I twist it again and again, no change.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter to the empty guest house. The water keeps running, cold enough to make my teeth chatter.
Fucking fantastic. It’s the perfect start to my first official morning living on Shepherd Haynes’ property.
Ugh.
I shut off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing the oversized T-shirt I found laid across the chair in the bedroom. It’s definitely Shepherd’s. It smells like cedar and clean laundry and that faint warm scent that seems to belong to him specifically. It hangs halfway down my thighs, which is convenient because it’s the only thing I’m wearing at the moment. I reallydon’t want to have to bother him or ask for more help after all he’s already given me but I don’t think I can survive cold showers for the rest of my days. I shove my damp hair into a messy knot and then I step outside barefoot, already regretting my life choices given the crisp fall morning. I cross the damp grass between the guest house and the main house, muttering to myself the entire way.
“Two dollars a day for rent and I can’t even get hot water…”
I’m kidding, of course.
I knock on the back door but there’s no answer.
He has to be in there.
He doesn’t have practice this early in the morning…does he?
Shit.
Did he already leave for the day?
I knock again, louder this time, and again, I hear nothing.
Fuck!
I turn to run back into my small house when Shepherd’s back door opens and there he stands, shirtless and literally dripping. Water beads at his temples and trails down past his collarbone, his shoulders filling the doorframe like they were built to the same dimensions. And he has this stupid, unfair, carved-out-of-granite torso that I absolutely did not need to see first thing in the morning, but also oh, my God, his perfectly etched torso is…everything.
Water droplets slowly slide down the center of his chest and my gaze follows.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Oh my God.
And that’s when my brain completely stops functioning.
“Sutton?” His voice snaps my attention back to his face, which somehow makes things worse because now his eyes aretraveling downmybody. Specifically, to the fact that I am standing on his porch wearing nothing but his T-shirt. It’s cold as fuck out here given what I’m wearing and that I’m also dripping a bit from a cold shower. It’s no surprise that my nipples are hardened little mountain peaks trying to poke right out of my shirt, and I’m shivering. “That’s…” He blinks once, then twice, then drags a hand over the back of his neck like he’s trying to reboot his brain.
I catch his gaze dropping to my chest and cross my arms, a little embarrassed that I’m even out here. “Uh, so, your shower is broken.”
He blinks slowly, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The shower,” I repeat, my voice catching slightly. “In the guest house. It’s freezing.”
He nods, but his eyes have drifted to where the hem of his shirt barely skims my thighs.
“Haynes.” I wave my hand in front of his face.
His eyes snap up, pupils dilated. “Right. Sorry.” He clears his throat, his voice rougher than before. “You’re…uh…”
“Standing here very annoyed about cold water,” I say, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing.
“Yes,” he agrees, then pauses. “And wearing my shirt.”
