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Chapter 8
What was he supposed to do with her underwear?
As Hunter got ready for his jog the next morning, he caught sight of Aria’s flimsy bra and torn dress still hanging in the bathroom. Yesterday, he’d figured he’d throw them away later, but now that he knew who she was…
Feeling both a little creepy and a lot clumsy, he folded her cotton dress and lacy lingerie and put them on a chair in a corner of the room. Returning them to her would be awkward, not to mention an unwelcome reminder of the other night.
A knock came at the door. He pulled it open to find Mrs. Higgins holding a plate of sugar-drenched French toast and a mug of something that unfortunately wasn’t black coffee.
“Hot cocoa and special marshmallow-chocolate stuffed French toast with raspberry maple syrup.” She pushed past him into the room. “I saw your light on, so I thought I’d bring you a complimentary breakfast since you missed it yesterday. A good breakfast is such an important start to the day.”
Hunter sighed. He should’ve stayed at the motel out on the interstate, where eggs and black coffee took precedence over a sugar overload.
At the motel, he wouldn’t have encountered a sexy firecracker chasing her cat through the rain, much less helped her out. He didn’t need the distraction of her in his thoughts.
“Thank you, Mrs. Higgins.” He held the door open in the hopes that she’d leave quickly.
“I see you’re working.” She placed the plate and mug on a table. “Do you need extra towels? Pillows? Blankets?”
“Everything is fine, thanks.”
She lifted her eyebrows expectantly. He realized she was waiting for him to try the cocoa. He lifted the mug and took a swallow, barely managing to smile instead of grimace.
“Delicious.”
Mrs. Higgins beamed. “I make it from scratch and add a dash of cinnamon. It was Hank’s absolute favorite. We started serving it to guests over the holidays, but people loved it so much that we decided to serve it year-round with breakfast. Hank would always—”
“It’s really delicious.” Hunter forced himself to take another sip and indicated the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I was heading out for a jog.”
“Oh, of course.” With a little wave, she started into the hall. “Dinner is at seven in the dining room. The chef is making her famous apple-baked ham. When Hank and I were—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Higgins.” Hunter closed and locked the door.
He couldn’t get out of this town fast enough.
As he was attaching his fitness tracker to his arm, his phone buzzed. Juliette Sinclair’s name appeared on the screen. After a brief hesitation, he answered.
“I figured you’d be up already,” she said. “Have you visited the district yet?”
“Yes, and I’m going over there again today.” He tightened his grip on the phone, aware of a shift in the air between them. They’d always had a good professional relationship, and he considered her a friend, but he didn’t know what to do with her implication last week that they should bemore.
He’d played the field in his younger years and enjoyed the company of a lot of women, but the plan had always been to get married by the time he was thirty-five. Though the deadline was fast approaching, he hadn’t yet found anyone he could imagine spending his life with.
But Juliette…she had all the qualities he was looking for, and she didn’t seem to care that they wouldn’t have any hearts and flowers. The issue was their business relationship.
On the one hand, she was right—they could be a powerful couple.
On the other hand, if it didn’t work out, they’d have to navigate a minefield.
Hunter shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. He had more important things to focus on right now.
“I just emailed you the inspection reports for the Mariposa buildings,” Juliette continued. “And new revisions on the Oceanview drawings.”
“I’ll take a look later today.”
“So what’s it like there?” Amusement threaded her voice. “Have you gotten a shave at the barber shop? Bought penny candy at the general store? Chatted with Boss Hogg or that funny little deputy sheriff from the show with Andy Griffith?”
“The Andy Griffith Show.”
