Chapter 10
Ten
Iris
The next day, I wake with a deep twinge between my legs.
I’m hit with a fresh wave of emotion. What’s it called when you feel a little hungover and embarrassed but also giddy at the same time?
I throw on the outfit I have planned for today — a red wrap dress that is hopelessly out of date and yet so comfortable I can’t part with it.
Though it shows off my curves, I negate all of that by pairing it with my favorite oversized cardigan, so I can remove a layer if the weather gets warm.
Then, I reach for my phone and head downstairs. Next, coffee.
I start a fresh pot and pad over to the French doors, drawing back the curtains to peek across the yard.
All looks quiet at the carriage house.
I feel…different.
I’ve had my share of one-night stands before. I’ve even had anonymous sex once. None of the above ever made me smile like a freaking idiot the next morning. Usually, because they’ve already decided to ghost me. Alas, those are the kind of guys I pick.
Oliver is one of a kind.
I must have stood there and gazed at the carriage house for a full ten minutes because the beep of the coffee pot pulls me out of the moment.
I pour a cup, then intend to shoot a text to Skylar. But when I look at my phone, I notice I have half a dozen notifications.
Uh oh.
I scroll down and click the earliest one, which came in late last night. It’s from Maddie next door.
Maddie
Bridie Wilson was out walking her schnauzer and came knocking on my door about fifteen minutes ago, all in a tizzy about some shirtless man in your backyard. She wanted me to make sure you were okay. Are you?
Another text followed that one, again from Maddie.
I take my coffee and wander into the parlor, looking over at Maddie’s house to see if anyone’s awake over there yet. Does not look like it.
Oh god. If Bridie Wilson was so worried, why didn’t she call the police?
I think we all know the answer to that. If the town had trophies for gossip, Bridie would be the undefeated champion. She probably saw that Maddie’s office light was still on, and wanted to know if Maddie knew something she didn’t. Bridie wasn’t worried about me; she was going by history and vibes.
Back in the kitchen, I begin prepping breakfast, working up the nerve to read the rest of the messages I missed overnight.
While the biscuits are baking, I read the next text, this one from Skylar, sent at seven this morning.
Skylar
Hey, Lulu said there was a naked man seen leaving your studio late last night. I didn’t know what to say, so I told her you were taking painting classes from Riley Hutchinson and you were in the human anatomy unit. Call me!
Perfect answer, seeing as half of our artists in Songbird Ridge have been known to use nude models from time to time. In any other small town, this might be scandalous. To the gossips around here, that’s the most boring explanation ever.
The next text came seconds later, also from Skylar.
Skylar
Unit…see what I did there?
I snort and spit out my coffee.
As I’m recovering, the French doors open. Oliver is right on schedule. Great. I wince inwardly, embarrassed at how I must look.
“Shoot, I missed the first spit take of the morning,” Oliver says.
“I’m such a klutz,” I groan, reaching for the hand towel on the oven. Oliver reaches it first and dabs at the drips on my chin and my chest. It takes pains to avoid his eyes when he’s up this close, but my humiliation helps with that.
He looks so different from yesterday, when he was in jeans and a tee-shirt.
Today, he wears a slim-fitting pima cotton shirt, amplifying his sexy collarbone with a slutty lace-up opening at the top.
He’s paired it with casual linen pants that look dressy enough for a date or relaxed enough for a do-nothing kind of day.
How does he do that? I had no idea he was good at dressing himself.
And on top of that, he smells incredible.
Freshly showered and like clean clothes, but also the slightest hint of a woodsy aftershave.
And me? I have coffee all over my favorite red dress.
“Here. Just dab it there. I don’t think the drips will even show up on that pretty dress,” he says.
“That’s a relief.”
My inner teenager feels fluttery from him calling my dress pretty. It’s somewhat cute at best, but comfortable enough to move around in and haul boxes. Not half as stylish as how Oliver looks right now. Nor half as sexy.
Oliver tugs at one of the straps hanging down from the knot at my waistline.
“Hey,” he says, pulling me close.
I feel fluttery all over as he gazes down at me, his piercing eyes playful.
“Hey,” I say.
“Good morning.” The greeting is all rumbly and sexy and so close that a woman in her right mind would push him away. But I don’t want to. Having this much virile man all up in my personal space does filthy things to my body. Instantly, my nipples harden.
“Good morning,” I say, unable to avoid looking at his lips, remembering how wildly he kissed me last night.
A faint smile crosses his face. “I wanted to tell you something I was thinking about this morning.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a little worried. Is he going to tell me last night was a mistake? A one-off? Too fast?
“I think you got up in your head when we ended things, and I want you to know, last night was—” Oliver stops short when my phone rings.
Ended things? What does that mean?
Well, there’s no time to address that now. “It’s Skylar. I’d better get that.”
I answer. “Hey, Sky, I was just about to call you.”
“Great, just wanted to make sure you were up,” my friend says.
Oliver has not stepped away from me as I talk on the phone. In fact, his nose is nuzzling my neck.
“Yep. I’m up.”
Oliver murmurs against my throat, “Way up.”
“Stop!” I mouth at him, unable to hide my smile as I push at Oliver’s chest. It’s all too familiar and brings back the memory of last night, seeing all that skin. Thank god he’s covered this morning, although the silky-soft cotton is too inviting and I don’t want to stop touching it.
“Um, I’ll see you in about an hour to help you set up. Need anything? Coffee?”
Skylar replies, “Bring that hot renter everyone’s been talking about.”
My stomach drops. “Everyone?”
“Literally everyone is dying to get a look at him.”
How can that be? I can name at least three dozen other locals who have rented out their basement apartments, renovated attics, or tiny houses for the Dogwood Festival. No way anyone has taken that much interest in my business.
“No promises,” I say, and hang up, dropping the phone on the counter and finally giving in to the moment with Oliver’s lips on my throat.
“That wasn’t fair,” I say, gasping as he slides both hands under the back of my cardigan, caressing me low on my back, just within inches of cupping my ass.
“No, it wasn’t fair. But it was fun,” he says.
“You’re literally paying to stay in my carriage house, and I feel like we’re crossing so many lines here.”
He laughs, and I shiver as his lips travel lower, down to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Somehow my cardigan has slipped. “You’ve already taken full advantage of your hot renter.”
I gasp and pull away, playfully swatting Oliver on the chest. “You heard that?”
He shrugs and sweeps a thumb over his bottom lip. “No offense but your friend talks kind of loud.”
He’s not wrong. Skylar is a loud talker.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s eat quickly so I can clean up. I have to be at Skylar’s booth in a little bit.”
Breakfast is egg biscuit sandwiches with cheese and sausage, and yogurt with local honey and berries. Oliver devours two sandwiches and a good amount of yogurt, and I notice how pleased I am with how much he enjoys my food.
To my delight, he helps me clean up the kitchen and I’m ready to go ahead of schedule.
“You ready for the Spanish Inquisition?” I ask.
Once again, he tugs the tie at my waist and pulls me in for a kiss just before we head out the door together. It’s a long, sweet, satisfying kiss. I hug one arm around his neck, not wanting the kiss to end.
“What were you going to say about last night?” I ask.
He smiles. “I’ll save that for later. When we have time to talk. I have a feeling as soon as we step outside these doors, we’re going to be on display.”
He’s not wrong.
I have an idea that might mitigate some of the lookie-loos. “Cardinal Coffee will have a line ten people deep. Let’s take my car; I’ll show you a shortcut to the Red Hen.”
Oliver follows me to my Jeep and hops in the passenger seat, and why does this feel like a date? Let’s see, maybe because being alone with him in my house, in my car, in my studio, literally everywhere makes me feel nervous, excited, horny? All the emotions?
At the age of 33, I’m reliving my first crush, my first sexual awakening, my first sexual partner, all rolled into one.
When we arrive at Skylar’s pop-up bookstore, we come with extra-large gas station coffees in hand, having gotten a thorough once-over from Ellen at the Red Hen.
No doubt, the word is out that my “hot renter” is out and about this morning, and he’s practically attached to my hip.
“Well, hello!” Skylar knocks over a box of books as she lunges at the coffee in my hand.
Or so I thought. No, she’s lunging at Oliver.
An irrational sense of jealousy rushes through me as I watch her in horror—until I realize she’s just shaking his hand.
“You must be the mysterious Carriage House Man,” she says with a wide smile and an approving glance in my direction.
Three other volunteers at booths on either side of us turn to stare.
Oh gosh.
“I guess that’s me. I’m Oliver.”
He absorbs the stares and whispers with a friendly smile and a firm handshake.
“Nice to meet the man who popped her bed-and-breakfast cherry!” Skylar comments.
“Skylar!” I hiss, as she cackles.
I glance over at Oliver, who continues to be unfazed. “I think that title goes to her neighbors. They got to test out the carriage house first,” he replies.