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“That blush on your face as you remembered it tells me all I need to know.”
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue.
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask.
“I was more irritated than mad,” she admits. “But, no … I’m over it. Just stop putting me in the middle.”
I nod once, acknowledging her statement and resisting the urge to argue that I was never the one putting her in the middle of Wyatt and me.
“Get dressed,” I order, glancing at the time on my phone. “Time’s ticking.”
“Fine,” she huffs, disappearing into a bedroom off the kitchen like it’s a chore.
Everything in me wants to follow her into the room and really get my hands on her, but I know we’ll never leave the house if I do. Plus, I don’t want to be presumptuous. And I want to show her this lake hidden about three miles up the side of a mountaintrail. I want to talk to her. To know her, not just act on our attraction to one another.
I walk over and pick up one of her books, reading the back cover. “I never pegged you as a romance reader.”
“Is there any other kind of book to read?” she yells from the other room.
“Actually, there are tons. Mysteries. Crimes. Dramas. Westerns …”
“Most of those all have romance in them too,” she argues.
“Maybe,” I say. “I just didn’t realize you were a bleeding heart.”
“Do I have to be a bleeding heart to love a good, sweep-you-off-your-feet romance?”
She walks back into the room, carrying a pair of thick socks and well-worn hiking boots. She’s wearing cargo-style pants, like mine, but they hug her hips like a second skin. And she has a fitted, ribbed shirt on in a deep blue color, which makes her eyes look even greener. The fabric accentuates those luscious curves I had my hands on last night.
“It might get warm since the sun’s out,” I comment.
“I have on a tank top beneath this shirt,” she says, sitting in one of the chairs to pull on her shoes and socks.
I can only hope it gets warm enough so I get to see that tank top up close and personal today. I don’t warn her that it will likely grow cooler eventually, too, because I want her in my sweatshirt later.
“Should I grab some snacks?” she asks. “Or maybe we should stop somewhere in town on the way to pick up some picnic food?”
“It’s already taken care of,” I assure her, walking closer as she stands up. I stop a foot away from her. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
She smells clean, like eucalyptus and mint.
“Well, aren’t you the regular Boy Scout?” she comments dryly.
I slowly shake my head, not dropping our stare. “I’m not that virtuous.”
“Good,” she says with a smirk. “That’s probably why I like you.”
“At least you finally admit it.”
“Admit what?” She tilts her head.
“Admit to liking me.”
Those jewel-colored eyes roll again as she grabs her keys and a backpack. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
This provokes a genuine smile from me.
This woman.
