Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
OPHELIA
O kay, spill. You’ve been floating around here ever since that hunk came in to chat with you during the lunch rush.”
Pamela’s voice cuts through the lull of the empty diner, and I glance over at her as we restock the condiments. She’s balancing a tray of ketchup bottles in one arm while topping off sugar packets with the other, eyes fixed on me like she already knows the answer.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I mumble, folding a napkin holder closed with a little more force than necessary. I know she’s just gossiping, but I have this sense that maybe something might—might—happen with Rowan, and I want to keep everything to myself until I know. I don’t want to jinx anything.
Pamela snorts. “Please. You blushed so hard when Rowan Nelson walked in earlier, I thought you were gonna combust. And he looked at you like he wanted to combust right along with you.”
I reach for the saltshakers, trying to focus on something— anything —other than the heat creeping up the back of my neck. “He just stopped by to say he’d picked up more porch supplies. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, dropping ketchup bottles into a bin under the counter. “Because people run errands and just happen to stop into diners for no reason all the time.”
“I didn’t say it was for no reason,” I hedge. “I just—I don’t know.”
“Did he order anything?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” Pamela straightens and props a hand on her hip. “Ophelia. He came here for you. ”
I hesitate, a stack of napkins in my hand. “You think so?” How is it that everyone sees his intention more than I do? Am I just blinded by my own crush on him?
Pamela’s look softens just a bit. “Honey, I’ve seen a lot of men come through this diner, and none of them look at you like he does. He comes in to see you, not for the food. And you certainly don’t look at anyone the way you look at him.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe that the heat I thought I saw in Rowan’s eyes when I told him we were out of cherry pie was real. That he came in not for pie or coffee, but because he wanted to see me. I want to believe the tightening of his jaw and the way his voice had gone all rough and low meant something more.
But what if I’m wrong?
“He’s just being nice,” I say, softer this time.
“Nice doesn’t come with that much sexual tension,” Pamela teases, finishing her refills.
I laugh, startled, and nearly drop a napkin holder. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m observant.” She nudges me with her elbow. “And I’m telling you, the next time he’s at your house? That man is gonna be on your porch not just to fix boards but to make a move. And if he doesn’t? You should.”
I don’t answer. I’ve never been forward with a man in my life, and have no idea how to do that. The idea of doing anything with Rowan fills my stomach with butterflies, but I know he’s who I want more than anyone else in the world.
Still, the hope flickers.
“He said he’d come by tomorrow afternoon,” I say, stacking napkin holders back into place.
“It’s practically a date. Wear something sexy,” Pamela says with a grin.
“It is not a date,” I insist, but in my mind, it kind of is. At least, it is because we’ll see each other, even if he’ll just be fixing my porch.
“Mm-hmm.”
She disappears into the back with a crate, and I turn to the front of the diner, letting out a long breath. The space is quiet now, with the sun spilling through the windows.
Rowan had only been here for a minute, maybe less. But my whole body reacted the second he stepped through the door.
I don’t know why he came in. But Isure do hope it was because he wanted to see me.
I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Not like this. Not with this kind of heat curling low in my belly just from a look. I don’t even know what to do with this feeling, only that it’s wild and terrifying. It makes me want things I don’t know how to describe but feel in my heart and soul.
Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see him then.
And I don’t know what will happen. But maybe I should take Pamela’s advice and wear something sexy.
“Looks like someone’s getting ready to bake a pie.”
I nearly jump, turning to find Leesa standing beside me, one brow arched as she peeks into my shopping cart. She’s holding a basket filled with apples, a jug of milk tucked against her side.
“I…um…yeah,” I stammer. “Just figured I’d make something sweet for tomorrow.”
Leesa’s mouth curves into a knowing smile. “Would this sweetness happen to be for a certain tall, broody lumberjack who’s been fixing your porch?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look down at the pie filling like it might offer me an escape. “It’s just a thank you. He’s doing a lot of work.”
She nudges my arm gently with hers. “Ophelia.”
I bite my lip. “He’s just…different from other men. I’ve never been attracted to someone like I am to him.”
Leesa’s teasing fades, replaced by something warmer. Softer. “Don’t ignore that feeling.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “It’s scary. Pamela says I should dress sexy. I don’t know, though.”
Leesa chuckles. “Definitely wear something…enticing, but don’t wear anything uncomfortable. Sometimes the best emotions are confusing at first.” She bumps her basket lightly against my cart and gives me a wink. “Bake your pie. And don’t be afraid to see where it leads.”
We part ways at the checkout. She doesn’t press me for more, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t know what else I would’ve said without revealing all the fantasies I’ve had featuring Rowan.
Once I’m back in my car with the groceries tucked in beside me, I can’t stop thinking about how Leesa and Pamela are pushing me toward Rowan. It would be a dream come true if anything happened. Of course it won’t, because he probably has all sorts of women throwing themselves at him. He’s fit and muscular, and so, so hot. I’m young and chubby, with no experience.
Still, whenever I’m alone and close my eyes, I see Rowan. His broad shoulders, the way he looks at me, his eyes shining, and an inviting smile. The way it sounds so sexy when he says my name.
I imagine him standing in my doorway, his shirt clinging to his chest, his hands rough and warm as they settled on my waist. I imagine him brushing his thumbs under the hem of my shirt, teasing my sensitive skin. I imagine what it would be like to feel his mouth on my neck, on my mouth, on…other places. What would it be like to run my fingers through his beard? What would he taste like if I kissed him? If I tasted his skin?
The ache between my legs grows unbearable. It just throbs so much I don’t know how I can walk properly. My core pulses and flames so much that I don’t know how I can endure this.
I know my friends do it, but I’ve never really masturbated. I’ve never really felt so turned on that I’ve ever wanted to, but now? Now, there’s a fire burning and swelling inside me, and if something doesn’t happen, I’m sure I’m going to explode.
And now here I am, in the grocery store parking lot, hands gripping the wheel, trying to calm a body that won’t stop yearning by buying ingredients to bake Rowan a pie.
I want him to know I thought of him. He said he came in for pie, so I want to make a pie for him. It’s the least I can do for him fixing my porch.
I want to please him. I want him to taste the pie and think about my hands making it. About me standing in my kitchen, flour on my apron, taking the time to do something special for him.
I want to know what it feels like to be kissed with purpose. Touched like I’m more than just a sweet girl at the diner counter.
And more than anything, I want him. Not just in daydreams but in real life. I want Rowan Nelson in my home, at my table, and in mybed . I don’t even know what I’d do to him if he was in my bed, but I sure want the chance to find out.
And if tomorrow he looks at me the way he did today, I might just let him have me.
All of me.