Page 30 of Hideaway Heart

A few minutes later, I heard the water shut off and the hair dryer kick on. After that came the sound of one door opening and another closing. Only then did I go inside and knock on the bedroom door.

“Kelly?”

“Yes?”

“Is it okay if I take a shower now?”

“That’s fine.”

I pulled some clean clothes and my toiletries from my bag and headed into the bathroom, where I undressed with a pounding heart.

Was the vibrator still on the tub ledge? Would I have to shower with it standing there, mocking me? If itwasstill there, had she left it on purpose?

Counting to three, I swept the curtain open, relieved to see it was gone.

* * *

I came out of the bathroom just as Kelly was leaving the bedroom.

“Think I’m dressed okay?” she asked.

I scanned her denim shorts, sneakers, and Belmont University hoodie. Her hair was in two long braids. “Definitely. The place I’m thinking about is just a side-of-the-road bar and grill. But the beer is cold and the burgers are hot.”

She smiled. “Perfect. Done in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“I just need a minute.” She brushed past me, leaving the scent of her perfume in her wake—it was summery and sweet, and I wanted to bury my face in her neck and inhale deeply.

Disconcerted, I put my shoes on and went outside. While I waited for her, I shot a quick text to Eric and let him know we’d be there in about thirty minutes. He didn’t reply, so my hopes that a table would be waiting for us weren’t too high. I figured if the place was too jammed, I’d take her into Cherry Tree Harbor instead. It was a longer drive, but I felt more comfortable there than anywhere else.

The front door opened. “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

As she breezed by me, I smelled her perfume again. I followed her to my car, fighting the urge to throw both arms around her, pull her back against me, and let the scent fill my head. Dammit, I hadn’t been this attracted to someone inyears. Why the hell did she have to be Sully’s celebrity sister?

After turning from the cabin’s driveway onto the main road, I noticed a car parked on the shoulder about two hundred yards away. A beige Honda Civic. Dent in the left rear bumper. Michigan plates. It hadn’t been there earlier, and my intuition told me to memorize the number. As we passed it, I saw a guy behind the wheel on his phone.

She reached for the volume knob on my radio and turned it up. An old Springsteen song was on. “Is this okay?”

“Sure.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

“All kinds, really. Classic rock is probably my favorite.”

“Do you listen to country?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Ever listen to me?”

“No.” I felt sort of bad about it. “But my niece Adelaide is a big fan.”

“Oh yeah? How old is she?”

“Seven.”

“Does she live around here?”