Love, Lattes and Mutants. Sandra Cox

white duvet smoothed neatly over it.

      I make a quick trip through the cottage. Tyler is gone and so is Gramps. Though Gramps has at least left a pot of coffee for me. Still feeling slightly fragile, I doctor it with cream and sugar.

      Taking one last look to make sure Tyler isn’t around, I wander back to my bedroom nursing my cream-laden java. Once in my room, I toss off the glasses, let my hair down, comb it with my fingers, and step out of my nerd attire, leaving the offending garments on the floor where they fall.

      From my closet, I pull out a red-ribbed, sleeveless, fitted-tee and white shorts. I grab a bottle of Crimson Sunset nail polish, and carrying my coffee in the other hand, go to the small deck on the back of the house.

      Listening to the happy chirp of birds, and the rhythmic lap of the waves, I paint my toenails, sip my coffee, and fall asleep.

      “Piper. Mr. Dunn. Piper. Mr. Dunn.” I’m dreaming of Tyler. Telling him, even though he’s a great kisser, I can’t get involved with him. Along with the pounding, the voice becomes more insistent. Groggy, I open my eyes then jerk upright. “Oh, my God, it is Tyler.”

      I leap out of the chair, run into the house, and throw on my nerd gear. Out of breath, I race to the door. He’s turning away. The old screen creaks when I open it. “What are you doing here?”

      He turns and gives me a mega-powered smile that leaves my knees weak. “Shouldn’t you be home in bed?” I manage.

      “I’m okay. Can I come in?”

      “Sure.” I step back.

      He stops inside the threshold. His first words take me by surprise. “You paint your toenails.”

      Heat floods my cheeks. “So?”

      “So, you have attractive feet.”

      “Gramps said you nearly drowned. Your brain must still be waterlogged.” I try hard not to squirm.

      “Possibly,” he admits. “But that has no bearing on the fact that you’ve got nice feet. They’re slender and perfectly formed.”

      “Carlisle, do you have a foot fetish?” I narrow my eyes.

      He laughs and seems sincerely amused. “No. It’s just that’s one of the few portions of your anatomy that’s visible.”

      I hate these clothes. “You need to be home resting. You had a harrowing experience. I’m surprised your parents let you out of the house.”

      “I snuck out.”

      “You need to go back home and to bed.” I open the door.

      Instead of walking through it, he leans against the wall, crosses his arms, and looks at me speculatively. “I do feel rather weak. Maybe I should lie down.”

      I glance at him uneasily. These glasses make it difficult to see. But it doesn’t take too much effort to recognize the devils dancing in his eyes. “You certainly aren’t suggesting…”

      “What?” he asks innocently, the devils still dancing “I’m just saying if you’re worried about me I can rest here.”

      I heave a sigh and try to get my racing heart under control. I do my best to act put out. “You better go home.”

      “I can’t help teasing you. You’re so easy to get a rise out of.”

      “I knew that. There’s no way you’d want to go to bed with me.” The bitterness in my voice embarrasses me.

      He takes a step closer. “You’re wrong about that,” he responds, suddenly serious.

      I take a step back.

      “But what I came for is to thank you and your grandfather for saving my life. You especially.” His gaze burns into mine.

      I reach for the doorknob. “Gramps isn’t here. I’ll give him the message. But as far as me, I didn’t do anything.” I hold crossed-fingers behind my back.

      “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait for your grandfather.” He says nothing about my involvement or lack thereof.

      I sigh and motion him toward the small living room. “If you won’t leave,” I say ungraciously, “you might as well sit down. Would you like some tea?” I would offer other beverages, but I don’t like his color. He looks feverish and needs to be off his feet.

      “Yes, thank you.”

      “Sit.” I point in the direction of our living room. It holds a saggy old couch and a TV that still has a tube instead of the sleek LCDs.

      “Yes, ma’am.” He salutes me and heads toward the living room.

      I walk into the kitchen and heat the water. When the teakettle begins to whistle, I pour the boiling water over the tea bags then set the kettle back on the stove. Turning, I nearly land in Tyler’s arms. The sun shines through the kitchen window and casts a shadow across his face.

      He places one hand on the counter and one on the cool portion of the stovetop, neatly trapping me in the corner. My heart pounds. I lift my chin and ask in what I hope is a cool voice, “What are you doing?”

      “When I was in the water, a beautiful young woman rescued me. What do you know about that?”

      “Maybe you hallucinated. That doesn’t sound possible, especially in that storm.”

      “My sister told me you called continually trying to get hold of me to tell me not to go out. You knew a storm was coming before anyone else, even the weather station. How?”

      I had an answer for that one. “Gramps’ knee. It always acts up when bad weather’s coming.”

      “I’ll give you that one. But how did I get to shore?”

      “How should I know?”

      “Oh, I think you know all right. And I know how to prove it,” he murmurs, his lips a breath away from mine.