“Is that so?” A cardinal landed on the deck railing, then fluttered back off the next instant. McKenna took a deep breath, hoping her courage didn’t flutter off just as quickly.
She propped her arms on the deck railing next to Nate’s arms, their elbows touching, and stared down at the rushing water that sped over the edge of the waterfall to a foamy pool at the bottom before turning her head to face him. “Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
Before her next breath, his lips were on hers. His hands cradling her face. She tasted the fresh, cool water he’d just drunk. She also tasted his power. Like whatever barricade holding him back had finally been lifted. And she was here for it. Ready to get swept away.
Because this was nothing like their kiss on the bridge. When she’d been the only participant. Or before the dance, when she hadn’t been ready.
She was ready. She clutched his shirt. This time they were both ready.
His hands slid down to her hips, his fingers tightening, as he deepened the kiss further, McKenna diving right along with him.
When his lips moved to her jaw, she made a soft sound. One she’d never heard herself make before. Maybe because she’d never been kissed like this before. Like they were still carrying on a conversation and Nate was desperate to learn more.
Or maybe like they were running out of time.
No. She didn’t want to think about that. At some point they’d have to figure out what happened next. But right now, this was all the discussion McKenna wanted. Nate’s mouth on hers. She’d worry aboutnextsometime later.
Right now all she wanted to do was get lost in his kisses. Which she promptly did the next moment. Because as it turned out, Nate Lambert was a man who knew how to linger remarkably well.
Nate woke up Monday morning wearing the same smile he’d fallen asleep wearing last night after he and McKenna made it back to the B&B from Cookeville. He couldn’t help it. These past few days had been too perfect not to smile.
Sure, things got a little goofy Saturday evening at the dance. But this was Bugle. Whenweren’tthings a little goofy? Besides, what was wrong with goofy? Goofy could be good. Goofy could be great. Goofy could be the exact word to describe his smile this morning now that he was looking at himself in the mirror.
You’re head over heels for her, aren’t you?he imagined his mentor’s voice saying in his head.
His reflection goofy-grinned back.
Yep. Enough said.
Nate reached for his toothbrush, reliving every great moment he and McKenna had shared yesterday. Every great kiss.
Obviously they still had a lot to figure out. But this was only Monday. Harry wasn’t coming to town until Thursday. They should still have plenty of time, just the two of them, to continue getting to know each other. Through both their words and their lips.
This morning Nate felt like their lips should take top priority.
Clanging sounded from the kitchen. McKenna must be up. May as well establish this new priority before all the Harry hoopla kicked into full swing.
Nate slid on his glasses, then threw on some clean cargo shorts and a T-shirt and hustled down the stairs, his stomach rumbling for breakfast. Maybe he could whip up some pancakes if McKenna wasn’t making something already. Did she like pancakes? Probably. Who didn’t like pancakes? He’d find out if she liked pancakes once they finished kissing.
“Good morn—” A wooden spoon covered in glob halted his words as soon as he stepped in the kitchen.
Georgie, wearing some sort of flowery muumuu robe that nobody’s eyes should be subjected to first thing in the morning, shoved the spoon closer to his mouth. “Does this taste like the pickle salad Mary Goodbar made for your Uncle Louis’s funeral?”
The refrigerator door was hanging wide open with a pile of broken eggshells on the little rug in front of it, and every flat surface throughout the kitchen was littered with dirty dishes and open cans. “Where’s McKenna?”
“Agave nectar. Tell me what you think.” She jabbed the spoon closer.
“I think I need coffee,” he said, waving her arm away. “How long have you been here?” Obviously long enough to destroy the kitchen. He closed the refrigerator door, then bent down to scoop up the eggshells. “And why are you obsessing over pickle salad so early on a Monday?” Especially a Monday when he ought to be kissing McKenna.
“Why am I obsessing?” Georgie flung the spoon into the sink overflowing with dirty bowls and empty cans, then propped her hands on her muumuu. “Need I remind you, Nate Lambert, that one of the most amazingly gifted creatures on God’s green earth is set to arrive in three days. I think the only valid question that should be coming out of anyone’s lips right now is whyyou’renot obsessing over pickle salad.”
Nate brushed a clump of lettuce greens off the counter into his palm, so he could dump them into the trash. “Pretty sure everybodyon God’s green earth, especially the amazingly gifted ones, have better things to think about than pickle salad.”
“If you remembered your Uncle Louis’s funeral, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“I don’t even remember Uncle Louis.”
“He was your mom’s great-uncle. Not that it matters at this point.” Georgie dropped a handful of celery into a bowl seated on a stool behind the kitchen island. At least he really hoped there was a bowl seated on that stool. “What matters is everyone in this town will remember the potluck after the funeral. I’m telling you, nobody could stop raving over Mary Goodbar’s pickle salad. Do you happen to know where your Mom keeps all the secret family recipe cards? Maybe someone asked for the recipe after the funeral and you guys have been passing it down as some sort of family legacy.”
