The SEAL's Rebel Librarian by Anne Calhoun

looking over Rose’s. Keenan stood on the porch, wearing a pair of khakis, a button-down shirt, and a blazer. His eyes widened slightly, then he waved.
    â€œCome in,” Grannie called. “Rose, go let him in.”
    â€œI’ll go,” Jack said.
    â€œWe should both go,” Rose said. “Jack, we need—”
    â€œI’ll go,” Jack said firmly. “You sit over there, behind the table or something. Here. Put on Grannie’s apron.”
    â€œWhat?” Rose said.
    â€œSomeone let that poor man in this instant,” Grannie said.
    That poor man had the worst reputation on the team, and he was standing on Grannie’s front porch, carrying flowers and a bottle of wine, dressed like he was going on a date. Jack strode down the hall, tripped over one of Grannie’s rag rugs, and caught himself just before he pitched through the screen into Keenan’s arms.
    â€œFuck,” he muttered.
    â€œHello to you, too,” Keenan said.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Jack said, mostly to cover his embarrassment at tripping over a damn rug. He hauled the door open.
    Keenan stepped inside, then looked at the offerings in his hands. “What?”
    â€œWine?”
    â€œYour grandmother had wine with lunch every day,” Keenan said, frowning. “Was that a vacation thing?”
    â€œOh. Never mind,” Jack said, feeling like a bigger ass.
    â€œKeenan, you really shouldn’t have,” Grannie said, advancing on them, her eyes on the flowers. “Tulips, how lovely! Are these the variety we saw in Istanbul?”
    â€œThey are,” Keenan said easily. “I brought some bulbs, too. Maybe you could plant them in the fall for next spring.”
    â€œSo very thoughtful,” Grannie said.
    â€œHello, Keenan,” Rose said.
    His sister was definitely not sitting behind the solid farmhouse table in the kitchen, nor was she wearing the apron he’d shoved at her. She was standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, her hair spilling forward over her shoulders.
    â€œHi, Rose,” Keenan said.
    Rose looked at him. “Jack, we need to—”
    â€œNot while my roast is cooling,” Grannie interrupted. “Everyone into the kitchen, now.”
    They ended up around the table, Jack at the head, carving a pork roast like the head of the household while Keenan listened intently to Grannie’s chatter about the flowers he’d brought and Rose passed plates and poured wine.
    â€œKeenan, how are you finding Field Energy?” Grannie asked.
    Jack cut off a piece of perfect tender roast and waited to see what Keenan would say about giving up on the contracting work in the Middle East.
    â€œIt’s interesting, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to learn about the business side of the operation.”
    â€œHe’s already made some great suggestions for security at the storage facilities,” Rose said.
    â€œLow-hanging fruit,” Keenan said with characteristic humility. “When your primary method of protection is to situate them in the middle of nowhere—Oklahoma—there’s nowhere to go but up.”
    Rose ran operations for Field Energy. Jack put two and two together and came up with, “How closely are you two working together?”
    â€œClose enough to increase security while decreasing operational costs, which are our jobs ,” Rose said, every inch the professional despite her extremely feminine outfit.
    â€œAnd you?” Grannie said. “How’s school, Jack?”
    One of the worst things about family was the way a single phrase or question could take twenty years off your age. Jack experienced a dizzying sense of déjà vu, all the way back to high school, when he’d sat in this kitchen, thinking about his total lack of interest in school and which girl he was currently in trouble with. “It’s fine,” he said.
    Rose gave a little