Chapter 15
Fifteen
Swayze
It had been two days since that moment over my desk.
Two entire days of constant distraction, where I couldn’t seem to focus on work no matter how hard I tried, couldn’t do much of anything except replay those agonizing moments on a loop in my mind like some kind of masochistic highlight reel.
Two nights of steamy, vivid dreams hot enough to make me sweat clean through my sheets.
Two mornings of waking up wanting, aching with unfulfilled desire, having no one to offer relief except myself and my own frustrated, overactive imagination.
Which I had plenty of, thanks to the fact that my sister was a well-known romance writer who’d made me beta-read enough of her steamier scenes over the years. But that was neither here nor there.
The point was, I was a mess.
How could I still be this unsettled, this thrown off balance, by a kiss that hadn’t even freaking happened?
It was getting to the point where I was second-guessing myself, wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing, misread signals that weren’t really there.
Maybe I’d projected my own attraction onto a situation that was purely innocent.
But damn it, I hadn’t been out of the game so long that I didn’t recognize the signs of arousal in a man.
I’d seen the way his pupils had dilated, the way his breathing had changed.
Colter had looked at my mouth like he wanted to devour it, like he was starving and I was the only thing that could satisfy his hunger.
He’d been about to kiss me—I was certain of it.
I’d absolutely been about to let him, had been leaning in, lips parting in anticipation. And then…
Well, nothing. Kissus interruptus.
I really, really wished Oakleigh had better timing.
Although, if I was being rational about it, it was probably better she’d interrupted before anything actually happened.
During would’ve been infinitely worse and probably would’ve led to awkward questions or unrealistic expectations or other uncomfortable things neither of us was prepared to explain to her.
I’d never dated a single dad before. Not that Colter and I were dating.
We weren’t doing anything at all but dancing around an obvious attraction, circling each other like cautious animals trying to determine if the other was friend or foe.
But I was aware that he likely had to be more cautious about that kind of thing than the average guy, more careful about who he brought into his life and his daughter’s.
I didn’t want to do anything to mess that up or make things complicated for him.
Still, I needed to see him. Just… a quick opportunity to be in the same space and feel out this situation. Figure out whether he was still thinking about that almost as much as I was, whether the tension between us was real or only a figment of my increasingly desperate imagination.
But I couldn’t show up on his doorstep unannounced. I needed an excuse, something casual and neighborly that wouldn’t make me seem like I was chasing him.
Twenty minutes later, after concocting the flimsiest of pretexts, I slipped out my back door and walked along the deck to his.
Because since I’d moved in, this was a thing we did—this casual back-and-forth between our connected properties.
Not using the front doors like strangers or acquaintances might.
I kind of liked the intimacy of it, the implication that we were comfortable enough with each other to skip the formality.
I’d spent way too long making my hair look effortlessly casual—as if I’d just run my fingers through it and happened to achieve perfect waves—and swiping on a mere hint of makeup and lip gloss.
Enough to look fresh-faced but not obviously made up.
I’d drawn the line at changing outfits. The soft sweater and jeans I had on were fine.
It was only seven-thirty in the morning, after all.
He wouldn’t be expecting date-night perfection.
He wouldn’t be expecting me at all, which was sort of the point.
For a moment, I hesitated at his kitchen door, my knuckles hovering inches from the wood.
It was early by most people’s standards, earlier than would normally be appropriate for dropping by.
But I’d learned since I moved in that Colter kept early hours, rising with the sun.
And someone had already let Ludo out for his morning constitutional earlier—I’d heard the jingle of his collar and the click of his nails on the deck.
I knocked on the back door, folding my hands beneath my arms against the cold bite of the morning air.
A moment later the door opened, and I was stunned into complete silence.
Because it wasn’t my sexy firefighter neighbor filling the doorway.
It was Lisa, who wore one of Colter’s shirts and apparently nothing else.
The faded grey GHFD T-shirt slid off one bare shoulder, revealing smooth skin, and her long, toned legs were uninterrupted beneath the hem that fell to mid-thigh.
Her blonde hair was tousled, as if she’d rolled out of bed moments ago.
Colter’s bed?
What the hell was she doing here at this hour, dressed like that?
“Um, hi. Good morning.” I forced the words past the sudden tightness in my throat. “I was looking for Colter.”
Lisa lifted the back of one hand to her mouth to cover a yawn, completely unbothered by my presence or her state of undress. “Oh, he got called into the station. Some kind of emergency, I think. Left about an hour ago.”
This was a huge, ginormous, glaring mistake on my part, but it was too late to back out now. I couldn’t just turn around and flee, no matter how much I wanted to.
Feebly, I lifted the measuring cup I held in one hand, feeling like an absolute idiot. “I was in the middle of making muffins, but I didn’t have enough sugar. I was hoping I might borrow a cup?”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I hadn’t been anywhere near making muffins. I didn’t even have the other ingredients.
“Oh, sure. Come on in.” She waved me inside with easy familiarity, as if this was her house, her domain.
She took the measuring cup from my numb fingers and crossed to a cabinet, opening it without hesitation and pulling down a bag of sugar. Because, of course, she knew where it lived in his kitchen. Of course she did.
“Mom! I can’t find my rainbow sleeping bag!”
Lisa squeezed her eyes shut in a long-suffering expression as Oakleigh wandered into the kitchen from somewhere deeper in the house, trailed by Ludo, who made a beeline for me when he spotted a friendly face.
“Child, what is the rule?”
“No hollering before you’ve had coffee. Sorry.” She finally realized I was there as I softly oofed from the dog’s cheerful greeting. “Oh, hey Swayze.”
I dug my fingers into his thick fur, grateful for something to focus on besides the domestic scene playing out in front of me. I prayed for enough grace to get myself out of this situation without making a complete fool of myself. “Morning, Oakleigh.”
She didn’t ask why I was there at this early hour, only turned back to her mother and asked in a more modulated tone, “So have you seen it? I need it for my sleepover at Maisie’s tonight.”
“Um, did you check in the upstairs linen closet? I think we put it there after we washed it last time.”
“No.” She did an immediate about-face, her bare feet padding across the hardwood.
On a light huff and a shake of her head, Lisa smiled at me with an expression that was somewhere between amused and apologetic.
“Kids. They never look in the obvious places first.” She seemed to remember what she was doing and glanced down at her hands.
“Oh, right, sugar.” She opened the bag and scooped the measuring cup through it, leveling it off with practiced efficiency.
“Is this enough, or do you need to take the whole bag?”
“Oh, no, this is plenty. Wouldn’t want to put Colter in any kind of situation where he didn’t have sugar for his coffee.” The words came out more pointed than I’d intended.
“He doesn’t drink sugar in his coffee.”
Right. Because this woman knew that about him. Because she knew intimate details about his daily habits and routines. Because this was not simply the mother of his child stopping by for a brief visit.
“Found it!” Oakleigh’s triumphant shout echoed down the stairs.
I accepted the full measuring cup, my fingers closing around it perhaps a bit too tightly, and backed toward the door like a cornered animal seeking escape. “Thanks for this.”
“Anytime.” Lisa’s smile was genuine, friendly even, which somehow made everything worse.
I managed to make it out the door and across the deck before the cap on my temper blew.
How dare he? How dare he nearly kiss me two days ago when he was obviously not available?
He might not be married to Lisa, but clearly he might as well be.
They were together in some form or fashion.
Had to be. Why else would she be in his house this early in the morning, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, looking like she’d had exactly the kind of night I’d been dreaming about?
Why else would she know where the sugar was kept and what was stored in the upstairs linen closet?
Why else would she be so comfortable in his space, moving through his kitchen like it was her own?
I resisted the urge to slam my own door behind me. Barely. My hand trembled a bit as I closed it with deliberate care.
For a few seconds, I considered hurling the measuring cup of sugar across the room to express the frustration building like pressure in my chest. But that would only make a mess I’d have to clean up, which wouldn’t help my mood or solve anything.
Instead, I set it on the island beside a bowl of apples.
Maybe I’d make myself an apple crisp later, use up some of this borrowed sugar.
Not to soothe my wounded ego—definitely not that—but just because I liked it, and I was here, and I had the time.
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and blew it back out again, trying to center myself.
This was fine. It didn’t matter. Nothing had actually happened between us, so technically I had no right to feel betrayed or disappointed or whatever this hot, uncomfortable emotion was churning in my gut.
I hadn’t been looking for anything romantic to begin with when I’d moved here, so I’d just revert to what I’d originally intended for my time in Gibson Hollow and pull my focus back to the rest of the life I was trying to rebuild.
I’d been happily single before coming here, content with my own company, and I could absolutely stay that way.
I’d just put a little distance between me and one Colter Gibson. A lot of distance, actually. As much as two people living in connected houses could possibly manage. Starting right now.
Abandoning the sugar on the counter, I grabbed my purse and prepared to drive into town. I’d promised Tana I’d stop by Mind Your Beeswax, and I hadn’t made it yet. She’d said they were an apothecary. Maybe they had something to cure the ache of broken expectations.