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Then I realize the floor isn’t dirty at all. In the dark, I’d noticed the house looked cleaner, but in the daylight, I can see that it’s downright spotless. I’m sure I don’t own a mop, which means she scrubbed the floor on her hands and knees.
The thought of her on her hands and knees makes my cock spring to life. I quickly adjust myself before she notices me in the doorway. I watch her for a few more moments before clearing my throat. “Good morning, squatter.”
She glances over her shoulder at me as she plates another egg. “Perfect timing. Breakfast is ready.” She gestures to the table, already set with two plates, silverware, and two steaming mugs of coffee. “Sit, please.”
Sliding into a chair, I wrap my hands around the warm mug, raising the black elixir to my lips.
“It’s just coffee,” she warns. “I wasn’t sure how you take it.” She carries three trays to the table. One overflows with bacon, one is piled with eggs, and the last is stacked with sliced and buttered toast.
“Black is perfect, thank you.”
She smiles, taking the seat across from mine. “I hope the rest of the meal will also be to your liking. I know it’s not much, but I had a limited supply of groceries to work with.”
I study her face in the light of day. Her skin is flawless, like the finest porcelain, but with a smattering of freckles from cheek to cheek. She wears no makeup, which somehow makes her big, baby blue eyes stand out even more. She’s gorgeous in an approachable, girl-next-door kind of way.
She glances away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. She nervously tucks a strand of blonde hair behind an ear, but it’s too short to stay there, immediately falling back across her face. For the briefest moment, I catch a glimpse of her earlobe, and I long to nibble on it.
Why does this woman have such an effect on me?
I quickly turn my attention to the food before my imagination gets the best of me. Using a fork, I heap a few eggs onto my plate. “The refrigerator was empty when I left. You must have gone shopping.”
She nods. “I picked up a few staples.”
“So, you planned to stay here a while?”
She works her lower lip with her teeth, obviously unsure how to respond.
What’s that about? Is she still trying to concoct a story?
I cut into my egg and see that she’s overcooked it. Instead of runny, over-easy eggs, the yolk is chalky. “I hope you weren’t planning to open a bed and breakfast,” I tease.
She looks at the egg, frowning. “I’m not a very good cook,” she admits.
I take a bite, forcing myself to smile as I chew the dry eggs. “It’s tasty. Just the way I like it.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Liar.”
Taking a sip of coffee, I wash down the terrible eggs. “Ready to tell me your story? It can be a practice run before the cops get here.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You called the cops?”
I grin at her. “No, but I haven’t ruled it out…yet. So, spill.”
With a sigh, she stands to walk across the room. She opens a closet door, retrieves what appears to be an ancient guitar case, and carries it back to the table. The case is covered with faded and peeling stickers. She strokes each one lovingly before looking up at me. “I’m not sure where to start,” she admits.
I clear my throat. “Maybe you should start with something easy, like your name.”
She smiles. “I’m Annie. And this—” she knocks on the guitar case “—is Old Susannah.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You named your guitar?”
“My grandfather named her. She belonged to him until the day he died. Then she came to me. I was seven.”
Seven. The same age I was when my mother died. How strange that we both lost someone close to us at such a young age.
She opens the case and pulls out the guitar. It’s clearly old but well loved, with worn spots from years of use. “This old girl and I have been together through thick and thin.”
“And what brings the two of you to Mercury Ridge?”
