His arms. Right. Should not have brought my attention back to those.
He moves the basket again and they flex. Veins run down his forearms before disappearing into strong, capable hands and long fingers that look like they belong wrapped around tools instead of gift baskets.
I bet his fingertips are rough and the calluses on his palms goosebump inducing. The man looks like he could carry a refrigerator up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. And, at this point, I’d risk getting my own murder podcast episode for the chance to accidentally-on-purpose brush against him while carrying this cake.
Sweet merciful sunshine. What is wrong with me?
Maybe I’m dehydrated. That’s it. The sun is cooking my brain. Or I’ve inhaled too much sugar, and it’s somehow altered my hormones.
Hold the phone.Am Iovulating?
“Lila!” Candi chirps. “I’d be happy to carry the cake in for you. I’m sure you have lots of other things to take care of.”
Translation: I’d be happy to insert myself directly between you and this god of a man.
“Things can wait,” Max says before I can answer. Turning toward the front porch, he crouches beside a fake rock, lifting it and shaking out a key.
“That hide-a-key is adorable,” Candi says with a giggle.
His eyes drop to the key in his hand, and another faint blush creeps across his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure how safe it actually is around here.”
I shrug. “I once left my front door wide open for almost four hours when I went to run errands in the city. Rushed out of the house and completely forgot to close it. When I got home, Mr. Biscuits was asleep on the couch.”
Brows lifting, Max slides the key into the lock. “Mr. Biscuits?”
“Lila’s acat lady,” Candi offers, whispering the last two words like a curse.
“Why is that a bad thing?” I wrinkle my nose. “And I only have one cat. Not that it would matter if I had more.”
Candi’s lips purse into a smile so tight I’m worried it’ll crack. “Oneextremelyrotund cat.”
I cock my head. “Are you fat shaming my cat?”
She clicks her tongue and lifts one elegant shoulder. “I was simply making an observation.”
“So am I. You’re being weird,” I say, shaking my head as I shift the cake to my hip.
A faint crease appears between her sculpted brows. “Mr. Biscuits is…” She wiggles her fingers in the air as she searches for the politest possible insult. “…prone to accidents.”
I snort. “He fell into the community poolone time, and you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“He left a dead toad on my doorstep.”
“Well try being less of a witch.”
Max hides his laugh with a cough and clears his throat. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”
My cheeks flush. “You have?”
Okay, I know I don’t actually know him, but I’m confident when I say Max Lark is the man of my dreams.
“My parents were in the Airforce, and we moved around a lot growing up.” His thumb strokes the charm at his neck. “Still do, I guess. It never seemed fair to bring a pet into that. They deserve stability. A home.” He gives me a crooked little smile. “Didn’t seem right to keep uprooting one over and over again.”
All I can think about is a little blond boy packing away his bedroom, saying goodbye before he’d had the chance to settle in, learning that home was wherever the moving truck happened to stop.
He shouldn’t have had to be uprooted over and over again either.
I look at the key in his hand. Like it does in so many small towns, word already spread that Max had convinced Jolene to give him a month-to-month lease option instead of the standard six months.
