No one’s in the cottage when I wake on Monday morning. Not even my dog.
Where is Hudson? I fling off the covers and pad to the windows overlooking the deck, peering out.
In the distance, I spot Banks walking Hudson around the farm.
When I look down, the dog’s food bowl is empty. Last night I had measured out his kibble for the morning and set it on the counter. Banks already fed my dog and is walking him now. I didn’t even have to ask him to.
A stupid smile tugs at my lips as I get in the shower and savor the hot stream. When I dry off and exit the bathroom, there’s a vase of fresh-cut Melissa on the table across from the couch. Sometimes lavender’s a sex toy with Banks, sometimes a gift.
My smile is even stupider as I get dressed. It’s summer, but sometimes a girl just has to wear a turtleneck. Well, a short-sleevemock turtleneck, but it’s the only summery top I own that’ll cover up the very obvious hickey on my neck. And I am not going to parade around town and reveal a love bite from my bodyguard to the world, or my sister.
A few minutes later, Grandma lifts a curious brow when I sail into the kitchen in the farmhouse in mycover-up clothes. “It’s going to be hot out today,” she says, giving me a once-over.
I pluck at the blue shirt, trying to make this odd fashion choice seem like no big deal. “It’s laundry day.”
And that’s believable enough, even though it’s a bald-faced lie. I do laundry often enough that I rarely have laundry-day problems.
Her brow knits, but she shrugs, buying my excuse. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’re sweating.”
“I won’t curse you when I melt on the streets of Darling Springs today,” I say, but then I gesture to my shorts. “I’ll be fine. Plus, I have a lot of flowers to deliver, so this way my arms won’t get as scratched up.”
Her brows arch higher.
Oops.
The more you say, the more obvious it is you’re hiding something. Like a short-sleeve shirt will save me from scratches. “Let me help you with coffee and stuff for the crew,” I say, trying to steer the conversation anywhere else. But seriously, the hard time she’ll give me for a hickey. I still remember when Haven was seventeen and came home with a purple splotch on her neck, then tried to finesse her way out of it with a tale about a new moisturizer she’d picked up from The Slippery Dipper, and how eager she’d been to try itout as part of this amazing new skin care routine, but oh my god can you believe it leftthis purple mark?
We teased her for days about her allegedly amazing skin care routine.
“I made croissants too,” she adds, then taps me on the nose. “Because?—”
We both pause, like,wait for it, then say in unison, “Muffins suck.”
“Seriously, muffins should be abolished,” I add, grateful we’ve moved on to baked goods and away from my cover-up-a-silly-punishment-for-my-sass attire.
As I help her in the kitchen, images of last night flicker before my eyes, and my stomach flips. I really need to stop thinking about what he did to me in bed. Since it can’t happen again.
Then, there’s the clearing of a throat, the sound of shoes on hardwood floor, and my body reacts instantly as Banks walks into the kitchen.
“Morning, Lila. Morning, Ripley. Hope you didn’t think you could give me the slip,” he teases.
I don’t even look at him. If I do, the desire will be written on my face for my grandma to see. She already knows I like him. She already knows I’m wildly attracted to him. She’ll be able to put two and two together and add it up toyou enjoyed hot sex and naughty uses for lavender with your bodyguard last night, didn’t you?
“I didn’t know you were my shadow on the farm too?” I toss out.
“I’m not. You’re safe here. But I’m good at finding you,” Bankssays, and something about the confidence in his words makes me nearly swoon.
I grab the coffee bag instead and shake it for no good reason. “Thanks for walking the dog.”
“Anytime,” he says.
Grandma arches a curious brow, like walking the dog is the only proof she needs to know something’s going on between us.
“I’ll make more coffee,” I quickly add.
My grandma gives me the most side-eye of all side-eyes ever, then says playfully and pointedly to Banks, “Yes, thank you so much for walking my granddaughter’s most favorite person.”
“You’re my favorite person,” I counter quickly, speaking to her.
