She shook her head, another bout of giggles threatening to burst out of her.
“My luggage is back at the hotel. If I were at home, at least I’d have a gym bag in the car.”
She was tempted to tell him he was welcome to roam the house naked, but she needed more liquor in her system for that. “Go take a shower, leave your stuff outside the bathroom, and I’ll toss whatever’s not dry-clean only in the wash. I’ll find you a bathrobe or sweats or something.”
“Nana was six inches shorter than me.”
“I’m sure one of her guests left clothing here. Or I can run back into town and grab you some shorts and a T-shirt from a gift shop.”
He twisted his mouth, as if he didn’t agree. After a few seconds hesitation, he turned toward the stairs. “We both know nothing’s open here after eight, except the diner. If you find me clothes here, I’ll be eternally grateful.”
She grabbed his clothes when he handed them through the bathroom door, tossed them in the washing machine, then went in search of something for him to wear. After a lot of digging, she found a couple of long nightgowns, a satin robe that was meant to reach mid-thigh, and a couple pairs of terrycloth shorts. She’d let him make the decision.
“Bailey?” His voice carried down the corridor. “Clothes?”
She set the stack in the hand he stretched out through the crack in the bathroom door. He closed the door, and seconds later she heard, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I couldn’t find anything else.”
“Figures. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be out.”
While she waited, she put away the milk—someone really needed to clean that fridge—set the sandwiches out on plates, and poured them each another drink. Hinges creaked behind her. She set down the bottle of Jack and turned, curious to see which option he went with and prepared to stifle a laugh.
The footsteps on the second floor moved away from her, and she frowned. Silence settled in. Should she call out? He probably wanted to see what he could scrounge for himself. Before she could decide what to do next, the stairs creaked. Seconds later, he stepped into the dining room doorway, a paisley sheet wrapped around him like a toga.
He leaned against the wall, the position elongating his frame, and wiggled his eyebrows. “You think I can start a new fashion trend?”
“If your target audience is frat boys. Speaking of—I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone actually wear a sheet-toga. Where did you learn that?”
“I was a frat boy. Shall we?” He nodded at the food.
They settled at the table and ate in silence. She wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, she’d love to find that pleasant balance of fun and banter they used to have. That same feeling that peeked its head up a few times this afternoon. She didn’t want to hit one of those snags, where something set either him or her off, though. “I wonder why Nana never mentioned you still wrote to her.” She hid her wince. That was anything but a neutral topic.
He met her gaze for a moment, expression flat. He’d always had a brutal poker face. “Maybe she assumed it was a given.”
“You said mail. Like handwritten letters and such?” Why was she pushing this?
“With real stamps and real ink and real paper.”
“Hmm.” Bailey couldn’t come up with anything better.
Jonathan studied her. “I’m sorry about what happened with Danny.”
The name curdled in her gut, and she set her food aside in favor of another drink. “How much do you know?” Betrayal gnawed at her. She’d asked Nana to keep the details private. The entire town knew about the divorce, but Bailey couldn’t stand the thought of the whispers she’d hear if they knew why. It was worse with Jonathan, though. He’d tried to warn her. Pleaded with her not to marry the asshole. And she told him he was jealous.
But he’d been right. The cheating would have been enough, but there was so much more to it than he guessed. The verbal abuse. The way Danny made her doubt herself. His suicide threats. The bankruptcy she was still paying for... The one thing she could thank her ex for was she knew better than to get involved now. Flings on the mainland were easy—no heartbreak, no having to see their faces the morning after. The way life should be.
“Not a lot. Just that it ended badly and you were coping,” Jonathan said.
The reality pushed at her lips, wanting to spill out, but she washed it down with another drink. This wasn’t the night for confessions. “Exactly. And thank you.” She braced herself for more questions. Or pity. Or at least anI told you so.
“She never mentioned Lucifer.” He didn’t flinch, as he slid to a new topic.
Gratitude spilled through Bailey. “Luci’s only been here about six months. Showed up on the porch one day. Maybe a tourist left her behind; we don’t know. But she pretty much invited herself in and never left. What have you been up to? Nana bragged a lot, but never gave more details than you’re a big, important executive forsome technology something or other.” Bailey also knew he paid his way through college with day-trading investments. Even as a teenager, he had a scary-good knack for buying and selling at the right time. An eye for numbers, trends, and how business decisions impacted both. He refused to go into brokerage though, because he wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps.
“Well”—he refilled both their glasses—“I was, until about six months ago. I’ve got a handful of partners now, and we invest in businesses that might not find funding elsewhere.”
Angel investors. That sounded almost selfless and sweet. The whiskey drilled into her head, making everything a little more sparkly. “Do you keep in touch with the rest of your family?”