I gulp, feeling like a creeper while I watch him run a hand through his dark, overgrown hair.
I’ve only ever seen one other guy with his shirt off, and he did not look likethat.
He grips the base of his neck, his shoulders constricting with the motion, and my gaze trails down his bare, tanned back. Then, he swivels so he’s facing me, and my heart rate spikes, but I blow out a breath when he doesn’t spot me. Instead, he lowers himself to the sink, turns on the faucet, then splashes water into his hair and over his face.
Warmth seeps into my cheeks.
I jerk when a dog barks in the distance, and the mystery guy looks up. Somersaults erupt in my stomach as his focus lands on me.
My eyes widen, but I freeze. I’m the deer, and he’s the headlights.
His gaze narrows; my throat goes dry. I manage to open my mouth, but what can I say? It’s not like he can hear me anyway. Without thinking, I lift a hand and wave. My cheeks only grow hotter when he just stares.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. Yep, definitely a creeper.
He keeps his glare locked on me, yanks a rag off the counter, and dries his hands. After a painfully long second, he releases me from his hold and stalks away from view.
“Bluebell?”
I jump, pushing off the windowsill and pivoting. Tim stands in the doorway, one hand on the knob. His forehead creases when he takes in my expression.
“You okay?”
I nod, my neck tight. “What’s up?”
He glances behind me at the open window, then spots the sweetgrass and abalone shell. My lungs expand with relief when all he says is, “Thought you’d go for sage.”
I tilt my head. “Do you smudge?”
He chuckles. “It’s been a while. But I remember your mom used to prefer sage.”
I smile. “She still does.”
“Yeah?” He glances away, rubbing the side of his arm. “Okay, well ... uh, Rebecca and Kimmie are back. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
With another nod, I follow him out of the room and down the stairs. My steps turn sluggish as he strolls ahead of me. He moves through the living room and eases onto the couch, beside the woman and girl I saw in the photos.
For a moment, time stands so still I wonder if I’m breathing. Even their movements lag in slow motion as I watch Tim and his family pick through the food on the table. Distant, unfamiliar voices blur together while they bicker over who’s eating what. Someone’s laughter echoes around me.
“Bluebell?” Like the flick of a switch, Tim’s face moves in front of mine with overwhelming clarity. His eyes soften. “You coming?”
My necklace burns against my chest. “Yeah,” I whisper. And I take a step deeper into the room.
Blue
“Oh, hun. You must be exhausted.” Rebecca leans across Tim’s lap to cup my knee. Her smile illuminates her chocolate eyes. “Any time in a plane, and I’m wiped out. Shoot, even an hour in the car is too much. Isn’t that right, Tim?”
She turns to him, and he nods, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “It’s true,” he says after swallowing. “If I don’t pull over before—”
“Can I go?”
Our attention snaps to the girl sitting on the ottoman. Kimmie stares at her cell phone, her French-tipped thumb swishing across the screen. Her dark hair is a smooth veil around her face. After a second of silence, she glances up. One eyebrow quirks.
“Not to be rude, of course.” Her lips curve when she looks at me, and it’s so different from her mom’s smile—slow and feline instead of easy and radiant. Her brown eyes have none of Rebecca’s chocolaty warmth; they’re more like slabs of tree bark that have been frozen since the last ice age.
“Actually,”—Tim’s gaze bounces between Kimmie and Rebecca—“I thought we could all have a nice dinner together. After all, it is Bluebell’s—”
Kimmie coughs, but it does nothing to hide her chuckle.
