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“I swear I’ve gone from hating this guy to turning into a schoolgirl whenever he’s near. I hate it, and it’s stupid. He went from making my skin crawl to giving me these tingling feelings.”
She laughs. “Those tingles, that’s common sense leaving your body.”
21
BRIGGS
Standing here on her porch, I’m nervous.
So ridiculous.
But given the way she looked at the festival, in a sundress with cowgirl boots, I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ve already become somewhat obsessed with my neighbor, but her long legs and bright smile when she’s happy make it hard to restrain myself from wondering if she wants to spend all her free time with me like I do her. I’ve never given much thought to a girl in boots before, and yes, I know that sounds unlikely since I live in a small mountain town, but it’s the truth. Now that I’ve seen Goldie in them, I’d like to see her in the boots, but only the boots.
Instead, I’m here with my tail between my legs because I’m man enough to consider that maybe the dead fish took things a bit too far. I really didn’t think they would attract bears. It was just two fish, but I was wrong. The thought that I might somehow put her in danger makes my insides want to shrivel up. My hands start sweating as I watch her through the door window as she walks through the house toward me. She’s scowling, not that I blame her.
“What do you want?” she asks after she throws it open.
My mouth dries up as I take her in. Her tight outfit shows off her incredible body and what I’ve heard referred to as yoga clothes. Tiny shorts that show off her hot as fuck long legs, a sports bra, and a tiny apron. The image causes a problem south of my waist, a problem I’ve decided I’d like for her to fix.
Clearing my throat, I tell her, “Peace offering.”
I whip the bouquet of sunflowers I have hidden out from behind my back and hold them out for her to take. Of course she doesn’t do what I want her to, and instead, she narrows her eyes and scrunches up her face.
“What are those?”
“What do they look like?” I fire back and then take a deep breath. Be calm. “They’re flowers. For you.”
I can’t remember the last time I gave a girl flowers. Most likely, it was my mother before she passed. She loved fresh flowers.
“What for?” She props her hands on her waist and frowns.
With my free hand, I reach up and rub the back of my neck. A strange feeling slithers over me that somewhat resembles shame.
I hate this.
Clearing my throat, I find her eyes. “I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong, and well, the fish . . .” I shrug. “I also wanted to thank you again for coming with me to Charlotte. Not surprisingly, I’ve received several messages from my brother and father asking about you, and it seems I’m not the black sheep of the family for the moment.”
She tilts her head and eyes me warily. After a moment, she reaches forward and snatches the flowers from me. These sunflowers are damn near perfect. I went to one of those farms just outside of town and hand cut each one. There are no bruises on the petals, the leaves aren’t curling in to show the flower is already dying, and I felt like an idiot out there doing this by myself. Cole probably would have come with me, but for some reason, I felt I needed to eat crow by myself.
“You’re welcome, but don’t forget our deal. You have to come with me this weekend too,” she says, giving me the perfect view of her ass in those tiny shorts as she heads toward the kitchen.
“I know.” I follow her in and close the door behind me. Immediately, I notice a few changes to the house. She’s completed the wine cellar project, which looks amazing, and in the dining room, she’s split the wall with wainscoting and wallpaper. The wallpaper is bright with a floral pattern and very Goldie. She’s also got her cello out and propped up against the couch, which now sits next to a brand-new piano. Lined music paper is scattered across the coffee table in front of it. Some of it she’s scribbled all over, and others look professionally printed.
“And you’re not forgiven for the fish.” She reaches for a vase under the kitchen sink, fills it with water, and then gently places the flowers inside.
“We’ll see.” I smirk at her, and she gives me a scathing glance. “What are you making?” I ask, changing the subject and looking around her kitchen as I find a place next to the refrigerator to lean on the counter. For someone who keeps their house so clean, she really is a mess when it comes to the kitchen.
“Cupcakes.” She waves toward a tin with twelve holes. Each is filled two-thirds of the way with batter and looks ready to go into the oven.
“Really?” It sure looks like there is a lot of stuff for some cupcakes. I can see flour, sugar, salt, eggs, butter, milk, vanilla, lemons, baking powder and soda, sour cream, multiple bowls, measuring cups, spoons all over the place, a spatula, and a hand mixer.
“Yes. I want to make some for Avery. Of the three of us, she’s the baker, but Ash is gone with Clay performing somewhere, and I wanted to make these for her to cheer her up.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“I’m a nice person,” she says to me like she thinks I perceive her differently, as she walks the flowers to place them on the center of her kitchen table.
“I know you are,” I tell her, lowering my voice so it’s calm and affectionate. She is nice. Probably one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and I’m not so stupid that I don’t realize our problems stem from me.
