Chapter 3
The sun was beginning its slow, golden descent, casting long shadows across the courtyard and turning the sky into a wash of pastels.
Holly knelt by the modern dog-wash station, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows.
Digby, surprisingly docile now that he was the center of her undivided attention, sat in the basin with an expression of stoic resignation.
“You’re a good boy, Digby,” she crooned, testing the water temperature until it was perfect.
She was no expert, but she guessed the shampoo products on the shelf cost more than her own hair care routine.
No judgement. She was more impressed by Sebastian’s care for the little guy.
There were some quick wipes and a brush as well, but Digby had become quite the mess on his unauthorized excursion.
She brushed as much of the dried muck out of his coat as possible and then turned on the water. He grumbled a little, but didn’t fight her as she wet his coat. When she poured a dollop of the whitening shampoo onto her palm, the scent of lavender and honey wafted up into the air.
“I didn’t believe a word of that Tasmanian devil nonsense.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched Sebastian.
Seb. Apparently, he’d found several decorative bricks near the garden shed and was currently hauling them toward the gap in the fence.
Every time he moved, the muscles in his back and shoulders played a rugged symphony beneath the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of his Metallica shirt.
A lovely view, but definitely not where her focus should be.
Holly forced her gaze back to the dog. She was a journalist and the man’s physique wasn’t the focus of her article. Although she had no doubts that he would gain plenty of attention when he finally made it to town.
“You’re doing something wrong,” he called out, trudging back toward the shed.
“Have to disagree,” Holly countered, when he reappeared, bricks in hand. She lathered Digby’s shoulders. “He’s not even wiggling.”
He paused, glaring at the scene. “Did you slip something into his dog treats? Usually by this time, he’s screaming bloody murder and trying to tear off my skin.”
“Of course not.” She bent down and kissed the top of Digby’s head. “I guess I just have the right touch.”
Seb grunted. “Guess so.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead.
His dark hair was damp with exertion, sticking to his forehead in a way that made him look younger, less like a wealthy recluse and more like a man just trying to keep his head above water.
“Admittedly, intuition isn’t my forte. Logic is more reliable.
And logic tells me that dog should be trying to bite your hand off after the day he’s had. ”
“Maybe he just knows who the good guys are,” Holly said, rinsing a patch of suds from Digby’s flank.
She felt the man’s gaze on her, heavy and thoughtful.
It did nothing to ease that persistent hum of attraction heating her skin.
She’d felt it the moment she saw him at the gate and if anything, the sensation had settled into a steady pulse between them.
She was acutely aware of her stained shirt and the hair coming loose from her ponytail, though she couldn’t change anything about her appearance right this second.
She gave Digby a final rinse, noticing his patience was coming to an end. “You’re doing great,” she said.
“Thanks.” Seb dusted off his hands. “You can double check it, but if he gets through that, he’s not a dog, he’s a ghost.”
“Or a very determined excavator,” Holly teased. “Does he look more like the dog you know and love?”
His lips twitched. “Yes.”
“Great.” She turned off the water and felt the dog shiver. She nearly pulled him to her chest before she remembered her messy shirt would only dirty his white fur all over again. “We just need a towel.”
“Right.” Seb plucked at his own dusty, sweaty shirt. “Be right back. Do not let him off that leash,” he advised, darting for the door.
Looking around, she thought the afternoon sunlight might take the edge off the dog’s chill, but Seb returned in record time, a towel in one hand. “Here.”
The man really loved his dog based on the speedy response and the quality of the towel itself. She knelt with the towel right as Digby gave a mighty shake from nose to tail and she took the small hurricane right in the face.
Behind her Seb was apologizing—through snorts of laughter. She didn’t blame him or the dog, but she got the towel around Digby to dry his fur and warm him up. With his clean fur protected, she cuddled him close and stood once more.
Only to lose her breath.
Seb stood there in the glow of the late afternoon sunlight without a shirt. Were all tech geniuses hiding ripped abs and sculpted muscles under vintage tees? If so, the world was missing out.
She almost felt obligated to report her discovery.
Then again, she liked the idea that she was the only one who knew. Which was ridiculous because Sebastian was only new to her, not the world in general. What if she was standing here ogling someone else’s boyfriend? Or husband.
Awful. And awkward.
She turned her full attention to Digby. “All right, little man. You’re as dry as I can get you.
” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Sebastian had pulled on a fitted, charcoal gray t-shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the lean strength of his frame.
It was clean, simple, and inexplicably intimate.
She cleared her throat. “You’re good with letting him off the leash? ”
“Sure, yeah.” He approached tentatively.
Heat flooded her cheeks. He must’ve noticed her staring.
Before she could figure out what to say, their fingers brushed and Holly felt a hot spark racing up her arm to settle in her chest. Seb seemed to feel it too; his breath hitched, and he looked at her with a mixture of confusion and intense curiosity.
There was no way she was acknowledging any of that right now.
She hid behind the towel as she blotted her face, neck, and arms. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and had to ignore it.
Today was just a day and there wasn’t a thing she could do about the sad state of her appearance at this point.
“Handsome as ever,” he said. “Why didn’t you fight her like you fight me?”
Digby barked and sniffed all around their feet before dashing straight toward his previous escape route. When he couldn’t get out, he nosed around a bit and then returned for a drink from the water bowl. Holly smothered a chuckle. The dog was too cute.
“Guess I owe you a serious thank you,” Seb said. “We would’ve been caught in the escape cycle for way too long without your keen eyes.”
“Happy to assist.” She gave him her most professional smile. “Chalk it up to a reporter’s observational skills. How about that tour?”
A slow smile brought out a dimple in his cheek and her heart eagerly face-planted at his feet. The man was dangerous, but she summarily rejected the idea of crushing on the new guy in town.
She followed him toward the French doors. “Just don’t expect some kind of Southern Living spread inside,” he warned. “We haven’t exactly settled in.”
As she stepped inside, Holly felt as if she’d entered a museum dedicated to southern charm.
The classic architecture was pure southern luxury.
The vaulted ceiling, crown molding, and what could only be original hardwood floors anchored the spacious kitchen and breakfast nook.
It was a true entertainer’s paradise, updated with granite counters, warming ovens, and a massive refrigerator.
She felt a pinch of envy for the counter space that seemed to go on for miles. And a good thing too because the island in the middle of the room was currently home to boxes, a laptop, a stack of notebooks, two coffee makers, and a pile of cables—all neatly coiled and labeled.
“Connie and Lila would go into shock,” she murmured.
“Why? Who are they?”
“Connie and her husband started the Bread Basket decades ago. That’s the bakery on Central.
” Holly did her best to ignore the mess on the kitchen island in favor of the home’s original character lingering in the space.
“The bakery is famous thanks to Connie’s strudel.
Recently, Lila, the granddaughter, came back home to take over the bakery.
The items she’s added to the menu will be as famous as the strudel before long. ”
“Strudel? You’re serious.”
Holly caught the interest in his voice and filed it away for later. She wanted to save her allotted questions for more pressing issues.
With a happy bark, Digby dashed off, deeper into the house. “I guess he’s the tour guide.” Seb shrugged and gestured for her to go first.
The dining room looked practically original, with gleaming oak built-ins at the corners framing a glorious view of the harbor.
Centered over a long oval table—surely an antique—was a chandelier dripping with crystals.
The fixture wasn’t on, but the sunlight through windows created a stunning glow.
“Impressive.” She caught Seb staring into the room, hands in his pockets, as if he had no idea what to do with such a room.
“Will you host Christmas dinner?” Maybe she should show him some of the photos from the many Marion holiday gatherings held in this room.
His eyebrows arched. “That’s a long way off, but I sure can’t make excuses about space anymore.”
And she realized he was counting that as one of the questions. Dutifully, she pulled out her recorder and made a note of his remarks.
Suddenly, there was a scurry of tiny toenails on hardwood followed by loud barking and growls. Seb swore, racing off toward the sounds. “Drop it!” he shouted as he darted out of sight.
Holly hurried after them, admiring a creamy marble table and another glorious chandelier as she crossed the foyer into what must’ve once been a grand parlor.