“Stop!” I mouth at him, unable to hide my smile as I push at Oliver’s chest. It’s all too familiar and brings back the memory of last night, seeing all that skin. Thank god he’s covered this morning, although the silky-soft cotton is too inviting and I don’t want to stop touching it.
“Um, I’ll see you in about an hour to help you set up. Need anything? Coffee?”
Skylar replies, “Bring that hot renter everyone’s been talking about.”
My stomach drops. “Everyone?”
“Literally everyone is dying to get a look at him.”
How can that be? I can name at least three dozen other locals who have rented out their basement apartments, renovated attics, or tiny houses for the Dogwood Festival. No way anyone has taken that much interest in my business.
“No promises,” I say, and hang up, dropping the phone on the counter and finally giving in to the moment with Oliver’s lips on my throat.
“That wasn’t fair,” I say, gasping as he slides both hands under the back of my cardigan, caressing me low on my back, just within inches of cupping my ass.
“No, it wasn’t fair. But it was fun,” he says.
“You’re literally paying to stay in my carriage house, and I feel like we’re crossing so many lines here.”
He laughs, and I shiver as his lips travel lower, down to the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Somehow my cardigan has slipped. “You’ve already taken full advantage of your hot renter.”
I gasp and pull away, playfully swatting Oliver on the chest. “You heard that?”
He shrugs and sweeps a thumb over his bottom lip. “No offense but your friend talks kind of loud.”
He’s not wrong. Skylar is a loud talker.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s eat quickly so I can clean up. I have to be at Skylar’s booth in a little bit.”
Breakfast is egg biscuit sandwiches with cheese and sausage, and yogurt with local honey and berries. Oliver devours two sandwiches and a good amount of yogurt, and I notice how pleased I am with how much he enjoys my food.
To my delight, he helps me clean up the kitchen and I’m ready to go ahead of schedule.
“You ready for the Spanish Inquisition?” I ask.
Once again, he tugs the tie at my waist and pulls me in for a kiss just before we head out the door together. It’s a long, sweet, satisfying kiss. I hug one arm around his neck, not wanting the kiss to end.
“What were you going to say about last night?” I ask.
He smiles. “I’ll save that for later. When we have time to talk. I have a feeling as soon as we step outside these doors, we’re going to be on display.”
He’s not wrong.
I have an idea that might mitigate some of the lookie-loos. “Cardinal Coffee will have a line ten people deep. Let’s take my car; I’ll show you a shortcut to the Red Hen.”
Oliver follows me to my Jeep and hops in the passenger seat, and why does this feel like a date? Let’s see, maybe because being alone with him in my house, in my car, in my studio, literally everywhere makes me feel nervous, excited, horny? All the emotions?
At the age of 33, I’m reliving my first crush, my first sexual awakening, my first sexual partner, all rolled into one.
When we arrive at Skylar’s pop-up bookstore, we come with extra-large gas station coffees in hand, having gotten a thorough once-over from Ellen at the Red Hen.
No doubt, the word is out that my “hot renter” is out and about this morning, and he’s practically attached to my hip.
“Well, hello!” Skylar knocks over a box of books as she lunges at the coffee in my hand.
Or so I thought. No, she’s lunging at Oliver.
An irrational sense of jealousy rushes through me as I watch her in horror—until I realize she’s just shaking his hand.
