“But to answer your question, I work all the time,” he tells me. “Running three businesses is not for the faint of heart. Yeah, I have employees but I’m constantly running around, and the books… thank god for your sister.”
“Yes, Marilyn, the official family bookkeeper,” I say. “Do you ever go on vacation?” I ask, curious. I want to know if he ever takes his hotties to Cancun or Jamaica.
“Nope,” he says. “Never been anywhere. Not really interested. I’m a simple small town boy.”
I smile. He is. I kind of like that about him.
“I know you’ve been around,” he says. “Your mother tells me all about it. Maeve, the fancy little jetsetter.”
His words hold a whisper of sarcasm but I let it go.
“Well, Peter loves to travel,” I explain. “I’m his travel buddy.”
He smiles. “Tell me about the places you’ve been to,” he asks, curious.
I smile at the memories – such wonderful trips, amazing experiences. Peter might not be the perfect man, but he knows how to travel in style. “Well, Paris, of course,” I start. “London, Rome, Barcelona,” I go on, naming off all the most popular destinations. “Scotland, Thailand, China, Australia—”
“Holy crap,” he says. “Australia.”
“Yep, the flight was over twenty hours… insane.”
“Crazy…”
“Here in the states,” I go on, “Vegas, San Diego, New York, of course, Miami, Seattle, and so many more…”
Now I sound like I’m bragging so I stop talking.
He’s smiling. “Look at you… little Freckles, a world traveller… who would have thought?”
I laugh. “Stop calling me that… Freckles.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. No can do. You’ll always be Freckles to me. I can’t help it.”
I frown at him, an exaggerated comical scowl.
“Seriously, I’m happy for you. I’m glad you’ve had an exciting life,” he says. “I remember when we were kids… you always wanted to travel and see the world.”
“And I did.”
His gaze lingers on mine. Those dark eyes of his are still making me weak in the knees. “And you did.”
“And you always wanted to have a store, like your uncle.”
“And I did.”
“And you did.”
He inches closer, and I so badly want to kiss him, but I don’t have the guts to take the lead. I’m such a coward.
“I’m so proud of you, Blake,” I tell him. “I always knew you were a smarty pants and that you’d do well one day.”
He laughs. “Thanks,” he says, a hint of blush on his cheeks.
We stare at each other again, the both of us without words.
“Well, speaking of work,” he finally says. “I should probably check-in.” He hops off the swing, sending me flying back.
“Wait…” I say. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss the reason I came over.”
