He hadnotbeen talking about horses.
“Yes, baby,” I murmur, distracted.
I thought I knew what need was. What hunger was. But then I crashed into my scent match, and he lit my body up in ways I never could have imagined. Now here I am, staring into space with thoughts in my head that I should not be having with my son in the room.
Hungering.
Every part of him calls to me. His warm, spicy bay rum and cinnamon scent. A sexy dark beard, the hard, coiled strength of his arms as they wrapped around me—so strong, yet he gentled his hold when he pulled me into a hug I’d desperately needed.
Thick hair so dark I thought it was black until sunlight revealed hints of brown and red. Gunmetal gray eyes thatwarmed to a grayish-blue when he smiled at me from across the dining table and called me sweetheart.
That one gruff endearment had me gripping my chair, strangling the urge to crawl into his lap, rub my cheek against his beard, and beg him to say it again. Preferably while we were both naked.
Good God, Rose. Pull yourself together. You’re twenty-seven years old, not a teenager to be mooning over a man.
And yet here I am, folding the same damn shirt, eyes staring at nothing, mind positively in the gutter.
He heard me vomiting in the half-bath after I ran from him.
I stop folding to rub a hand over my hot face.
The utter humiliation.
I’d rinsed my mouth with the mouthwash I found in the cabinet under the sink once I finally pulled my head out of the toilet and went to check on Ben. There was no changing the fact that he’d heard everything, standing just outside the bathroom, holding a glass of water as he waited for me to step out.
I blink myself to the present, take in Ben’s denim blue t-shirt, which I added a multitude of creases to, and sigh, setting it aside with a mental reminder to ask Win when he comes home from work if he has an iron I can borrow.
Win fixed Ben eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice for breakfast, while I was doing my best to vomit up my kidney. He even hunted down spare comforters and sheet sets for Ben and me before he left, which was incredibly sweet of him.
I smile at Ben, quietly snoring. I thought he’d been a little quieter than usual. He’s like a match. When lit, he burns out so fast.
Joel is at work, which means downstairs it’s just Murph. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been dragging out this unpacking to avoid him. Murph came with us to the motel. He looked tired, his clothes and boots dusty, eyes red, but he’d yawned as he gotout of his truck, glared at a few people standing in the parking lot as if warning them not to come any closer, and he offered to help me pack.
But he didn’t come to the motel to help me pack. Or, not only.
I saw the desperation he tried to hide when I told him I needed to come to the motel to get my things, and I knew the reason for it as if he’d voiced it aloud.
He thought I was going to run.
But I wouldn’t have. I told Murph I didn’t want a scent match, but that doesn’t mean my body and soul aren’t screaming out to be close to him. Leaving isn’t an option. I think I’d die if I never saw him again.
I kiss Ben’s forehead, pick up my cell phone, slip out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me before I head downstairs to check in with my parents.
The farmhouse is quiet as I tiptoe down the gorgeous staircase.
This morning, I spent thirty minutes opening doors and looking around. I hadn’t wanted to love it. On the short drive from the motel, I’d mentally compiled all the reasons why moving into this house was a bad idea. My list was good and long, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I started to fall in love with the place the moment I parked my car in the driveway of the white, two-story farmhouse with a small front covered porch.
It was straight out of a Hallmark movie. Birds were singing as I climbed out of the car and went to help Ben out of his car seat. Bright green leaves blew across the front yard in a sudden gust of wind, carrying the earthy scent of soil and the heady fragrance of flowers from across the street, where a gray-haired man pruning his rose bush lifted his hand in a friendly wave.
Ben was literally running all over the house, throwing open doors and yelling at me to come, then sprinting off before I couldsee whatever had him so excited. No wonder he crashed out as soon as he did.
Win pointed out the rooms that still needed renovating. Just a bedroom, the dining room (since they ate at the big table in the kitchen), and the attic, which he said was a dumping ground, so we didn’t venture up there. The only things in the basement are the washer, dryer, and a home gym. Ben wanted to look. I told him no. The last thing I need is for him to drop a dumbbell on his foot and for us to end up in the ER. This morning was stressful enough.
The house is gorgeous. Glossy hardwood floors, cream walls, and cozy, well-worn furniture. Win said it was stuff from his old apartment, Murph's home in Wyoming, Joel’s apartment, and furniture donated by Joel’s parents—hence the spare bedrooms have bed frames, mattresses, dressers, and end tables—and none of it matches.
I loved it immediately. From the mismatched furniture to the squishy-looking red and green couches in front of an unlit fireplace, everything screamed “home.” As a girl who grew up thrift shopping with my mom, upcycling tables in college and selling them for extra cash, it all felt soright.
I was doing one last walk around while Win was in the kitchen with Ben, trying to convince myself that the sensible thing would be to pack my car and head back to my parents' house in Memphis. As I backed out of a bedroom, I collided with the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life. Now, I tiptoe through the entryway toward the backyard door, ready to hide the second I hear footsteps. I’m afraid of my feelings and of what they’ll drive me to do if I bump into my scent match while my son is asleep upstairs.
