While You Were Writing: Watkin's Pond, Book 2 by Virginia Nelson Page A

She crooned over him and talked excitedly about further things she planned to better streamline his workday. Sheri sat across from him at the small table and didn’t say a word.
    He’d be amazed if he could resist snapping in temper before Candice served the meal.

Chapter Eleven
    Impeccable manners, nothing thrown, well-groomed.
    The man Radcliffe had become in the single day she’d been gone seemed more distant and more of a stranger than the grumbling old man she’d found the first day in the grocery store. She kept waiting for him to snap out of it, to chew out Candice for her peppered questions and unending cheer. Instead, he smiled at her, passed the gravy—because the bitch made gravy—and hardly spared Sheri a glance through the entire uncomfortable meal.
    Her nails dug half-moons into her palms and not a bite of the perfectly prepared meal crossed her lips as she sat through it, waiting for the real Radcliffe to make an appearance.
    Which was the mask? The frowning hairy creature who asked for—demanded—honesty even if it were brutal or the smiling handsome man offering to help with the dishes and talking—knowledgeably, no less—about reality television?
    Candice, because she was perfect and athletic and polite and could cook, shoved Radcliffe away—he didn’t complain about her hands on him—and told him to go back to writing, she had the clean-up covered.
    To which, Radcliffe smiled, turned and waggled his brows frantically at Sheri.
    Her own brows dropped and her head tilted. Was he really waggling at her and expecting her to follow him?
    She crossed her legs and arms and relaxed back against her seat.
    “Sheri, our walk? As Candice pointed out, it’s important not to break routine simply because she’s here.”
    Since when was an after-dinner walk part of his routine? She smirked at his obvious lie and stood, bowing her head to hide her smile. “Of course. After you.”
    Following his hulking frame out the back door, they walked in silence, him leading and her trudging after him, wondering what in the hell he was up to.
    Once they’d crossed the creek that ran near the house, he spun on her. “Look, I’m trying to be polite, the least you could do is not make it harder.”
    “Pardon me?” She tried to keep her own temper from rising to meet his. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from smiling. Ah, here’s my Radcliffe.
    “You’re the one who has the project, who wants to fix me. You came back, so obviously you’re still sure you can help me. If you’re dedicated to your self-claimed calling, one would think I wouldn’t have to practically beg you to go for a walk so we could be alone.” He pointed at her.
    That jabbing finger frayed what was left of her control. “Really, Radcliffe? You’re going to throw what I do back in my face? What’s the reality: Mister Calm, Cool and Shaved or the asshole I’ve come to know? With Candice you’re all sugary sweetness, and you ask me to walk with you so you can, what? Lecture me?”
    “No, dammit.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “But I can hardly see how you’ve supposedly helped others if this is how you go about your renovations.”
    He sneered the last word at her and she stomped her foot. “Lie down on the ground.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said, lie down. On your back on the ground.”
    He stared at her, a silhouette against a backdrop of night. She couldn’t read his expression and didn’t need to. In their time together, she could guess at the incredulity marking his face.
    What shocked her was that he obeyed, lying down on the ground without further complaint. She copied him, placing her head just touching his on the bed of grass and let the blanket of silence and darkness fall around them. She could hear him breathing behind her, but she neither moved nor said a word.
    “Is there a reason we’re lying in a hay field staring at the sky?”
    Her lips quirked. She knew he wouldn’t be able to lie