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“We can; I have time today. There is a newly listed property that ticks most of your boxes.” The excitement of house hunting pitched my voice louder. The hunt was the best part of being a real estate agent for me.
“I would be up for that.” He smiled, and his eyes flicked down to my cleavage for a millisecond. A flush crept over my exposed skin as if he’d hit my chest with a blowtorch. My heart and other things much lower fluttered. It had been eons since a man affected me like this. Knowing he’d seen me naked messed with my normally reasonable nature.
I had to get a hold of myself.
Sitting at a table with my grandma while she regaled my client with her favorite small-town Elmer stories wasn’t the time or place for sexy thoughts.
Wilson was a paycheck. No bigger. He was one of those Las Vegas slot machines ready to hit the ultra-big jackpot. A chance to fund Bailey’s college education and kick-start my career reboot. Sleeping with him would not increase my odds of making any of that happen. Sex only complicated things.
“Well, time waits for no woman. I have a ribbon cutting at the new art gallery on the square this morning and lunch with the Lions Club. Y’all go find a slice of Texas paradise for our soon-to-be resident.” Grandma kissed me and Wilson on the cheeks and left us in my quiet kitchen.
My and Bailey’s morning playlist had ended at some point during the madness.
“So, that was a normal morning around here?” Wilson refilled his coffee. His expression gave away nothing. I couldn’t tell if the parade of people through my kitchen had terrified or amused him. I assumed a bit of both.
“A few mornings a week, it is. We’re a close family, and the drop-in breakfast has become a tradition.” It was such a part of my routine that I’d forgotten everyone was coming when I brought Wilson home from The Pub last night.
He sipped his fresh cup of coffee, seeming to digest my explanation, then pointed at the mess lingering in the sink and on the table. “Are you always the cook and host?”
“It’s a group effort. I do the cooking, but Grandma makes the biscuits and gives me the frozen dough. It’s like that stuff in the roll from the store, but homemade. The sausage was from Colton’s latest kitchen experiment. And Lara either supplies her legendary homemade jam or covers some of my bar tab. It all works out.” I started gathering up the dirty dishes and loading them into the machine.
“I love my family, but wow. All this is why I want a guest house to keep them out of my space when they come on vacation a few times a year.” He waved a hand at the mess.
“It started when Bailey was little. Everyone wanted to see her, so they’d drop by. It became a habit.”
“You’ve been making everyone breakfast for like eighteen years.” He blinked in horror.
“Actually, about sixteen, but yes. It’s a tradition.”
The morning ritual really started when Brian was killed. My family would stop to check on me, the bereaved widow, not Bailey, who was too little to understand what was going on at only two. And since I didn’t want to talk about anything, I cooked. It could be a hassle, but keeping the tradition alive kept everyone happy and connected. So I made it work.
“It’s kind of cool you’ve kept it going.” He helped me finish clearing.
The second set of hands cut cleanup time in half. Our shoulders bumped as we shared the sink, and the memory of dancing with him under the stars last night bombarded me. Something warm and fluttery bumped around in the vicinity of my chest. I hoped it was heartburn from the new spice blend Colton put in the sausage. Otherwise, my wayward thoughts were going to make this a hellishly long house hunt.
“I’m going to schedule that new listing for this morning. It might not be on the market long.” I dried my hands on an old plaid towel and found my cell phone so I could text the other agent.
He nodded and started wiping down the stove without being asked. A man with a hangover doing housework. He really was a freaking unicorn. I rubbed my sternum. Heartburn. That’s my story, and I was sticking to it.
“Sure, let’s do it. But first, I have one item I’d love your help with.” I heard the plea in his request and wondered what, besides a vacation home, he could ever need help from me with. An evil voice in my head wanted it to be something like scrubbing his back in the shower.
Naked. Hot, wet, and steamy. Down, girl. No back scrubbing.
Chapter 11
Wilson
“Melvinisalivinglegend around here. He claims to have a pair for anyone who finds their way to his shop. Your boot destiny.” Cameron leaned against the front of her SUV, scuffing her own cowboy boots in the gravel parking area.
We waited in front of a small wood building a block from the town square. The entire front façade was painted with a huge red, white, and blue Texas flag with the lone star over one window. I had already tried looking inside, but stacks of boot boxes blocked any view.
“My boot destiny? Should I take this seriously, or is this a joke?”
“Are blisters a joke? Did you like the guys at The Pub making fun of your loafers?” She sounded intense, but her eyes glittered with laughter. I couldn’t decipher the mixed signals. But that dangerous feeling in my chest threatened to return when she bumped me with her shoulder and her body pressed against mine.
We’d picked up and dropped off my car at the rental house after breakfast. I’d showered and dressed in clean clothes while Cameron scrolled through real estate listings on her tablet in my kitchen. And now we were here. This stop was her way of fulfilling my request for help with cowboy boots. I only wanted help picking a pair on Amazon to order. She’d been horrified.
Boots were personal, she told me. “You need ones with a soul for your first pair,” she said. Thus, we made a trip to the supposedly world-famous Worn Boot.
