Did he just call me that?
In public?
I am not the kind of woman who collects nicknames.Kelly is already short enough.Efficient.Practical.
But Honey?
From him?
Something about the way it rolls out of that deep voice of his sends a strange little ripple through my stomach.
I hate how much I like it.
Because that’s ridiculous.
This man—this rough, rugged, handsome mountain of a man—is standing here like calling me Honey makes perfect sense.
And I still can’t wrap my head around what the hell he sees when he looks at me.
I’m forty-two.
A middle-aged divorcee who got traded in for a teenager.
I’ve got hips that have carried a baby, thighs that touch, laugh lines around my eyes, and exactly zero illusions about what the world thinks is beautiful these days.
Meanwhile, J.T.looks like he could walk onto the cover of one of those ridiculous romance novels the women in town pass around.
Broad chest.
Strong hands.
That square jaw and streaks of gray in his hair that somehow make him even more handsome.
A man like that could have anyone.
Young women with smooth skin and flat stomachs and none of the history life leaves behind.
So what in the world could he possibly want with me?
And yet—when I glance up at him again, I catch the way he’s looking at me.
It’s not polite.
His gaze is steady.Focused.Intense in a way that makes my pulse skip.
Like everything he said the other night might actually be true.
My throat tightens.
I turn before I do something stupid, like stare back too long.I head toward the Lunchroom.
“Careful,” I mutter automatically as I step around a muddy patch.
Behind me, I hear his boots moving easily over the ground.When I glance back, he’s carrying twice what I was struggling with like it weighs nothing.
Of course, he is.The man is gigantic.
It takes about fifteen minutes to finish unloading everything.
