What if it wasn’t just shared trauma that tethered them? What if this thing between them was more? Bigger? Better than?—
Speak of the devil.
Hew stood in her open door, his hands gripping the frame above his head so his thick fisherman’s sweater pulled up and showed an inch of golden flesh above the waistband of his jeans.
He looked so very…New England-y. Like a lobster fisherman, or a maple syrup farmer, or an innkeeper for weary leaf peepers. So very rugged and outdoorsy. The model on the cover of L.L. Bean.
The social media guru in her imagined starting a YouTube channel featuring him chopping wood. He could do it shirtless…or wearing nothing but jeans and suspenders. She knew she’d have a hit on her hands. A million followers in under six months and monetizing views in under three.
“How was it being out at the bar?” he asked, and she was surprised she didn’t melt into the mattress at the sound of his deep voice. Out at the bah.
Why is my heart jittering in my chest? It’s just Hew.
Except, it wasn’t just Hew. Not anymore.
It was Hew like she’d never experienced him before when she’d been too battered and bruised to see much past the end of her own nose.
Her bedroom had always felt so spacious, but now she wondered if there was room for herself along with his broad shoulders, big arms, and steadfast stare.
“It was good.” She fought to keep the breathlessness from her voice. “Weird. But good.”
“Weird how?” He tilted his head, and her eyes tracked up to the whorl of deep, auburn hair that had fallen over his broad forehead to cover the little crescent-shaped scar there.
I wonder if his hair feels as soft as it looks? I wonder if it’d curl around my fingers if I ran my hands along his scalp? I wonder if it’s warm or cool or?—
She shook her head. Not in answer to his question, but to jangle her errant thoughts back into place.
“Weird being around strangers. Weird not expecting someone from the cartel to come crashing through the door. Weird feeling...free.” She shot him a teasing look. “Weird watching you flirt.”
His expression blanked so quickly it was comical. “I wasn’t flirtin’.”
“Pfft.” She rolled her eyes. “I saw that woman give you her phone number. And I saw how you looked at her when she did it.” She gave him a curious once-over. “So no dice with the blonde at the bagel shop, huh? The brunette in the cowgirl boots is more your type?”
“Not sure I have a type, actually.”
“Every man has a type, Hew.” She tossed the covers off her legs to get out of bed.
Her type used to be the suave and sophisticated sort. Smooth talkers in expensive suits with hard, ambitious eyes. The kind of guys who were so very different from her father or her brother. The types who’d always disappointed her when she realized their pretty packagings hid disingenuous hearts.
Hew was the opposite.
Not that his outer trappings weren’t pretty. They were. All the appreciative looks he’d gotten from the clientele at Red Delilah’s proved that.
But his dedication and loyalty to his team, his quiet consideration, and the kindness with which he moved through life despite his warrior’s training, these were the things that made him truly beautiful.
Maybe that was why the thought of pursuing something more than friendship with him scared her as much as it thrilled her. If he ended up disappointing her, she might not recover.
“Where ya goin’?” he asked when she headed toward him.
“I’m hungry. There are still a couple of strawberry scones left over from this morning.”
That’s what she told him. The truth was, she needed air.
Hew hanging onto her doorframe, looking so big and beautiful and…big, had sucked all the oxygen out of her lungs.
He dropped his hands when she stopped in front of him. She breathed a sigh of relief that she no longer had to work to keep her eyes averted from that hint of love trail that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
“Sorry.” He winced. “Ate the last one five minutes ago.”
