Knee Deep in Sugar by Rocklyn Ryder

Author:Rocklyn Ryder
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-04-07T04:00:00+00:00

Cassidy

Thunder shakes the windows as I stare out at the storm.

I tense at the noise but surprisingly, I don't jump.

Ever since I left home, pretty much any loud or sudden noise makes me jump. So it feels weird when I realize I'm just sitting here at the counter with Grant next to me, watching a storm and eating pancakes.

Again I note that Grant is beside me. Close enough that I can feel his presence-- and the calming effect he has on me.

The thunder is followed by a violent gust of wind that shakes the building like it's trying to get inside.

"I guess it's a good thing I'm not stuck in the car," I say, totally awed by the strength of the wind outside, "If the car gets buried in snow, I'd have suffocated."

That's a sobering realization.

Grant turns his head and cranes his neck to see around me. I'm painfully aware that he's put his hand on the back of my chair for balance.

"I don't think we're gonna get much snow out of this storm." His voice is low and thoughtful with a touch of ominous in his forecast.

"It's still too cold out there for snow."

His body relaxes and he settles back into the chair beside me, but his hand is still on the back of my chair, his knuckles resting every so slightly against my back.

"I'm glad you're not out in your car too," he tells me soberly. "And not just because it would have been a liability nightmare once we dug your body out of that little SUV."

"Wow, way to lighten things up there." I try to make it a joke, but it doesn't work very well.

Grant is eerily still beside me and I can feel his eyes on me and the tension like he's contemplating saying something else.

Another lightning flash and then more thunder.

This time I do jump.

"Don't worry, those windows have made it through the worst that South Dakota can throw at us," he assures me as he gathers plates and heads for the sink, "But stay out of the hot tub till the storm passes."

"I can do the dishes," I say, jumping up to take over before he gets too far into the project. "It's only fair since you cooked," then I add, "and bought the food."

He doesn't exactly yield the space in front of the sink to me, more like moves over a smidgen to make room for me.

That means I'm standing next to him again. This time really close.

"I didn't exactly buy it," he laughs, "I kinda helped myself to what the restaurant had in stock.

"But you own the hotel," I point out as I fill one side of the sink with soapy water and start washing the syrupy plates, "so technically, didn't you still buy everything?"

He hip checks me lightly, bumping his elbow against mine.

"Well, the resort is technically owned by a corporation that consists of myself and several members of my family, plus a few other private investors," he explains as he

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