Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
It’s as if something’s connecting us, refusing to let go.
“And to think that I bought this house without anyone mentioning the view as a selling point,” I mumble, craning my neck as he moves toward the back of his truck. No matter how hard I lean against the sink, how sharply the counter bites into my stomach, I can’t see him.
My heartbeat strums steadily as shots of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. What do I do now?
The doorknob shines in the sunlight, beckoning me to grab it and twist.
I shouldn’t. I have a bath waiting for me, a quiet house, and a clean slate with the neighborhood. But as I consider heading upstairs, the pull toward the back deck grows stronger.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this tiny thrill of attraction. I’ve been too busy with life, the kids, and responsibilities to be present in my own world. But I’m here, and the flannel-wearing stud is right there. Would it be that terrible to give in and just enjoy being a woman looking at a fine male specimen for a minute?
Can’t I have just this one thing?
It’s ridiculous—and I mentally rebuke myself the whole time—but I open the back door.
The wood is rough against my bare feet; the sun is warm on my shoulders. I tuck my towel tighter around me and shuffle to the edge of the porch.
Soft country music drifts across the yard, pierced by the ping of tools against metal.
I lean against the rail and pretend to inspect the oversize lilac bushes growing alongside my house. My fingers slip over a heart-shaped leaf as my gaze slips over his driveway. The music fades against my pounding heart as I wait for him to come back into view.
“Where did you go?” I whisper into the breeze. “Come on. Come back to Mama.”
He rounds the other side of the truck. His sudden appearance catches me off guard, and whatever cool, calm, and collected front I thought I’d be able to pull off doesn’t happen.
He looks up. Our gazes snap together.
I heave a breath.
His stare is potent . . . intentional. The intensity is so strong that I flinch. He watches me as unabashedly as I was watching him, as if to say, “I saw you, nosy lady.”
Get in the house, Gabs.
I drop the leaf and pull away, ready to retreat safely behind my door. But as I step back, a piece of fabric gets snagged by the rail. I whip around to prevent the towel from pulling away.
The tug was too much. It’s too late.
There’s a snap.
Then a crack.
There’s a lot of light on a lot of places it shouldn’t be.
“Ah!”
My panicked shriek breaks through the backyard as I topple, bracing for impact.
Oof.
Stems stick into my back and legs. Small branches poke me in uncomfortable places. There’s a joke to be made about the stiff shaft poking between my legs, but the flower dusting against my left breast is distracting.
I scramble to pull the towel across my front and catch my breath.
You’re right, Cricket. I wince. Only me.
CHAPTER TWO
GABRIELLE
It takes a whole two seconds to remember the prickliest piece of this situation: him.
He saw me. There’s no chance in the world the hunky neighbor didn’t just witness that ungraceful splash into the flowers. And if he has any manners at all, he’s on his way to ensure I’m not hurt.
I glance down at the askew towel.
The only thing hurt is my ego.
I tug the fabric to cover my essential bits. Funnily enough, I imagined removing layers of clothes in front of him just a few moments ago. Oh, the irony.
My breathing is hard and loud. I wiggle against the leaves in a futile attempt to be modest—to hide everything hidable, but all it does is make it difficult to listen for footsteps.
I have to get out of here. How can I get through the foliage without . . . “Eek!”
A set of warm hazel eyes peers at me from above.
My hand flattens against my chest, as if the pressure will stop my heart from rattling against my rib cage. The other squeezes the towel at my hip in a death grip.
He’s even more handsome up close.
Sunlight hits the side of his cheek, casting shadows across his high cheekbones. His eyes twinkle. His full lips are pressed together as he takes me in, as if he can’t decide whether to laugh or to be concerned.
“Um . . . hi,” I say, although it sounds more like a question than a greeting. I flash him a weak smile. “Guess you saw that, huh?”
“It was a little hard to miss.”
“In my head, I had all of my personal parts covered and landed with the grace of a ballerina. That’s what you saw, too, right?”
I hold my breath while he runs a large hand over his jaw.