I shouldn’t encourage him, but it’d been a long time since someone had given me actual butterflies. I took another sip of Merlot to fortify myself, then responded.
That sounds amazing.
Pick you up at 8?
I’ll be ready.
I put my phone down and considered. If I was losing at least half a day to hiking tomorrow, I needed to work on the house.
Two coffee cups of wine later, I’d made exactly no progress. Unless “progress” consisted of opening a closet, realizing I had a shit-ton of work to do, wondering why I was bothering, closing the door, then reminding myself I loved this house and opening a different closet. I stood in front of yet another closet, contemplating a third cup of wine, when there was a knock on my door.
I opened it to find a woman of no more than five feet standing in front of me, wrinkled as the day was long and sporting a full head of curled-and-set hair that I knew she’d deliberately dyed baby pink.
She smiled. “Devon!”
I smiled back. “Miss Betty!”
She leaned in for a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, sweet girl.”
“You, too.” Betty Savage lived next door and had been one of Gigi’s best friends. “Sorry for the way I sound.” I gestured at my face. “Jaw’s wired shut. Want to come in?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Oh, no. And honey, we all know about the jaw. Whole town does. I was getting home from my card night with the church ladies and saw the lights on. Wanted to swing by and let you know I joined the historical society.” She looked at me meaningfully.
I pretended to clutch my pearls. “You’re not Team Mrs. Withers, are you?”
She grimaced. “Lord no. That woman is a boil on my butt.”
I barked out a laugh, which of course hurt my jaw.
“I’m Team Shirley all the way. Already fighting for you and this house, Devon, don’t you worry.”
“Aw, thanks, Miss Betty. But I think we have it under control.” What could Mrs. Withers possibly do at this point?
“Well, we’ll see.” She patted my arm. “So you’re staying?” she said, changing subjects abruptly.
“Just the six months.”
“Oh?” she asked, blinking up at me. “I figured you’d stay.”
“Um.” My stomach churned. I blamed the wine. “I, um, have plans.” I had no plans. Obviously.
She smiled up at me and patted my arm again. “Of course you do, dear. I’ll come by again soon and bring you some of my lemon squares.”
As she turned to leave, I wondered which of my old East Coast gigs I could line back up. Maybe Coney Island? Too cold by the time I was done here. Or something in Florida? Maybe even California.
As long as it wasn’t here.
9
DEVON 5 MONTHS, 20 DAYS TO GO
WERE EMOTIONAL HANGOVERS a thing? They should be. Or maybe it was the wine.
It was probably the wine.
Either way, I woke up with just enough time to wash my face, throw on clothes and brew some coffee before Aaron pulled up exactly at 8:00 on the dot.
And…wow. Did he get hotter in the past week? I watched as he got out of his truck in shorter-than-normal hiking shorts, revealing tanned thighs and calves that were clearly the product of never-missed leg days and running. He wore a thin blue t-shirt that clung to his chest, and I was beginning to think chest-clinging shirts were all he owned, and honestly? I was here for it.
He stepped onto the porch in well-worn hiking boots, then pushed up his mirrored sunglasses to give me a warm smile as I opened the screen door.
Cue the butterflies and racing heart, because good lord, the way he looked at me. Something had changed, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but my body’s reaction to him was visceral. “Good morning,” I squeaked and gestured for him to come in.
“Good morning.” He stepped over the threshold and I inhaled. Yep, still smelled good as hell. Eyes sharp, he studied me. “How are you?”
Ah. Professional Aaron was making an appearance. I positioned my jaw for inspection. “Bruising is basically gone, the only pain is my ego’s, and my only addiction is to cherry chapstick,” I joked.
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “Mind if I take a look?”
And have him within inches of me? Yes, please.
I stilled as he closed in, taking sips of air as his deliciously rough-but-not-too-rough fingers skimmed the column of my neck and chin. It felt like maybe he lingered longer than he needed to, but eventually he stepped back.
“How did your follow-up go?”
Shrugging, I said, “Fine. Doctor was still an ass, and by the way, I’m saying ass like a donkey, not ash like the remains of a fire. I can tell I’m gonna be really over this by the time I’m free of it.”
He smiled in understanding, then nodded at the travel cup in my hand. “I promised Jodi we’d swing by and get coffee, if that’s okay. Pretty sure she’s having withdrawals from not seeing you. You game?”
