She peered around his waist. Apparently to confirm that a harem of naked women wasn’t cavorting in his living room.
This also pleased him, inordinately so.
He gave himself a mental kick in the keister. In matters concerning Rae, he wasn’t used to having the upper hand. It was no reason to fall for her bumbling charm offensive.
Still, putting her at ease was the better part of valor. He’d never before seen her this nervous.
“I don’t want your money,” he said, guessing at her reason for the visit. “The planter you mowed down in front of my office isn’t a family heirloom. Imitation terra-cotta—all plastic. I’ll pick up a new one for next to nothing. Your road rage is forgiven.”
“Yuna told you I planned to send a check? That was a private conversation!”
“Yuna told Kipp. He blabbed.”
“Kipp spilled?” For a marvelous instant, the worry left Rae’s features, and a grin lit her face. “The monster.”
“Don’t be too hard on him. Dealing with his wife’s hormonal swings is testing his mettle.”
Trashing on mutual friends was an icebreaker, and he sensed her relief. As if she needed a lighthearted interlude before launching into the true reason for stopping by.
“Kipp’s a lightweight,” she said. “Yuna can bend his mettle even when she’s not pregnant.”
“Yeah, and he’s practically living at my house. Mostly because Kameko has been knocking on my door. She’s the bigger carnivore.”
“Weird, isn’t it? For a little kid, she can chow down the protein.”
This new, anxiety-riddled version of Rae was fetching. What did she need to discuss? The fact that she’d appeared unexpectedly was an opportunity.
Seizing it, he swung the door wide. “Why don’t you come in?”
“Thanks.”
Helping her out of her coat, he discovered a faded green T-shirt underneath. It was emblazoned with orange lettering. I’M NOT SHOUTING. I’M IRISH. A castoff from her father’s closet? On closer inspection, she hadn’t brushed her long and wonderfully untamed hair. Apparently, she’d jumped into her car and driven over, accompanied by nothing more than a bad case of nerves.
Which meant Rae’s guard wasn’t up. For once. What were the odds it would ever happen again?
Giving her space, Griffin rooted himself in the center of the living room.
“Rae, let me go first.” He resisted the urge to begin pacing. Allow Rae to detect that they were both nervous, and he’d lose the upper hand. “There’s something I have to say.”
“Can it wait? What I need to discuss is more important.”
A debatable conclusion, but Griffin let it slide. She’d always been stubborn and a little bossy.
“I have to get this off my chest,” he admitted. Since Monday, he’d been silently composing the speech.
“Go ahead.”
“You tend to act first and think later. I’m the opposite. I take my time, think things through.”
“You know how you feel before you act. That’s no big secret. You’re the tortoise, and I’m the hare.” She tipped her head to the side. “Your big sister used to tease us about it. And I mean all the time. Sally was such a know-it-all when we were kids. I was never sure which position she thought was better—hare or tortoise.”
“Definitely tortoise,” he supplied, “for all the obvious reasons. A tortoise doesn’t leap into the fray without thinking.”
“Because of short legs.”
“What?”
“A tortoise has short legs—they aren’t made for leaping.” She scanned his tall frame. Rae stood five foot ten, but he had four inches on her. “Metaphorically speaking,” she added, “I’m sure your legs can leap just fine.”
With frustration, Griffin palmed his forehead. “For ten seconds, would you ditch the play-by-play? Let me finish.”
“Sure.”
“When we were in high school—long before the White Hurricane—I knew I was in love with you. I’m a tortoise. I think things through. I knew what I felt was real, clear back when we started our freshman year. I kept up the best-buddy routine because I knew your feelings weren’t the same . . . at least not until our last months of high school. From ninth grade on, there’s not much else I thought about, other than sealing the deal.”
“I was a girl, not a business transaction.” Her brow arched. She darted a glance at the door. “I really do need your help with something. Actually, I need a favor. A big one. Can we hash out the other stuff some other time?”