The man really loved his dog based on the speedy response and the quality of the towel itself. She knelt with the towel right as Digby gave a mighty shake from nose to tail and she took the small hurricane right in the face.
Behind her Seb was apologizing—through snorts of laughter. She didn’t blame him or the dog, but she got the towel around Digby to dry his fur and warm him up. With his clean fur protected, she cuddled him close and stood once more.
Only to lose her breath.
Seb stood there in the glow of the late afternoon sunlight without a shirt. Were all tech geniuses hiding ripped abs andsculpted muscles under vintage tees? If so, the world was missing out.
She almost felt obligated to report her discovery.
Then again, she liked the idea that she was the only one who knew. Which was ridiculous because Sebastian was only new toher, not the world in general. What if she was standing here ogling someone else’s boyfriend? Or husband.
Awful. And awkward.
She turned her full attention to Digby. “All right, little man. You’re as dry as I can get you.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Sebastian had pulled on a fitted, charcoal gray t-shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the lean strength of his frame. It was clean, simple, and inexplicably intimate. She cleared her throat. “You’re good with letting him off the leash?”
“Sure, yeah.” He approached tentatively.
Heat flooded her cheeks. He must’ve noticed her staring. Before she could figure out what to say, their fingers brushed and Holly felt a hot spark racing up her arm to settle in her chest. Seb seemed to feel it too; his breath hitched, and he looked at her with a mixture of confusion and intense curiosity.
There was no way she was acknowledging any ofthatright now. She hid behind the towel as she blotted her face, neck, and arms. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and had to ignore it. Today was just a day and there wasn’t a thing she could do about the sad state of her appearance at this point.
“Handsome as ever,” he said. “Why didn’t you fight her like you fight me?”
Digby barked and sniffed all around their feet before dashing straight toward his previous escape route. When he couldn’t get out, he nosed around a bit and then returned for a drink from the water bowl. Holly smothered a chuckle. The dog was too cute.
“Guess I owe you a serious thank you,” Seb said. “We would’ve been caught in the escape cycle for way too long without your keen eyes.”
“Happy to assist.” She gave him her most professional smile. “Chalk it up to a reporter’s observational skills. How about that tour?”
A slow smile brought out a dimple in his cheek and her heart eagerly face-planted at his feet. The man was dangerous, but she summarily rejected the idea of crushing on the new guy in town.
She followed him toward the French doors. “Just don’t expect some kind ofSouthern Livingspread inside,” he warned. “We haven’t exactly settled in.”
As she stepped inside, Holly felt as if she’d entered a museum dedicated to southern charm. The classic architecture was pure southern luxury. The vaulted ceiling, crown molding, and what could only be original hardwood floors anchored the spacious kitchen and breakfast nook. It was a true entertainer’s paradise, updated with granite counters, warming ovens, and a massive refrigerator.
She felt a pinch of envy for the counter space that seemed to go on for miles. And a good thing too because the island in the middle of the room was currently home to boxes, a laptop, a stack of notebooks, two coffee makers, and a pile of cables—all neatly coiled and labeled.
“Connie and Lila would go into shock,” she murmured.
“Why? Who are they?”
“Connie and her husband started the Bread Basket decades ago. That’s the bakery on Central.” Holly did her best to ignore the mess on the kitchen island in favor of the home’s original character lingering in the space. “The bakery is famous thanks to Connie’s strudel. Recently, Lila, the granddaughter, came back home to take over the bakery. The items she’s added to the menu will be as famous as the strudel before long.”
“Strudel? You’re serious.”
Holly caught the interest in his voice and filed it away for later. She wanted to save her allotted questions for more pressing issues.
With a happy bark, Digby dashed off, deeper into the house. “I guess he’s the tour guide.” Seb shrugged and gestured for her to go first.
The dining room looked practically original, with gleaming oak built-ins at the corners framing a glorious view of the harbor. Centered over a long oval table—surely an antique—was a chandelier dripping with crystals. The fixture wasn’t on, but the sunlight through windows created a stunning glow. “Impressive.” She caught Seb staring into the room, hands in his pockets, as if he had no idea what to do with such a room.
“Will you host Christmas dinner?” Maybe she should show him some of the photos from the many Marion holiday gatherings held in this room.
His eyebrows arched. “That’s a long way off, but I sure can’t make excuses about space anymore.”
And she realized he was counting that as one of the questions. Dutifully, she pulled out her recorder and made a note of his remarks.
Suddenly, there was a scurry of tiny toenails on hardwood followed by loud barking and growls. Seb swore, racing off toward the sounds. “Drop it!” he shouted as he darted out of sight.
