Another nervous pang rolled through her system. She’d had a busy day ensuring everything was all set to go. She’d moved her stuff out of the cottage and into Grady’s spare bedroom. All the bedrooms were situated through the archway and ran off a long hallway. Grady’s room was at one end and beside what was a smaller room he used as an office. It had a desk—neat-freak tidy—a big black leather swivel chair, and a state-of-the-art computer. There were bookshelves on one wall containing mostly agricultural and animal husbandry books, a three-drawer filing cabinet, and a leather couch that looked as if it had been well used.

Also, to her surprise, was the cherub, propped against the wall. Suzanne had half expected him to have burned it already. Or stashed it in the barn. Yet it was in his office, facing out, where he could see it every day.

Best not to dwell on that particular quandary.

Next to the office was the bathroom then another bedroom and next to that—about as far away from Grady’s room as was possible—was Suzanne’s room. Thankfully, it was big enough to be able to store her paintings, her easel, and her art supplies.

She’d thrown open the back and front doors to the cottage to air it in preparation for her parents’ arrival. It had smelled a bit like her studio, and Suzanne didn’t want her mom asking questions about what Suzanne was working on. Not yet anyway. She’d stripped and remade the bed with fresh sheets and cleaned the bathroom.

As part of the plan, she had deliberately not put any decorations in the cottage. She wanted it to be a haven for her parents to escape to when the cabin cheer became too much. She had put up a tree, however—the tackiest artificial tree she could find on her Denver expedition.

The branches were stiff bristles of garish pink, and it came complete with its own yellow-and-green pineapple baubles. The angel on top was a hula girl wearing a Santa hat.

It was a tropical Christmas abomination. But it still looked better than that coat hanger disaster in their brownstone.

The vehicle—some fancy, expensive-looking four-wheel drive—pulling to a stop in front of the cabin brought Suzanne back to the present. She waved and plastered a smile on her face. This was it—showtime. There was nothing more she could do.

The only thing missing was Grady.

But she wasn’t thinking about that because, if she thought about that, then she’d think about last night, about kissing him and the other stuff they’d done. Heavy petting on the couch like a pair of horny teenagers, his hands shoved up her top, her hands shoved inside his pants.

And she couldn’t think about that with her mother’s car door opening.