With Rowan, I don’t know. My heart, body, and brain are at odds. My heart flutters in his presence, as if trying to tell me something. My brain cautions I don’t know him. Just as the hat he wears obscures his eyes, there’s something a little guarded about Rowan.
Then, there’s my body, willing to melt into a puddle for this man.
Heat from his proximity licks against my exposed skin. As if the first strike of a match, my nerve endings crackle awake with Rowan’s closeness. Gooseflesh blooms. Pulse quickens. Butterflies dance. I’m a living, breathing romance novel cliché.
“I can take it,” he offers, stepping back to create unwelcome distance between us.
A slight chill shivers along my spine. “Thanks,” I murmur, pulling out my phone.
With my phone in his hand, he takes even more steps back and motions for me to pose.
Cane Austen and I sidle up to the sign. I raise my arms, Cane Austen dangles from my right hand, and scream, “Adventure!”
Laughter rumbles from Rowan as he triggers the shutter. He mutters something under his breath, a grin visible from beneath the brim of his cap.
“What was that?” I blink, taking in the way the navy T-shirt molds over his sculpted torso as he strides towards me.
“Uh…” he pauses, swiping his large hand at his neck’s nape. “Who generally takes these photos for you, or do you do the selfie stick thing?”
I take my phone from him. “I’ll do selfies from time-to-time, but usually it’s a phone-a-friend situation. Aunt Bea used to take a lot, but generally it’s my West Coast bestie JoJo or random folks.”
“West Coast bestie?”
A soft laugh escapes. “I have two besties. Trina, who lived next door to me ’til I moved to California with Aunt Bea, and then JoJo who I met in college. Both ladies are competitive and a tad possessive of the title ‘Best Friend.’ Each gets custody of the title based on which half of the country I’m in.”
“Who has it now? You’re in the Midwest.”
“Clearly you.” I hip-check him.
He snorts.
“Come on, bestie.” I wink, motioning for him to follow Cane Austen and me.
We slip into quiet companionship as we walk. Fat leaves rustle in the gentle breeze, its soft kiss cooling my heated skin as we follow the path. Nature’s hum fills my ears. Luscious would be the best way to describe the dirt path, speckled with tiny pebbles, that loops through the clusters of trees, tall grass, and bushes ripe with colorful wildflowers and berries.
“I get why Lola says this place is popular with couples. It would be ideal for a romantic picnic date.”
“Yep.”
I point to a large tree with leafy branches that offer an awning-like shelter. “That tree is ideal for a privatehandsymake-out session.”
He coughs.
You’re making this weird, Pen.“Do you have a best friend?” I ask, changing the topic.
“Not willingly,” he grumbles.
“What does that mean?”
“Wes.” He almost sighs the name. “He’s a bartender at the pub I own and rather insistent we be friends.”
I fake pout. “Howdreadful, a man who can make you drinks wants to be friends.”
“You haven’t met Wes.” Playfulness coats his retort. “He’s relentless. He makes me processhisfeelings with him, blasts Broadway music at the pub, and makes me watchThe Real Housewives of Potomac.”
“He sounds like JoJo. Does he have an unhealthy obsession with cats?”
“What constitutes unhealthy?”
