Page 9

“Here we are.”

Kelly stopped and stared. The kitchen was a gourmet chef’s delight. The white quartz countertops glistened from the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, the beams hitting the sparkles embedded in the rock. All the appliances were stainless steel, and there wasn’t a hint of a fingerprint on any of their gray surfaces.

“How the heck is this room so clean?” she asked.

Tate laughed as he walked over to the fridge and extracted a glass jug with amber-colored liquid in it. “Mrs. Bates was in today and she cleaned the house. Trust me, if you’d come over yesterday, you’d have seen dirty countertops and dusty surfaces.”

Kelly set her stuff down on the counter and hopped up on one of the black leather stools. “Well, that makes me feel a little better. Although, I suppose it’s only you and Tyler here so the mess should be minimal.”

Tate reached up to get some glasses, and she admired the pull of the cotton T-shirt he was wearing across his broad shoulders. Working in an orchard kept the man in shape. He’d come about his muscles honestly and not in a gym.

“Tyler is the messy one. I’m the angel.” He winked as he placed two tumblers on the counter.

“Of course you are. And I’m the world’s best florist.” She finished with a roll of her eyes.

“You are.”

“What?”

Tate pushed her iced tea toward her. Her fingers closed around the glass and his fingers brushed against hers, halting her movement. She raised her eyebrow in a silent query.

“An amazing florist,” he said, his blue eyes serious and intense. She could lose herself in their depths. A hint of something lingered in the background, something she couldn’t quite identify.

Kelly ducked her head to hide her reaction. “Thank you. I love what I do.”

“I can tell. It helps when you have that sort of passion for what you do for a living.”

“How about you? Do you love what you do, Tate?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Tate released the light grip he had on her fingers, and she took a long swallow from the glass.

A myriad of flavors burst on her tongue. The tartness of the tea, the sweetness of the sugar and the overwhelming taste of peaches.

“Peach tea,” she said delightedly and took another swallow.

“Did you expect anything else? This is Prentice Peach Farm after all,” Tate teased her as he lifted his own glass to his lips.

She couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. His long fingers held the glass. His pink, plump lips caressed the rim and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly parched lips, and his eyes flared wide. Holy shit, she should run. Turn around and walk out right now because they were heading into dangerous territory. All she wanted to do was reach out, take the glass from him, and press her lips against his. Without a doubt, he would taste of peaches. Not just from the tea but because peaches were an integral part of who he was.

A door slammed and they both jumped, the spell that had encased them broken.

Kelly gulped down the rest of her drink, looking up to see Tyler strolling into the kitchen, phone in his hand.

“Hey, Tate, who owns the Chevy Traverse out front?” He tapped away, not lifting his head to see who it was for himself.

“It’s mine,” she said.

He looked up, surprise lighting his features. “Oh, hey, Kelly, good to see you. Are you here about the festival?”

“Yep. I am.”

Tyler nodded and, grabbing Tate’s glass, he drained the contents.

“Dude, what are you, thirteen again? Get your own damn glass.” Tate smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

The two brothers were similar in height, Tate maybe a fraction taller. They shared the same blue eyes. Where Tate’s hair was a rich mahogany brown, Tyler’s was jet-black. She could tell they were brothers, but any relationship they had appeared to be strained.