His hair is sandy blond, stubble along his jaw a few days past being clean shaven.
His shoulders slope in a way that should read casual but the way he eyes the other two has me feeling like he’s sizing up the room without making a show of it.
His frame is taller than the second man’s. Blue eyes meet mine and hold me in place.
He watches me carefully like he’s trying to memorize me.
Instantly, my heart kicks up in my chest.
My mind scrambles for words, but all I can think is how impossibly out of place they all look standing in the middle of my childhood home’s foyer.
And weirdly, somehow, like they belong here anyway.
Maybe it’s the long drive making me delusional.
The third one with an easy smile offers his hand to me first.
It takes me a second to reach forward and close the distance between us, and when I do, the scent of his cologne hits me.
It’s a woodsy scent mixed with something slightly citrus.
His palm is calloused and warm, his grip firm without being overbearing. “You must be Noelle. Your dad’s been bragging about you for years. I swear I know more about you than himsometimes. He told us we’d better be on our best behavior, or you’d set us straight.”
“Is that so?” I manage, trying not to sound breathless.
He chuckles. “Yep. I’m Dean by the way. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
The first man steps forward next.
He doesn’t hold out his hand right away, just studies me.
His dark blue eyes dip from my face to the towel still in my hands then roam down to the rest of me before coming back up.
I’m almost tempted to squirm under the scrutiny and go running back into the kitchen before it becomes obvious how attracted I am to them all.
Finally, he extends his hand. “Grant.”
When our palms touch, a shiver runs straight through me.
The second man moves with an unhurried stride, his handshake steady, eyes softer than the other two but no less intense when they meet mine. “Thanks for letting us crash here. I’m Callum.
I swallow back the moan trying to crawl its way up my throat.
Waving my hand, I force myself to laugh. “No problem. I’ve heard horror stories from that place, so I’m not surprised you guys had a bad time. I’m just surprised it hasn’t shut down yet.”
That earns me a laugh from Dean. “You’re telling us. Honestly, the second we checked in, I thought we were gonna end up on one of those documentaries for organ harvesting where the twist is that all the staff were in on it.”
Grant shrugs out of his coat and claps Dean on the back. “He’s got quite the active imagination sometimes. Don’t mind him. He’ll settle down once he has a beer in him.”
“Or some food,” Dean counters, then sniffs the air. “Do I smell something baking?”
I duck back toward the kitchen, my cheeks burning as I suddenly remember the cookies.
The smell of them lingers in the air, warm and sweet.
I pull the tray out, setting it on the counter and wave the towel in my hand over it a few times as steam rolls off them.
Behind me, the men wander in, drawn by the scent like moths to a flame.
