Today is no exception. I’m half awake, hair a mess, shirt mostly unbuttoned, thinking, okay, plotting, music nights, new partnerships, a “Smooch the Ranch Hand” fundraiser for animal rescue…
Crash.
I freeze.
That was not a normal house sound. Not Sadie, playing. Not Caleb, gently kicking one of my boots out of his way. Not Boone being angsty about receipts.
That was pantry murder.
I follow the sound down the hall, because I’m the curious one. The nosy one. The one who has to poke the metaphorical bear just to see what happens.
I swing the pantry door open…
And stop dead.
There is a woman on the floor.
Abeautifulwoman.
Flour clings to her, her messy knot of golden-brown hair falling loose around her flushed cheeks, her hazel eyes wide and startled, lashes dusted white.
Her lips, full, pink,familiar, part in shock, and my gut lurches.
Even covered in flour, even blinking up at me in absolute pandemonium, she’s stunning in a quiet, magnetic way that punches the air right out of my lungs.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
It’s her.
Her.
The woman from The Hollow.
The one with the soft laugh and sharp wit that rearranged things in my chest.
The one who tasted of sweetness and heat, and one very questionable life choice I had absolutely no regrets about.
She scrambles to sit up, and a whole avalanche of flour spills off her. “I… I was just… there was a sack, and it slipped and…”
I offer my hand. “Sunshine, breathe.”
Her eyes widen further as recognition hits her.
She hesitates.
Then her palm slides into mine.
And just like that, my heart does something stupid.
My brain: Oh hell.
My heart: Oh yes.
Everything below my heart: Well, well, well.
