The Range Rover slowed, and I blinked, realizing we were pulling into Shifflett’s General Store parking lot. The sameparking lot I’d fled from in a panic just days ago, leaving Hope from the church choir in my rearview mirror.
“Why are we stopping?” I asked, probably too quickly. My voice had that slightly strangled quality it got when I was trying not to sound nervous.
“Eggnog,” Farley said, as if this explained everything. When I continued to stare at him, he elaborated: “I forgot to get the ingredients at the grocery store. Shifflett’s has fresh eggs and local cream, which makes all the difference.”
“You make your own eggnog?”
“I make Ollie’s grandmother’s eggnog. It’s the only holiday tradition I’m keeping after—” He stopped, and something flickered across his face. “After Ollie.”
The admission hung between us, small but significant. Another crack in the armor. Another glimpse of the man underneath all that sharp wit and careful distance.
“I’ll wait here,” I said. “In case any church choir members are lurking.”
Farley’s eyes crinkled. “A wise tactical decision.”
He climbed out of the Range Rover, and I absolutely, definitely did not watch him walk toward the store.
Okay, I watched him. Sue me.
Farley Davenport moved like someone who’d never questioned his own coordination—efficient, purposeful, completely unaware of the effect he had on other people. His coat hugged his shoulders perfectly, and his jeans did something criminal to his—
His ass, my brain supplied helpfully. You’re staring at his ass.
In my defense, it was an amazing ass.
The door to Shifflett’s swung shut behind him, and I slumped back in the passenger seat, pressing both hands over my face.
“What are you doing?” I asked myself aloud. “What are you fucking doing?”
The empty car offered no answers.
I hadn’t been this attracted to someone in... God, how long had it been? Years, probably. My last few relationships—if you could even call them that—had been more about convenience than chemistry. Fellow actors who understood the schedule, publicist-approved dates for red carpets, the occasional encounter with a discreet trainer or makeup artist who knew the rules of hooking up with a celebrity.
Nothing that felt like this.
This felt like standing too close to a fire—warm and dangerous and completely addictive. Every time Farley looked at me with those sharp eyes, every time he said something cutting and brilliant, every time he let his guard down just enough for me to see the hurt underneath... I wanted more. I wanted everything.
But what was I supposed to do about it?
I stared at the ceiling of the Range Rover, running through the options. Option one: do nothing. Play it safe. Enjoy the banter and the friendship and the weird cat-custody situation, and go back to LA in three weeks with some nice memories and no complications.
Option two: make a move. Risk everything. Potentially ruin the only genuine connection I’d made in years by letting my libido drive the car.
Option one was sensible. Mature. The choice a functional adult would make.
But when had I ever been a functional adult?
I’d made a mustache out of my own hair this morning. Functional adults did not do that.
Maybe, I thought, maybe a fling was exactly what I needed. No complications, just... heat. Farley was clearly attracted to me too—I’d caught him looking, caught the way his breath hitched when our hands accidentally touched reaching for the same bagof coffee in Charlottesville. He wasn’t indifferent. He was just being careful.
We were both careful. Two wounded animals circling each other, too scared to get close.
But what was the worst that could happen if I tried? He’d say no. He’d politely decline, and we’d have an awkward few days before falling back into the simple rhythm we’d developed. It would sting, but I’d survive. I’d survived worse.
And if he said yes...
The store door opened, and Farley emerged carrying a small paper bag, the late afternoon light catching the auburn highlights in his hair that I hadn’t noticed before. He was almost smiling—not quite, because Farley Davenport didn’t do anything so obvious as a full smile—but close. Relaxed. As if the trip to Charlottesville had loosened something in him too.
