“Yup. He keeps me on my toes.”
Henry’s dimples come out to play, and I feel an overwhelming need to make this man smile more. He has such a contagious smile.
“I bet,” he jokes again.
The two pools of chocolate sitting behind his glasses reel me in, and I notice I don’t mind maintaining eye contact with him. I could stare into his eyes all day and not even blink. That feeling made me queasy.
“So, you were telling me why you’re embarrassed to be in a cemetery in the middle of the day.”
“Right,” he begins. “It’s for the novel I’m ghostwriting. The antagonist is a small-town priest who murders people and buries them in his church’s cemetery to hide the bodies.”
My nose crinkles at the idea of Honey Grove being the setting of such a dark story. When I think of our little town, the feeling of safety and comfort came to mind, not whatever Henry is planning to convert it into.
I quickly smooth my expression, but it’s too late. Henry leans forward with curiosity. “You don’t like that idea?”
“No, it’s interesting. I just don’t think Honey Grove is the best place for the setting.”
“Hmmm,” Henry hums while stroking his chin. “Maybe you’re right. If it helps, I’m not using Honey Grove specifically.I’m simply using the town as a generic setting for a rural small town.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “So now you’re saying my home isgeneric.”
“No, no. That’s not what I meant,” Henry begins. “I feel like I’m just digging myself a hole at this point.”
I nod in agreement. “No, you’re fine. I love it when handsome men trash my home.”
“Handsome?”
I bite down on my lip, cursing myself for letting the compliment slip. It was harder than I thought to keep my guard up around Henry. “How is the novel going?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.
A small fire begins to crackle behind Henry’s eyes, and I hope he’ll let it go for now. Henry sighs and leans against the hard wooden back of the bench. I bite down on my lip harder, now trying to conceal the smile festering there.
“Not great,” he admits. “I’ve never had this much trouble submerging myself into a setting before. I thought spending the summer in a small town would help, but I’m still blocked.”
“Well, I’m no writer, but I can imagine it’s hard to immerse yourself in a setting you’re not familiar with. Honey Grove is a tough nut to crack,” I reason. “I’ve lived here most of my life and still find things surprising.”
“Like what?” he pushes.
“The fact that there’s a killer priest right under our noses.” I smile.
“Very funny,” he groans. “I have a deadline at the end of the month and my agent has been getting on me to turn in more pages. I guess I’ll just have to keep pushing through.”
“I can help,” I offer. The words make me want to teleport to five seconds ago and cover my own mouth.
Henry turns toward me and his eyes narrow with amixture of curiosity and amusement. “Oh, really? How exactly can you help me?”
Now I’m the one who has dug herself a hole. “Well, I grew up here and know all this town's quirks. I know all of the people, the drama, and the stories. Sure, Honey Grove is your stereotypical small town, but it’s also so much more. I’m not sure if I see it as a setting for a killer priest saga, but I can try my best to help you bring your story to life.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on me. The thought of his eyes on mine makes my entire body squirm on the small park bench. “You make a good point. Having an authentic point of view can really pull a reader in. Maybe you could be useful.”
Before I can respond, Henry’s attention becomes distracted by the soft humming drifting from Milo’s content form in his stroller. His eyebrows press together with something I can interpret. I shift my attention between the two and see the gears spinning in Henry’s mind.
“I don’t know,” he says, itching the soft spot behind his ear. “I feel guilty. You’re a mom and I don’t want to add on to everything you’ve already got going on. My mom was a single mom for most of my childhood, so I know how hard it can be.”
My heart thuds against my ribcage, sending shivers down my spine. “That’s sweet of you, but it’s fine, really. My ex-husband is a big help, and he has Milo most weekends and usually when I’m at work.”
Henry turns his body sideways to face me. My eyes flicker to the arm resting over the bench. Today, he’s wearing a light blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I let myself glance at his strong forearms and feel a tingle in my gut.
Most of the guys in Honey Grove are ruggedly handsome, but Henry is polished with a warm and inviting depth that makes you feel whole inside.
