“You don’t have to wait for me.”
“Kali,” he said, smirking. “By the time I get stuck into my email, you’ll the one waiting.”
“Wow. You know how to charm a lady.”
He laughed. “Come down when you’re ready.” He turned away, giving me another view of that tight ass of his.
I sighed, turning back to the wall.
Damn, that ass.
***
Twenty minutes later, I made my way downstairs.
Brantley sat at the kitchen table, his phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder, typing at his computer. “Yes, well I can’t deal with this currently. I haven’t yet been to the office here… I still have a week…I understand that, but—” He glanced at me. “Yes, sir. Understood. Can we continue this? I have a private appointment right now… Yes. Goodbye.”
He pulled the phone from its perch, tapped the screen and placed it face-down on the table. Offering me a tight smile, he closed the laptop and pointed to the microwave. “Sixty seconds and it’ll be perfect.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did I interrupt an important call?”
His nostrils flared as he inhaled, but he shook his head. “My boss trying to get me back to work at my new office before I’m able to. The office managed before me, they can wait a few more days until I can get there.”
“The twins?” I asked softly.
He hit the button on the microwave. The light came on with the whirr of the machine, revealing two of Marcie’s pots of pasta. “Yep. I tried to source a nanny around here before I moved, but that was surprisingly difficult.”
“Yeah, there isn’t a lot here.” I slid into a seat at the table.
“Let me guess,” he said, amusement tinging his tone. “There’s not a market for it.”
“Oh my god, how did you know?”
He glanced over his shoulder, dark hair almost flipping into his eyes, and smirked. “Lucky guess.”
I laughed, resting my chin on my hand. The table was hard on my elbow. “Summer is who we all use. It was her mom before her, and I think her mom before her.”
“Is there anything in Rock Bay that isn’t a family business?” Brantley pulled the two trays out carefully. He spilled the pasta onto two plates before setting them in front of me with cutlery.
“Thank you.” I flashed him the hint of a smile. “Actually, that’s a great question. I basically took after my dad because I didn’t have much choice. I think the same was for Summer—her dad worked a lot so she was always with her mom, then worked for her when she got older. Hmm.” I stabbed my fork into some pasta. “Have you been to Corkys? The Irish Bar?”
“No. I can’t say that’s a place I’d like the twins to explore.”
“Because it’s a bar or because they’d terrorize it?”
“Because I like to drink in peace,” he replied wryly, a smile matching his tone stretching across his tone.
I fought not to snort as I ate and laughed at the same time. “Well, Corkys isn’t. Paddy—not his real name, by the way—opened it about five years ago. Got pissed off with all the fake Irish in the North-East, apparently.”
“I thought they were real Irish.” Brantley paused. “And isn’t that ironic given his fake name?”
“Kinda, but he’s actually Irish. Accent and everything.”
“Fair enough. What about the other businesses in town?”
I ate as I thought. “There’s Delia’s Diner. She’s more on the road out of town, but still technically in Rock Bay. Her grandma was Delia, her mom Delilah, and her Della.”
“I see the pattern there.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s like the Kardashians heard of them and tried to out-name them.”
“I can honestly say I couldn’t give a rats ass about that family.”
“You should try it. It’s a great stress reliever, because as long as you watch, you know your life will never be as much of a train wreck as theirs.”
Brantley laughed, sipping some water. “I’ll remember that. Sorry—did you want a drink? I’m not used to guests who don’t demand everything in sight.”
“I’m fine.” My lips twisted. “Anyone else in town you want to know about? That might be easier.”
He inclined his head to me, eyes twinkling. “Mrs. Simpson at the Post Office.”
“Ah! Family business there, too. Nobody but a Simpson has run that office for a hundred years.”
“Seriously?”
“Ask Mr. Ibetger at the library.”
Brantley finished his lunch and, pushing it to the side, wiped at his mouth with his thumb. “I have no intention of going near a library, with or without my kids.”
“Shame. He knows everything there is to know about Rock Bay.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to tell me everything about this town?”
I stilled. When I met his eyes, the now-strangely-familiar twinkle of amusement shined back at me.
He was teasing me.
The shit.
“Absolutely,” I answered. “This conversation is positively dreadful. In fact, if Slughorn’s hourglass was sitting between us, it’d be moving slower than a sloth.”