I lean over the railing, but there’s no sign of water, no noisy pipe, and no forgotten hose.
Then the humming starts—soft, sweet, and feminine, blending with the water sound.
The tightness gripping my chest slowly eases.It’s only Chloe using her outdoor shower.
Every house along this stretch of beach seems to have one, including Mom and Dad’s, though I’ve never used theirs.I’m here to get a job done, not frolic in the waves and stand under beach showers.
My neighbor, on the other hand, appears to be part-fish.No wonder her deck stairs are failing, given how often she’s up and down them with that yellow surfboard wedged beneath her arm.
I reach for my phone when a shape flashes between the gaps in the railing.
Hang on… is that…?
If I take a small step to the right and tilt my head just so—holy hell.
Skin.Bare skin.Wet strands of sun-bleached hair plastered to a smooth, tanned back.The figure turns around, and I spin to face the house, heat racing up the back of my neck.
I didn’t look,I applaud myself, while the rest of my brain grapples with the fact that you can see right into Chloe’s outdoor shower.
Does she know?
Of course she doesn’t.How could she?
My fingers tug at my shirt collar.When did it get so fucking hot?
I brush my palm over the back of my neck, trying to figure out the easiest fix for this.I could add an extra baluster to close the gap, but then the railing wouldn’t look uniform.
The way the soap slipped off the curves of her…
Fuck me—why am I still thinking about that woman?She isn’t my problem.
Thank God, the outdoor shower shuts off, and I can focus back on the task at hand.
Except I don’t.
I sink into the closest chair and stare at nothing until my stomach starts growling.
Shit.Fuck.I forgot to cook the wings.
With the way my stomach protests, I’m going to end up passing out before they’re done.
Takeout it is.
I head inside to rinse off and change into a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt.A glance at the mirror makes me wince.I run my fingers through my messy hair.Damn humidity.
Whatever.My dinner date is going to be my Mandela book, and maybe a newspaper if I can track one down.
I lock up the house and head over to my truck, doing a double take at the woman standing on the sidewalk, frowning at her phone.
I’m not in the mood to be called a butthead right now, so I step past Chloe and press the fob to unlock my door, tossing my book in the back seat.
Her face snaps up at the noise.“Oh.Hi.”
So much for avoiding conversation.
“You left so fast earlier, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping with the tire,” she says.
I glance back at her, my gaze landing on her thin yellow sundress that drags my mind straight back to that shower… to the water snaking down the groove of her back, forging a wet path towards?—
