Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [34]
According to Jess, who’d spent some of the past week taking reservations, Market was booked solid for the first three weeks after its official grand opening. Obviously the same buzz that had gotten Miranda her book deal was also working in Adam’s favor. Squeezing shampoo onto her palm, Miranda worked it into a lather. Would the evidence of Market’s reservation book be enough to make Adam happy to see her today?
Somehow, she thought not.
She couldn’t believe he’d found out about the book deal so quickly. Obviously, it would’ve come out sooner or later, but there had to have been a better way for him to get wind of it. Who could’ve predicted that those suppliers would all count themselves among Adam’s friends? And while she was on the subject, was there anyone in the entire city who didn’t like Adam Temple? The task of digging up dirt on him was looking more daunting by the day, as every person she spoke to either refused to answer her questions, or had nothing but glowing things to say about the man.
Miranda made a face. She’d be willing to bet that none of Adam’s many friends had been raked over the coals by him, repeatedly, the way she had. That scene at Union Square! Adam was forcing Miranda to redefine “undignified.” She couldn’t help wishing she’d had the chance to tell him about the book deal herself. Maybe she could’ve spun it so it didn’t sound so much like she was taking advantage of him. Maybe that confrontation would’ve ended differently.
Miranda finished soaping her hair and ducked under the shower to rinse. The thick strands were heavy with water, slip-sliding down her back. She shivered despite the warmth of the water, remembering Adam’s hard hand gently pushing her hair aside, the heat of his strong body along her back, the murmur of his breath against the side of her face.
Stop it, she ordered herself. It’s not like he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear—pretty far from it, in fact.
She’d do her hair in a French braid tonight, she decided. To keep it out of the way and ensure she wouldn’t be reminded of that strange almost-embrace by the tickling of hair on her shoulders. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d be doing in the kitchen, and she couldn’t afford any sort of distraction.
“Come on!”
Jess rapped on the bathroom door, his excited voice muffled but distinct.
Miranda smiled to herself. Even if they hadn’t managed to sit down and have that serious talk she knew they’d eventually need to have, it was still lovely to be living with Jess again. Even the daily ritual of fighting over who took longer in the shower hadn’t lost its glow.
She turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower cubicle, whisking one towel around her hair, another around her body.
When she opened the bathroom door, Jess was momentarily enveloped in a cloud of steam and he coughed exaggeratedly as he pushed past her.
“You’re not the only one who wants to get clean, you know,” he said, stripping off the ratty T-shirt he wore to sleep in.
“I know. What happened to you at Brandewine, Jess? You never used to spend so much time every day beautifying. Is there a cute girl you want to impress at Market?” she teased, hopeful.
She happened to catch Jess’s slight, momentary wince in the bathroom mirror, and it made Miranda pause and replay what she’d just said, searching for hidden meanings. Oh, dear, maybe he was still smarting from whatever happened with that Tara girl, despite what he’d told Miranda.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” she said sympathetically. “I didn’t mean—”
“Nothing to be sorry for. Hey, what do you think of Grant?”
Miranda squinted at the abrupt change of subject. “I don’t know. He seems very competent. And he’s been good to you, hasn’t he?”
“He has. I like him. I mean, he’s a good guy. You know, I think he might be gay.”
“Oh?” Miranda felt a bit at sea in this conversation. “What makes you think so?”
Jess shrugged,