My eyes lift to the cabinets—a beautiful navy blue with gold hardware—hanging above the white-tiled splashback. Three brass-finish pendants hang low over the island.
It’s the perfect kitchen. In the perfect house. Built by an imperfect man who’s either endlessly grieving with his hands or scared to finish something because of the new chapter it’ll bring.
One with a new girl in his life.
I look around sadly. Give us a day and Rose and I could definitely do some damage here. All it needs is a woman’s touch.
And maybe a working heater. I shiver from the chill as I move around the kitchen, pulling on a few under-counter cabinets to check for supplies.
I find a few clean rags under the sink and a spray bottle that smells citrusy. “Might as well make myself useful.”
I aim at the dusty counters and shoot like a kid with a water gun. Hitting every target in sight. Then set it down and get to work, bringing out its natural shine.
I coat the island next and do the same, until a knock on the door makes me jump. My head snaps to the sliding doors.
Dallas is standing outside, eyes peering out toward the fields. He’s holding a purple coffee mug and a paper bag.
Confused, I move toward the door and pull it open. “You knock?”
“Last time I didn’t, I was attacked.”
I inhale the morning air and scent of leather drifting off him and roll my eyes. “Hardly.”
He steps in with a frown. “What’s that smell?”
I close the door and sweep my gaze over him. “Was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Still making a habit of sniffing people?”
I’m usually quick with my comebacks. But the fact that he remembers that little detail makes my brain go hazy.
“Here—” he starts, setting the mug and bag on the counter, then scowling at the remaining mist along the marble. “Rose warned me not to engage until you’ve had this. Then I’m taking you back over there.”
“See you follow directions well,” I mutter before lifting the mug and taking a sip of coffee.
He spreads his hands defensively. “What, it was the first thing I said.”
“No. You knocked on your own door just so you can comment on being attacked last night, grunted about theRefreshing Grapefruitall-purpose cleaner I found underyoursink, called me out on sniffing you—which I didonetime. Then made me sound like some sort of addict who needs a fix.”
He stares at me for a moment, and it feels a little too long. “Drink your coffee, darlin’, I got work to do.”
I release a breath and take another sip.
There’s a small ache in my chest. Can’t blame the man for wanting me out. Heck, I don’t even blame my ex for wanting me out.
I’m no one to them.
I set the mug down, pulling at the greasy paper bag. “What’s in here?”
“Pumpkin bread. Ginger made it.”
I stick my nose in and inhale the fresh-baked goodness. “Hmm. Rose told me about Ginger.”
I take a bite, chewing slowly, which only seems to irritate him more as he sighs heavily, looking around the place like he just wants to get to work.
“All right,” I say, washing it down with the warm liquid. “I know when I’m not welcome. Let’s go ‘saddle your truck’ or ‘hit the hay’ or ‘wrrrangle the road’?”
A laugh breaks out of him. A genuine one that lights up his eyes as he looks at me like I’m crazy. “What the hell were those?”
