We turned at the same time, and I met his eyes across the small house?—
—only for me to snap my gaze back toward the records, blushing like mad.
“Hell of an observation,” he murmured.
I shook my head and pulled out one of the records, pretending my face wasn’t burning and that his armshadn’tjust flexed in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything but the activity in the kitchen. The man was a walking thirst trap, and he moved around that kitchen like he had no idea the kind of chaos he was stirring up in my nervous system.
“Got any secrets in here?” I asked, tapping a sleeve with an unfamiliar logo. “Something unexpected?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Depends what you mean. If you’re lookin’ for Taylor Swift, you’re outta luck—but there’s a Dolly Parton album in there that’ll knock you sideways.”
I pulled it out. “You like Dolly Parton?”
He shrugged. “I’m only human.”
I carefully took the record out and placed it on the turntable, then dropped the needle—and a moment later, Dolly’s voice poured out of the speakers while Beau layered cheese in a dish of noodles. The smell was already intoxicating—cheddar, butter, just the right amount of breadcrumbs on the top. Comfort food…comfortable like this house, this town, this man.
I was going to havequitea story for Shane when I met up with my co-host again after this was all over.
Beau slid the mac into the oven, then he wiped his hands on a faded dish towel, leaning back against the counter withcrossed arms. He had to know, right? That he was pure small-town heartthrob—one hundred percent Halloween Hallmark, one thousand percent not my type…and already about a million percent charming the pants off me. He caught me staring, and returned the favor by dragging his eyes over me as if my functional pixie cut, black hoodie, and boyfriend jeans were something to look at.
“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asked.
I tilted my head, then crossed the room and leaned a hip against the counter just a few feet away. “Do you always pretend not to notice when someone’s thinking about climbing you like a tree?”
He blinked.
Then—then—he laughed. One low, disbelieving breath, like he couldn’t decide whether to be scandalized or flattered.
“I mean…” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck, “I try to be polite.”
“Why?” I asked, deadpan. “Because I’m a stranded guest in your tiny little town and you don’t want to risk sullying your gentleman mechanic image?”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t look away. “Something like that.”
I leaned in a little. “You’re allowed to be impolite if I’m giving you permission.”
He didn’t move, but his gaze dropped to my mouth.
“I don’t exactly make a habit of?—”
“Hooking up with weird cryptid hunters who fall out of the sky and into your shop?” I offered.
He chuckled. “Maybe I just don’t want you spillin’ the tea about me on your podcast.”
I huffed a laugh. “You’re overestimating the number of people who listen to my podcast…and God forbid a girl talks about your sexual prowess publicly. You’d never have a dry streak again.”
His expression shifted—not a laugh anymore, not even close. No…for the first time that night, he scared me.
Because he was looking at me like he was personally offended at the idea that he’d want anyone after me. That he’d wanted anyonebeforeme.
In that moment, it was like he was telling me with those green eyes that I was it for him.
“So what are you tryin’ to say, Noelle?” he asked. He shifted to face me, one hand reaching out to trail down my side, resting solidly on my hip. God—his hands were huge, warm, rough. I wanted him to touch me more than I’d wanted most things in my life. “You want me to kiss you?”
I bit my lip. “I want you to do more than kiss me.”
He took a second, breathed deep, his eyes darting from my eyes to my lips.
