A moment later, he returns carrying something wrapped in plain paper.
“What in the world?” I ask with a laugh.
Those beautiful hands set the item on the marble island and gestures for me to unwrap it.
His rough hand brushes past mine as I reach for the edge of the paper. The transfer of heat in that slight touch makes my skin tingle.
As I unwrap it, I pray that this gift is something I’ll hate, like taxidermy, or inventory from a multi-level marketing scheme. If it is, I’ll have an easier time setting aside how attracted I feel to this man.
But alas, it is neither of those things. It is the prettiest red clay bowl I’ve ever seen, with carved swirls around the rim that look like waving grass.
“Look at that,” I say, in awe.
“It matches the red curtains in your studio,” Maddie chirps.
“You make that yourself?” Ewan asks.
All three of us look at Oliver. I stare at the bridge of his nose, working up the courage to move on to his eyes.
Oliver answers the question with his blue eyes fixed on me. “I did.”
He made it himself, dammit. The attractiveness just tripled.
Finally. I succeed at looking directly at his eyes. Oliver’s gaze travels over my face, and it feels like time and space don’t exist anymore. To him, I’m the only person in the room.
It’s becoming hard to catch my breath. He’s daring me to look away.
“Thank you. So much. It’s a really unique piece,” I say.
I should say more words. Smart words. Some astute observation. Or be more curious about how he learned to do such lovely work. My heart is beating too fast, and the blood is rushing everywhere except my brain.
“For a unique place and a unique lady. I’ll get out of your hair now, so you can clean.”
I inform Oliver that I’ll text him through the app when the place is ready for him, but I’m happy to let him check in before the standard time.
Everyone clears out, and I can finally get a hold of myself.
The entire time I clean the carriage house, I can’t think of anything but the way Oliver looked at me. The way that look made me feel.
I gather up the sheets, tote them to the washing machine, replace them, and put on a new duvet cover and pillowcases. I tidy up what little there is to tidy after one night, and remind myself to be careful.
My track record with men is not great. I’m not known for attracting men who treat me right. Hell, I can’t even attract a man who doesn’t ask me to cosign for a loan on the fourth date. I’m such an idiot sometimes.
I’ve finally gotten my head straight by the time Oliver returns to officially check in.
And once again, I’m absolutely turning to mush when he smiles at me.
I try not to stare while I show him the carriage house, filling him in on local highlights, letting him know where the best cell reception is, and which festival vendors are tried-and-true and which are overpriced.
“Home sweet home. I hope you enjoy the festival, or whatever else you have planned,” I say.
“What else do I have planned?” He asks this like he really wants me to tell him.
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s hiking and stand-up paddleboarding. There’s a lake about 15 miles from here. You can rent supplies at the store downtown. Don’t mind Foster, though; his bark is worse than his bite. Oh gosh, I’m babbling. Sorry.”
I give a dry laugh and lift my gaze to the ceiling, hoping for the Rapture.
“I don’t mind. You’re a cute babbler.”
