The street smells like grilled corn and fried chicken, and if I hadn’t eaten lunch a couple of hours ago, I’d grab something. I weave through the crowd with Josie’s fruit list in one hand and an iced coffee in the other.
Carter appears beside me when I reach for a jar of raspberry jam. He grins, takes the bags off my shoulder, and carries them for me.
“Oh, wow, princess treatment,” I say. “Thanks. You’ve saved my arm.”
“Of course. You will most assuredly need it later,” he says.
The smile he gives me does me in.
We walk so close that his arm brushes against mine. A month ago, I would have put three feet between us and checked over my shoulder. Now, him barely touching me in public drives me wild.
Carter stops at a hot sauce vendor and tastes four different samples while having a full conversation about Scoville levels with a guy who most definitely has no taste buds left. The vendor warns him about the Carolina Reaper, but he tries it anyway. His face stays neutral for exactly two seconds before his eyes water and he coughs.
“That’s a weapon,” he barely gets out. A few tears streak down his cheeks.
“Aw.” I actually feel sorry for him.
The vendor howls with laughter, and Carter buys two bottles.
“I’m shipping these to my brothers as gag gifts.”
He tucks them into the bag he’s carrying, taking the opportunity to touch my back.
At the next booth, he picks up some jarred butter pickles and studies the label.
“I think Gale would love these,” he says, handing over a hundred without asking the price, telling them to keep the change.
He buys a few pounds of steamed shrimp at the end of the row and shakes the vendor’s hand like they’re old friends.
As I’m a few booths down, pretending to look at candles, he glances in my direction. Carter smirks and lifts his brows. Desire rolls through me. A month ago, he walked into the B&B and refused to make eye contact with me. Now he’s undressing me with his gaze like I belong to him.
I grab several pounds of strawberries and blueberries, then search for ripe mangos when Carter reappears holding a bouquet of colorful hibiscus wrapped in brown paper.
“For you.”
“These are my favorite flowers.” My voice is barely above a whisper as he hands them to me.
“They reminded me of you.”
“No one told you?” I ask because so many people have been trying to hook us up, throwing hints here and there.
“Just a lucky guess.”
I inhale the sweet scent. I can’t remember the last time anyone gave me flowers, including myself. “Thanks. Seriously made my day.”
“You’re welcome.” He shoots me a wink, then matches my pace.
The walk back to the B&B is leisurely. Our arms swing between us, and our hands occasionally touch. His cologne, the way he moves, and the sound of his laugh are all things I’ve memorized without meaning to. They’re things I’ll miss when he’s gone.
When we walk through the doors of the B&B, the house is alive. Every room is booked until tomorrow. Josie’s decorations are stacked in boxes in the lobby. Rose sings along to a country song on the radio in the kitchen. A few guests sit on the couch in the living room, flipping through the scrapbooks that live on the coffee table.
The last thing I want to do is cry, but I’m so excited that we’re fully booked.
Every coupon Josie handed out over the past week, every late night I spent rewriting the listing descriptions and answering inquiries at two in the morning—it made a difference. I blink away the tears, even if they’re happy ones.
In May, we had one room booked and an overdue electric bill. The sliver of hope I had was delusional, but we somehow pulled it off. The screen goes blurry, and I blink faster.
“You good?” Carter asks softly.
