…copulation takes place.”

The word “copulation” wasn’t sexy, but hearing it spill from her lush lips was like a spark to tinder. He was embarrassingly erect in seconds.

Fortunately, he was wearing a baggy sweatpants, and his errant hard-on wasn’t noticeable. Still, it was damned awkward standing in front of his stalwart housekeeper sporting wood with her name on it.

So inappropriate.

“I uh…we…” He dropped his gaze to Stormy who was curled up in the crook of his elbow. “We’re going for a walk. On the beach. I was looking for something to fashion into a lead and collar for Stormy. Any suggestions?”

A small frown settled on that smooth brow.

“I don’t think you should do that. It’s slippery and perilous out there. You could fall.”

Did he look so fucking frail to her?

“I assure you, I’ll be fine, Mrs. Cole.”

“It’s also freezing and raining. I don’t think you or the dog…”

“Stormy,” he reminded her.

“I don’t think either of you are ready for a walk like that yet.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“On the contrary, it totally is my concern. If anything happens to you, Amos and I would have to find you and get you back to safety. In these conditions, emergency services are an hour away at best. Likely longer with the bridge out. Anything could go wrong. What if it rains harder? The water levels would rise before you could get back here in time and you could be washed away. And who knows how the cold will affect your chest? You may be—”

“Enough! Mrs. Cole, you are out of line,” he snapped, pissed off because she was also right. He couldn’t chance taking a solitary hike in his current condition. But he fucking hated having his housekeeper treat him like an errant, sickly schoolboy.

Who the hell was in charge here anyway?

He glared at her while she stared back, her face serene and inscrutable, not a hair out of place…

He sighed.

Without a bloody doubt, she was in charge. This tall, ageless, mysterious—barefoot, a tiny voice reminded him breathlessly—stern woman was one-hundred-percent running the show. That’s why he liked having her around. With Mrs. Cole in charge, their vacations had been stress free. But he wasn’t currently on vacation, and that appeared to be unsettling the equilibrium of their usually uneventful non-relationship

“Your concerns have been noted, Mrs. Cole, and if you find me collapsed in a heap five hundred yards from the house, feel free to tell me you told me so. Now, do you have anything I can use as a leash or not?”

Stubborn man!

Charity kneaded her bread dough more vigorously than usual, imagining that it was Miles Hollingsworth’s face. He had been gone for half an hour already. She had watched in concern as he and the puppy—who had pranced alongside him wearing another sock sweater and slapdash rope slip lead—painstakingly made their way to the jetty. He had turned right before the wooden dock in order to access the beach, and Charity had lost sight of him after that.

He wasn’t her responsibility, she was here to cook and clean and make his stay as comfortable as possible. She was not here to police his every move and make sure he took his fricking medicine. She lifted the dough and slapped it down on the granite counter with enough force to send flour exploding in all directions.

“Damn it,” she cursed, annoyed by the mess and blaming him for that too. The last three days had been so uncomfortable for her. She had done her best to remain out of sight, but he seemed to actively seek her out, which unnerved her. Especially since he never appeared to have any reason to do so, sometimes he just sat in the kitchen and watched her work. She hated that. She felt awkward and out of sorts having him in her space.

But she couldn’t prohibit him from coming into his own kitchen.

She could tell that he was bored and restless but—again—it wasn’t her job to keep him entertained. Happily, training the dog took up a lot of his attention. But the pup was a fast learner and slept often, which meant that he found himself at loose ends for large chunks of the day.

His walks around the garden had gotten longer each day, and she supposed it was inevitable for cabin fever and boredom to force him to venture farther afield.