Read Online The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) by Brenda Harlen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brenda Harlen
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here.”
“I’ll let that pass because you don’t know me very well yet,” he said, flicking on his indicator to make the turn.
“Yet?”
His lips curved. “The night is still young.”
“The third street on the right,” she said.
He made the next turn.
“And the second driveway on the left.”
He pulled into the brick driveway and parked behind the silver-colored Prius that he recognized as her vehicle. The two-story town house was stone and brick, with a covered porch and lots of windows. The flower beds that flanked the steps leading up to the front door were a riot of red and purple and yellow blooms.
“Nice place,” he said.
“We like it.”
“We?”
“Me and Tristyn.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost four years.” She dug her keys out of her purse. “Well, thanks for the ride.”
“If you’re really grateful, you could invite me in for a drink,” he suggested.
“Or I could pretend you’re Gold Hub Taxi and leave ten dollars on your dash.”
“There’s no need to take your anger on your sisters out on me,” he pointed out reasonably.
She sighed. “You’re right—I’m sorry. Would you like to come in for a drink?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
“I’ve got coffee” she admitted.
“I’ve got cannoli,” he told her.
“If you intended to share that cannoli with me, you might have mentioned that in the first place.”
“I was hoping you’d be more interested in my company than my mother’s pastry.”
“Come on, Charm Boy.”
He turned off the engine. “Charm Boy?”
She laughed at his indignant tone. “Would you prefer it if I called you Pastry Purveyor?”
“As long as you call me,” he said with a grin.
Chapter Six
T he front foyer was wide and inviting—the floor covered in sand-colored ceramic tiles, the walls painted a pale gold color and set off with glossy white trim. It was tasteful and elegant and probably professionally decorated, which shouldn’t have surprised him, considering that she was a Garrett.
His own family was hardly poor—except in comparison to one of Charisma’s oldest and wealthiest families. Which made him wonder why Jordyn would choose to work erratic hours behind the bar in an Irish pub instead of holding down a nine-to-five job in one of the offices of Garrett Furniture.
Jordyn stepped out of her sandals, drawing his attention to her feet—and her sexy toenails. “Nice color,” he said.
She glanced down and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Did you have a good day with your sisters?”
“Until they ditched me—yeah.” She led the way down a narrow hallway, past a cozy-looking living area with plush pillow-back sofas and dark mission-style tables, skirting past a curving staircase leading to a second level.
“What’s upstairs?”
“Three bedrooms and another bathroom.”
“You’re not going to give me a tour?”
“No, but I will give you the coffee you said you wanted.”
He decided to be grateful for that much and try not to think about the fact that her bedroom was somewhere at the top of those stairs.
“What kind of coffee do you like?”
“Regular.”
A wide arched doorway led into the kitchen. Jordyn hit a switch on the wall, flooding the room with light.
“Almond biscotti, caramel drizzle, half caff, bold extra, Italian roast, Irish cream, French vanilla or breakfast in bed.”
He smiled. “I didn’t know breakfast in bed was an option.”
“It’s a flavor of coffee.”
“Oh.” He glanced over her shoulder at the coffee carousel. “Italian roast.”
She pulled a mug out of the cupboard, set it on the drip tray, popped the flavor cup into the machine, then set it brewing. She turned around, her lips curving as she looked past him to the doorway. “There you are, sweetie.”
Sweetie?
Marco felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his stomach, then he turned and saw the object of her affection: a mass of white, black and rust-colored fur that was emitting a
“I’ll let that pass because you don’t know me very well yet,” he said, flicking on his indicator to make the turn.
“Yet?”
His lips curved. “The night is still young.”
“The third street on the right,” she said.
He made the next turn.
“And the second driveway on the left.”
He pulled into the brick driveway and parked behind the silver-colored Prius that he recognized as her vehicle. The two-story town house was stone and brick, with a covered porch and lots of windows. The flower beds that flanked the steps leading up to the front door were a riot of red and purple and yellow blooms.
“Nice place,” he said.
“We like it.”
“We?”
“Me and Tristyn.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost four years.” She dug her keys out of her purse. “Well, thanks for the ride.”
“If you’re really grateful, you could invite me in for a drink,” he suggested.
“Or I could pretend you’re Gold Hub Taxi and leave ten dollars on your dash.”
“There’s no need to take your anger on your sisters out on me,” he pointed out reasonably.
She sighed. “You’re right—I’m sorry. Would you like to come in for a drink?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”
“I’ve got coffee” she admitted.
“I’ve got cannoli,” he told her.
“If you intended to share that cannoli with me, you might have mentioned that in the first place.”
“I was hoping you’d be more interested in my company than my mother’s pastry.”
“Come on, Charm Boy.”
He turned off the engine. “Charm Boy?”
She laughed at his indignant tone. “Would you prefer it if I called you Pastry Purveyor?”
“As long as you call me,” he said with a grin.
Chapter Six
T he front foyer was wide and inviting—the floor covered in sand-colored ceramic tiles, the walls painted a pale gold color and set off with glossy white trim. It was tasteful and elegant and probably professionally decorated, which shouldn’t have surprised him, considering that she was a Garrett.
His own family was hardly poor—except in comparison to one of Charisma’s oldest and wealthiest families. Which made him wonder why Jordyn would choose to work erratic hours behind the bar in an Irish pub instead of holding down a nine-to-five job in one of the offices of Garrett Furniture.
Jordyn stepped out of her sandals, drawing his attention to her feet—and her sexy toenails. “Nice color,” he said.
She glanced down and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Did you have a good day with your sisters?”
“Until they ditched me—yeah.” She led the way down a narrow hallway, past a cozy-looking living area with plush pillow-back sofas and dark mission-style tables, skirting past a curving staircase leading to a second level.
“What’s upstairs?”
“Three bedrooms and another bathroom.”
“You’re not going to give me a tour?”
“No, but I will give you the coffee you said you wanted.”
He decided to be grateful for that much and try not to think about the fact that her bedroom was somewhere at the top of those stairs.
“What kind of coffee do you like?”
“Regular.”
A wide arched doorway led into the kitchen. Jordyn hit a switch on the wall, flooding the room with light.
“Almond biscotti, caramel drizzle, half caff, bold extra, Italian roast, Irish cream, French vanilla or breakfast in bed.”
He smiled. “I didn’t know breakfast in bed was an option.”
“It’s a flavor of coffee.”
“Oh.” He glanced over her shoulder at the coffee carousel. “Italian roast.”
She pulled a mug out of the cupboard, set it on the drip tray, popped the flavor cup into the machine, then set it brewing. She turned around, her lips curving as she looked past him to the doorway. “There you are, sweetie.”
Sweetie?
Marco felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his stomach, then he turned and saw the object of her affection: a mass of white, black and rust-colored fur that was emitting a
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