“Sounds personal.”
I snort, involuntarily, of course, but that doesn’t stop a taste of embarrassment from wedging its way into my psyche. Rocking my head back and forth, I grin. “Trust me.It is.” I start for the house. “Let me show you around, and then I can get out of your hair.” I take a few steps across the deck. “I’ve stocked the fridge as requested, and?—”
“That’s not necessary.”
Stopping, I look back to see his sunglasses set back on the bridge of his nose while holding the basket in the spot where I left him. “What’s not? I already stocked it?—”
“The tour.” He summons me back to him with a wave of his hand.
Excuse me?The gesture raises my hackles. He hasn’t really put off complete jerk vibes up until this point. I sure as heck hope he doesn’t start now.
I stay in my spot. “I want to point out the tricky?—”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.” The arrogance pulls a smirk into place like it’s in its natural habitat.
I find myself blinking slower as my eyes narrow in reflex. His reaction is rude, quite frankly, and as much as he thinks he can do everything on his own—he can’t.
But if Mr. Know-It-All wants to figure out the quirks of this old place, I’ll let him.Why fight him?One attempt at the shower will have him calling me to fix the hot water. He’ll need my tips on unplugging the kitchen drain, and he’ll be begging me to reset the box when streaming’s not workingevery other time he tries, thanks to the tree coverage. And when that happens, I can drink my cheap wine with my sisters and have a good laugh. Pure entertainment. Until he has to take a cold shower, and then he’ll be begging me to return.
I smile so sweetly I could rot a tooth. “I just bet you can, Mr. Sutton.” Literally. The sister betting pool is back in play. “Have a good day.”
I return to my car, leaving him to enjoy his day without me in it. This whole interaction was hot and cold, cold and hot. It was unpredictable at best just like the shower here at the cottage. I get into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
Mr. Sutton is an anomaly that is probably best accepted as-is. Spikey. Moody. And the most tragic of them all, ridiculously handsome.
Good thing I won’t need to be out here very often. I don’t think my eyes can handle the hotness—or his attitude—all summer long. As I hold the button to raise the window and block him like the sun is blinding me by visoring my eyes, he says, “Thanks for stopping by, Ms. Season.”
Glancing back at him, I can’t help but wonder how I’m supposed to survive the summer with not much to do and this guy as a next-door neighbor.
Yes, I do. I need to focus on the prize.
And although he’d be considered one to most women, my prize is not a six-foot-four man with movie-star looks and a smile that is as deadly to my willpower as tequila is to me.
At least not this summer.
If I had the property in my name, I might be tempted to break a few rules with this man. But, right now, I have bigger fish to fry than Mr. Sutton.
“You’re welcome,” I say. “And oh! Don’t forget to moveyour car. Thanks.” Keeping a smile plastered on my face, I feel better getting in the last word. I can’t control if he’ll listen, but I’ve done my job.
I catch that earlier smirk across his face before I even shift into reverse. I knew I shouldn’t have looked back, but there was something about him that made me want to.
As soon as I reach the street, I let my mind flow back to what just happened. Who is he? Or more importantly, who does he think he is?
“Rules are for breaking,” I quietly repeat and then laugh. I may be almost five-six in my highest heels and take after my mom in demeanor, but I got my grandmother’s sass when pushed. Mr. Sutton has met his match. He just doesn’t know it yet.
I’m absolutely positive about one thing regarding the infamous Mr. New York Sutton. He’s either going to be the best tenant ever or the worst I’ve encountered.
Whichever way it turns out, it’s going to be one long, hot summer.
CHAPTER 3
SUMMER
Braking at the stop sign, I rattle my hands to shake off the growing nerves before taking a right and heading up to the farmlands of Mountain Laurel. The urgency I felt earlier, racing through my veins, has dissipated and been replaced by dread.
I’d been so busy pumping myself up to talk to Mrs. Dover all morning, ready to share my idea, that I forgot to strategize. So I take the leisurely drive to plot out my sales points.
