Neely blushes, but her eyes meet mine. “You said it again.”
“What’s that?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Yourcampground host.”
“Did I?”
“You did,” she confirms. “Out of curiosity, how many campground hosts have joined you for supply runs?”
A grin stretches across my face. “One.”
"Uh huh,” she says, nodding her head. “And the twice-a-day patrols at the campground? Are those normal for you?”
“Oh, those,” I say, waving a hand. “That’s because of the bear.”
"Is it only because of the bear?”
“No,” I say, but don’t offer any other information. “Is there a reason for all the questions?”
She blinks up at me through thick lashes. “Mrs. Henderson says she and her husband stay at the campground for a month every summer, and they’ve never seen so much of you. She thinks you’re courting me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Courting?”
“Her word. Not mine,” Neely says quickly. “And the cashier at the hardware store said something along those lines as we were leaving.”
“Oh? What did she say?”
“That she’s never seen you come into the hardware store with a woman before.”
I consider how to respond. Should I play it cool and pretend that my interest in her is strictly business? Or should I admitthat I’ve thought of her every waking minute since the moment we met?
"Mrs. Henderson," I say, "is a sharp woman."
Neely licks her lips, and now all I can do is stare at her mouth. The pull toward her is irresistible. I close the distance without meaning to, and she doesn’t back away.
And then I’m kissing Neely Quinn on Main Street in front of God, everyone on Main Street, and anyone looking out the big, front windows of The Pines Diner.
News will be all over town by the end of the day. And I don’t care.
Neely holds onto my shirt as she kisses me, pulling me closer as my tongue slides over hers. When we break apart, her eyes stay closed an extra second, like she’s savoring the moment.
Jesus, she’s perfect.
"Is kissing encouraged during supply runs?” she asks, her voice a bit unsteady.
I can’t help but grin. “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 5
Neely
Itwasakiss.No big deal. People kiss.
And summer flings are a thing. So, why can’t I have one? Kissing Tate doesn’t change any of my plans. I’ll still head to Oregon in the fall.
It’s fine. It’s fun. Nothing is wrong with a bit of fun.
Tate leads the way into the restaurant, and a curly-haired woman in her fifties grins at Tate. “Saw that.”
