“After I plugged it in, I sent an email to an old friend of Gigi’s from the pub. She’s a real estate agent in Meridian. I told her I was thinking of selling the house.”
Maverick smirked. “First night, huh? I am averyconvincing man.”
She rolled her eyes. “I knew that would go to your head.”
He chuckled. “Did she email you back?”
Ella nodded. “Yeah. She said she knows a young couple who might be interested in buying the house. Which was exactly what Gigi hoped for. She loved the idea of a young couple starting out in the same home where she and Pop lived their whole lives together.”
“Feels very full circle,” he mused. “I like that.”
“Me too,” Ella said. “I’ll email her back. If I get home early enough on Friday, I can clean the place all day Saturday, and maybe she can bring them by to see it on Sunday.”
Maverick was blown away—and thrilled—by her enthusiasm. Now that Ella had made the decision to move, she was all in. “Perfect. But change all those I’s to we’s.”
Convincing her to let him join her was proving to be harder than getting her to move in with him. Though he knew her well enough to know Ella was one of those people who struggled to ask for help. He understood now that probably stemmed from spending too many of her formative years trying to be invisible, out of fear of enraging her father.
“You said yourself it’s almost harvest time,” she said. “I’m sure you have things to do here.”
“Ella, if you think I’m going to leave you alone to pack an entire house, then drive cross-country in a U-Haul, you don’t remember me very well.”
She huffed out a breathy laugh. “I remember everything about you just perfectly. And while my feminist side wants to insist I can handle this on my own, the practical side knows how heavy my writing desk is, and how boring it would be to drive cross-country alone. But only if you’re sure.”
He stood up, pulling her off her stool to wrap his arms around her. “I like the idea of having all those uninterrupted hours with you. Now that I’ve got you back, I’m finding it damn hard to let you out of my sight.”
Ella burrowed her face against his chest, her voice muffled when she said, “I’m glad. Because I feel the same way.”
“Should we grab our coffee and hit the deck?” Every morning since Sunday, the two of them had spent time outside, enjoying the fresh morning air with coffee. It was a tradition he hoped they’d continue for the rest of their lives.
“Sounds great. Let me grab my jeans.”
He growled. “There’s no one around to see you, Firefly.” He pointed that out every single day, but he’d yet to win the pants-less-in-nature argument. He watched her walk to the bedroom, so he took their plates to the sink, rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher.
Then he joined her, grabbing a pair of jeans for himself, though he didn’t bother with a shirt. They both slipped on their sneakers, refilled their coffee cups, and stepped out into the crisp morning air.
One of the best things about Hideaway was the fact that it was tucked deep within thick woods, so even though it was July, synonymous with heat and humidity, it remained relatively cool in the shade of the tall trees.
While Maverick hadn’t had a chance to furnish the deck yet, he’d brought a couple of camp chairs from home. He could already tell this was going to be his and Ella’s favorite part of their new home. He made a mental note to start looking into hot tubs. He was going to want that installed sooner rather than later, because skinny-dipping in the jets with her was riding high on his sexy to-do list.
Speaking of…
Once they were settled, Maverick took a sip of his coffee. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Fire away,” she said, amicably.
“Your books are very hot, El. Very explicit.” He made sure he was looking at her when he spoke, because he loved the way she blushed every time he mentioned her writing.
“God,” she said, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe you’re reading my books.”
He’d admitted to that not with words but by placing one of her paperbacks on the nightstand next to his side of the bed, a tiny slip of paper marking his spot. When she asked why it was there, he told her she’d finally worked a miracle and found a way to get him to read.
She’d thought he was kidding…until he listed the titles he’d read, making comments about the plotlines and characters.
“You’re an incredible writer,” he said.
“Thanks.” Then she tilted her head curiously. “You have a question about my books?”
“Those sex scenes of yours…are those simply fantasies you’re happy to live out in your head, or are they things you’d like to explore?”
