Me
Sorry, friend. I was running gala errands all day.
Block walk first thing tomorrow?
Kristen
Fine.
Since I didn’t hear from you last night, I’m assuming you slept okay?
Waking up in the cocoon of Rowan’s arms this morning was the most clear-headed I’ve felt in days.
Kristen
Or you found somebody else to warm your bed. Like…maybe a tattooed American hero?
Me
A girl doesn’t cuddle and tell.
Kristen
Riiiiiiiigghhtt
See you tomorrow. Don’t forget the tea.
I climb out of my car and head down the path toward my front porch. Halfway there I stop, sensing something is off. Dead on my feet, I look around for what’s different. My flower beds look untouched, as do the planters flanking the garage. The lawn remains freshly mowed from Saturday, but there’s a distinct smell of cut grass in the air. It’s several seconds before I notice it.
My eyes catch on the spot where the pavement meets the lawn, the meticulous edges cutting in against the concrete. I don’t pay my precious fourteen-year-old landscaping Boy Scout to edge my yard.
I’m left to assume Rowan found my spare key under the mat, let himself in, and decided to…edge my lawn?
Yep, that’s exactly what he’s doing when I find him in my backyard. Shirtless. Muscled. Sweaty. Backward hat. Running a weed eater along my fence line.
I enjoy the view for minutes longer than what’s considered appropriate before he finally notices my presence. He flashes a white-toothed smile framed by a scruffed jaw and two perfectly placed dimples as he powers down the weed whacker and sets it aside.
He struts toward me on the patio, removing his AirPods. First thing’s first, he dips low for a quick kiss. The heady scent of sweat and summer invades my senses, and I want to get lost in it—maybe lick it off his chiseled abs like a popsicle.
“I see you let yourself in,” I say.
His face pinches in confusion. “No, actually I haven’t been inside. Inoticed your yard needed to be edged when I left this morning so I came back with Pops’ Weed Eater about an hour ago.”
“Oh, I figured you found the key under the mat.”
Rowan laughs but it sounds more exasperated than funny. “First of all, I wouldn’t just ‘let myself in’ to your place without your permission, and second of all, you absolutely cannot keep your spare key under your welcome mat. Please tell me you’re joking.”
Poor guy’s eyes drift closed and he pinches the bridge of his nose like he can will what I say next not to be true.
“No can do, Sergeant.”
A long-suffering sigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sunshine.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach. His grandfather was the first person to call me by that nickname. I think it’d make Norm’s heart happy to know his grandson uses it too.
“Yeah, but what a way to go. Am I right?”
Blue eyes darken as his gaze sweeps over me in my charcoal pencil skirt, matching blazer, and stilettos. “Go inside and change into your comfies. We’ll order food when I’m done.”