Her damn books apparently warrant some merit in reality.
I laugh to myself at that notion when we slide out of my car. Deciding that I’ll get the luggage later, we walk to the door, and I unlock it before I quickly swing her up into my arms to carry her over the threshold, as if we just got married, which will happen one day—this is just practice.
“As soon as we’re on the other side and the door closes, you’ll never be able to go back.”
Harlow’s affectionate look slays me. “Turns out, I should have known that you’d be the only door I’d want a key to.”
Her answer warms my heart, and I kick the door open but don’t move, instead stealing a kiss.
“Turns out I was holding onto it for you.” She likes my answer because I sense that she’s melting in my arms. But I love teasing her and seeing that smile of hers. “You’ll get your actual key tomorrow. I need to find you a deer keychain.”
23
HARLOW
Looking at my eighth cup that I pull out from the box, with a straw and cute imprint on the front, I quirk my lips out, contemplating if I really needed to pack this many smoothie cups. Meh, Stone will just have to deal. I set it on the kitchen island then tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans while I explore the house with my eyes for the hundredth time.
After getting the logistics of the move sorted out, I find myself a new Lake Spark citizen and living with Stone. The butterflies in my stomach have subsided, mostly because after a few days, this has felt very right.
A smile curls on my lips from that thought, and my body relaxes in this house that is beginning to feel like home.
The sound of someone entering through the door by the garage has me turning my head, very aware that Stone is back from town. He slows his pace and examines my unpacking skills, then his sight bounces to my row of cups while he tosses his key onto the counter and sets a bag down with his other hand.
“Well… I guess it cuts down on daily dishwasher needs?” His strained look fades to humor.
I shrug my shoulders. “Cups and mugs are crucial when working from home. We can’t go to Jolly Joe’s every day.”
“Yes, we can,” he says adamantly. I think it’s part of his daily routine.
Stone dives into the cloth grocery bag to pull out a few items, then he tosses me a bag of chocolate candy. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Halloween candy.”
“Uh… that’s not for like another two months.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, but it’s Lake Spark. We gotta prepare early for the beloved pumpkin season, because the day after it’s straight into winter festivities.”
I laugh as I open the bag, since a little treat sounds good right about now. “Do you get a lot of trick-or-treaters?”
Stone grimaces when he steps forward to pull me close by the hips while I chomp on my mini chocolate bar. “You mean, doweget a lot of trick-or-treaters?”
I won’t get tired of hearing about our house—well, technically, Stone owns it, but semantics.
“Hmm, I thought I was being held captive by a reclusive author who has talents in bed and gives me pop quizzes on hockey. If I fail, then there is most definitely punishment.”
Stone growls and is quick to dive down into my neck to nibble my skin, his stubble tickling me and creating a sensitive sensation down to my toes. “Watch it, Harlow,” he warns.
“Oh dear, did I cause something to stir and press right into that spot between my legs?” My voice is sultry and my look trouble.
“My restraint is on a ledge right now. I just want to rip everything off you and take you on the living room floor because you’re too bad to deserve the kitchen counter,” he husks. My entire body comes alive with a desperate need, and I grind against him, encouraging Stone to do more. Instead, I get a devilish growl when he steps back then sweetly kisses my forehead. “Now, now, Harlow, you know we’re on a schedule,” he tsks.
Ugh, Gloria.
Still ruining our moments like a plague.
“Yes, the Dizzy Duck and writers retreat, yada, yada.” My enthusiasm is low. Gloria asked us to stop by for her new group to give tips. We are literally the last people who should be doing that. Did Stone and I actually do anything last year on that retreat, other than escape into our own little world? Yikes, this might be a disaster.
“We’ll make it a half-hour tops,” Stone promises. I look at him, puzzled. “Okay, it might be a little longer than that before we can escape.” He urges me forward with his fingertips on my arm.
