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“You’re not wrong.” The power had come on last night and Peyton had reset the clock that now read 7:52. He needed to be at work at eight thirty. He gave her a long look and sighed, wanting nothing more than to toss her on the bed, settle himself between her thighs, and make her forget about leaving altogether. But knowing she was a widow changed the game now. Gently. He wouldn’t push too hard, too fast, but he wanted her again. That was undeniable. He grabbed his boxers and slid into them before reaching for his jeans. “While I don’t think you’re in any danger, I also think it’s always wise to err on the side of caution. Is there somewhere else you can stay until we get this murder solved?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, her gaze tracing his abs, then drifting lower to his hands doing up the button on his jeans. “I’ll stay with Kinsley until the case is wrapped up.”
Boone couldn’t fight the side of his mouth arching. Sure, he would’ve loved to have her in his bed, but if gentle meant more time with her, then so be it. “Perfect.” Keeping his eyes on the woman still watching his every move with lust burning in her eyes, he threw on his shirt and closed the distance. “Don’t think too much here.”
Her eyes searched his. “What do you mean?”
“I may not have gone through what you have, but I understand heartbreak and pain. I know what you’re going through can’t be easy.” He slid his fingers over the strands of hair by her face, then gave them a gentle tug. “Feel what you feel. Want what you want. I’m here, not going anywhere, and not expecting anything more from you than you can give me. All right?”
She gave him a tender smile. “You really are a good guy, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.” He leaned in and, swept away in the moment, he quickly pressed his lips against hers to prove his next point. “Other times, I live to break the rules.”
“A dangerous combination.” She smiled, not seeming bothered by the kiss.
He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the bedroom ahead of him. “The best kind.”
* * *
The drive into downtown was peaceful until Peyton drove past the national park. Cars lined the road, even early in the morning. The tourists wanted to enjoy the mountain views extending all the way out to the Atlantic Ocean. Kinsley drove ahead of her, and Peyton watched as she parked near the Flaming Pie to grab coffees. The rest of Main Street was quiet and the shops weren’t open yet for the day. Such a contrast to her days in Seattle, where the city never slept, and people seemed to work more than they relaxed.
Peyton took the next left and pulled in behind her shop, parking in the single parking spot next to the shed that housed the garbage cans. She yawned, needing coffee in a big, bad way. Not that she was complaining. Sex was a damn fine reason to be exhausted. Not just any sex. Incredible sex. Mindboggling sex. The kind of sex that leaves you sweaty, boneless, and mindless, and with a big-ass smile for hours after.
God, Boone was a dream come true. But even last night, as she lay next to him, Adam came to mind. She wanted Boone’s touch, but she also felt bad abou
t it. Sure, her feelings must be normal, some part of the grieving process. Still, no one ever explained that after the deep sense of loss eased, then came the yearning for physical touch and intimacy, equaled by the heavy guilt for wanting someone else.
“Don’t overthink this.”
She realized she was doing exactly what Boone must have thought she’d been doing. Which of course probably made sense, considering he was a cop. He probably had a very good understanding of the inner workings of grief.
Getting her mind on the day ahead of her, she exited her car, greeted by a gorgeous day. Birds chirped a pretty song. A slight breeze rustled the trees’ leaves on the edge of the sidewalk. She locked her car’s door, then moved through the alleyway toward Main Street, where she stopped in front of her shop. Uptown Girl’s metal sign swung with the wind above the front door. She inhaled the moist, salty air coming off the ocean and hesitated, nerves fluttering in her belly.
“Scared to go in?”
Peyton smiled and glanced sideways at Remy Brennan, a bartender at Whiskey Blues, and Kinsley’s best childhood friend. Which, in turn, in Kinsley-and-Remy-land, meant they were all now best friends. “Totally freaked out,” she admitted.
Remy smiled back, creases appearing in the corners of her stunning light green eyes. She was a mix of sweet and sassy and, in the nicest way ever, a little bit on the unusual side. Remy flipped her long, pale blond hair and slid her thin arm into Peyton’s. “Don’t worry about a thing. You’ve got backup today.”
Peyton wondered what Remy and Kinsley could possibly do to ease her worries unless they brought a big bottle of wine with them. But the thought was soon thwarted as Kinsley approached with three coffees.
“I could kiss you,” Peyton said, grabbing one of the coffees. She drew in another deep breath, staring at the two women who took her under their wings pretty much her first night. When Peyton showed Kinsley her new lake house, Remy came over not that long after. They threw down pillows and blankets that Remy had brought over and ate too much food, drank too much wine, and slept right there on her empty living room floor. She’d never known friends like this. Sure, she had friends growing up, even in nursing school, but not close like this. “Thanks for being here,” she told them. “Seriously, I don’t think I could’ve gone in there alone.”
Kinsley handed Remy her paper cup before she tossed the tray in the garbage. “We’ve got your back when there’s a murder, babe, don’t forget it.”
Remy elbowed Kinsley. Hard. “That’s not funny.”
“Ouch,” Kinsley groaned, rubbing her rib cage. “Damn, girl, file that elbow down. It’s pointy.”
Peyton laughed before turning back to her shop and sighing. No less than twenty-four hours ago, there had been a dead body. One that took her and Kinsley a good full minute to process before they ran out of the store screaming for help. “I can’t believe this is my life,” she finally admitted aloud. Her life in Seattle was so different. Fancy parties, summers on Mercer Island, extravagance. Not small-town murders.
“Oh, it’s a good life,” Kinsley objected. “Stoney Creek keeps things exciting.”
Peyton laughed dryly. “I think that might be the understatement of the year.” She opened the shop’s door with her key. Once inside, she surveyed the damage done by the crime technicians. All the tables holding the panties had been moved around, but for the most part, everything looked relativity normal. Except for the smell. She grabbed the front of her shirt and placed it over her nose.
“What is that?” Remy asked, plugging her nose with her fingers.
Kinsley scrunched her nose. “The cleaning stuff…to, you know…clean stuff.”
