Skylar’s shriek nearly startles me out of my seat. She’s loud this early. “Are you trying to wake up the next county?”
“You got the OnlyPaws cup!”
I glance at the gleaming yellow thermos decorated with the image of Simon Side-Eye’s back paws crossed—just the paws, that’s all—and the words, “Starting an OnlyPaws page to help Mom pay the bills.”
“Huh. Yeah. I guess I did.” I rap my knuckles against the side of it. “Seems pretty solid so far. But you can’t be sure until you stress test it by running into a mischievous pixie of a neighbor.”
Skylar’s smile seems to stretch forever. “Want me tosurprise you on the street someday and see how it holds up?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, then meet her gaze. “We both know I have good hands.”
Her eyes twinkle and her breath catches. She swallows, then says, “I bet you do.”
I’m about to start the car when she stretches across the console and drops a kiss onto my cheek. “Thank you,” she says.
My head swims from the heat racing through me. Fromthat. From her lips barely touching me.
She settles into her seat, and it takes me several seconds to get my bearings. Pulling away from the curb, I mutter a hot and strangled, “You’re welcome.”
But her summertime scent is setting up camp as I drive. Her kiss is lodged in my brain. I hunt for something else to focus on as we cruise along Scott Street, the bridge coming into view. “Did you know the Golden Gate Bridge was completed ahead of schedule? My mom texted me this morning to tell me.”
Skylar gasps, laughing too. “Oh my god. She texted me too! To ask if I knew that the Eames lounger is engineered with a fifteen-degree tilt to relieve pressure from the base of the spine.”
I shoot her an amused glance as we zip over the bridge. “That also sounds like her. She always wants to make sure furniture is good ergonomically.” Then I narrow my eyes. “But the big question is: was that new information to you? Did you know that already?”
Skylar grins, confident and self-assured. “I did, Ford. I did.”
There’s something about how she says it—like awoman whoknowsshe’s good at her job, who collects details like currency and keeps them handy.
It’s scarily hot.
And I really, really need to stop liking her. There is zero space in my life for a crush. Especially considering where the last one led—to marrying the wrong person. An image of signing the divorce papers flashes through my head, and I wince, kicking the terrible memory into a dark corner.
Everything seemed great with Brittany at the start too, and I’d do well to remember that.
I focus on the road as we cross the bridge, the emerald-green hills of the Marin Headlands stretching out before us. We dip down into Sausalito, winding our way toward my parents’ house as Skylar mentions she needs to be back in the city by four.
“I have to pop by a client’s office at five,” she explains.
“We’ll be out of the home quickly,” I say, though I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to spend time there after we video call my mom. I wouldn’t mind that at all.
“True. It won’t take too long,” she says, and do I detect a note of wistfulness in her voice? Like maybe she wouldn’t mind hanging out there today too?
Doing what, you idiot?Staring at your parents’ furniture together?
I shove away the thoughts of hanging out casually as I park the car.
A few minutes later, a truck from Twice Loved pulls up, and Skylar immediately starts directing the delivery guys. She doesn’t second-guess; she just takes charge, telling them where to set each piece, from the dove gray couch to the pale yellow kitchen table, how to move things, and what needs extra care.
It’s sexy.
Which is a problem.
Watching her handle this whole thing makes me like her even more. Apparently, I have a serious kink for competent women.
As the guys head to the truck to grab a bureau, Skylar wrestles a blanket from the canvas bag and artfully arranges it along the back of the couch.
“So that’s why you had blankets,” I say.
