A large two-story, the home is a creamy mixture of warm ivory paint and burnt red roof tiles. The lower half of the front features a stone façade in varying neutral shades of tan. Windows framed in black match the color of the garage doors. Arizona ash trees reach high and run parallel to the home, providing it with shade from the morning sun.
The vibe is warm, and inviting, and deepens my feeling that the person who was a part of all this was too kind to be treated in such a way.
The same is true of Maggie.
A second deep breath fortifies me, and I step from my car. I stride toward the front door, taking the two stone steps to the landing. An oversized wreath of fauxeucalyptus hangs on the door, and well-groomed flowering topiaries sit on either side in cedar boxes.
Cozy. Appealing. A place that practically screamsI have a pot of flavorful soup on the stove and a warm hearth.
My hand is poised to knock when a figure steps around the corner.
Brown work boots, laces undone. Dark wash jeans, a crisp white shirt. Tan skin, a jaw darkened by five-o'clock shadow.
Hugo has all the makings of my personal physical kryptonite. Tall, dark, and unbelievably sexy.
My hand drops to my side.
He looks like he wants to say something, so I wait. And wait. The seconds, slow and torturous, pass. He runs two knuckles along his jaw, and finally says, "I'm nervous."
His honesty brings me up short. It's the last thing I expected him to say, and it sets an ease to my galloping heartbeats.
"I am, too," I admit, feeling the corners of my lips turn up in a tentative smile.
Hugo studies me, dark eyebrows tugging. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
As if he's decided something, he nods in the direction he came from. "Follow me."
He starts off, and I listen, assuming he's leading me around the house to a different entrance. But then he stops at a massive porch swing, settling back onto it.
I hadn't noticed the swing when I arrived, but there'sreally no way I could have. Green vines grow thick through a trellis, blocking the swing from view.
"This looks more like a bed suspended in the air than a porch swing." I step closer, holding tight to the arm as I lower myself down. Hugo's feet are planted firmly on the ground, keeping the swing in place for me. Using the palm of my hand to hold my weight, I reverse until I've met the back frame.
"It's actually called a swing bed," Hugo replies, settling back against the yellow and white striped cushions. "I have one at my place, too."
He's close to me now. So close, his thick, muscled thigh presses against mine. Heat radiates off him, an electric warmth, my nose invaded by the scent of him: rich, earthy, spicy.
Be professional.
A furtive shift of my leg, giving myself an inch of needed space from him.
"You're making that up because of what I just said." I force the joke, desperately grasping for levity. Anything to keep me from spiraling into a tornado of hormones.
Hugo's head shakes back-and-forth slowly, one arm extending across the back frame as his other arm settles on the armrest. "Cross my heart."
The following line to that childhood rhyme sinks between us, heavy.Hope to die.
Hugo grimaces. "That was...unfortunate."
It's the perfect sentence to break through the thick tension of the moment. "You can do better."
Hugo's brown eyes find mine, hisgaze strong, meaningful, as if he is trying to convey something. Is he thinking what I'm thinking? Remembering how that was what I said to him two days ago, the first time we met? Before he knew who I was, and our flirtation was happy and innocent and unencumbered by the truth.
"I'm sure I could," he says quietly. His gaze leaves me, travels out east where the sky grows ever darker.
I'm resisting the urge to really settle all the way back on these plush pillows, tuck my legs up at an angle, and take a nap. This swing bed would be an excellent choice for afternoon napping.
Hugo is quiet again, and I wait patiently. When I'm hosting a podcast, it is my job to lead the conversation. But now, sitting out here with Hugo, it is imperative I go at his speed.
