Page 87 of Hideaway Heart

“Yes. And I haven’t been with anyone since Duke.”

“I haven’t been with anyone all year either.”

“So...”

“So I’m okay with it if you are.” He untied the top and let it fall, reaching for my breasts and lifting them to his face with both hands.

“Is this one of those times when you want me to put up a fight?” I asked.

“No,” he said, his mouth buried.

I laughed, dizzy with desire. “Then I’m okay with it too.”

* * *

The next five days passed in a warm, golden-hued, late summer haze. We slept in, sat on the porch with coffee, Xander with his laptop, me with a paperback. He cooked breakfasts for me, I made dinners for him. We spent a couple days at the bar when the beer and liquor deliveries were made, and I helped Xander get everything organized and inventoried. When the inspection was successfully completed, we celebrated with the first drinks poured at Buckley’s Pub.

We took afternoon jogs, snuck out on the boat one night, worked on self-defense moves in the living room, and once the town wasn’t bursting at the seams with tourists, he even took me on a tour, tolerantly stepping aside when someone asked for a selfie with me or an autograph for their child.

I adored Cherry Tree Harbor—especially with Xander at my side.

We climbed the lighthouse stairs, and finding ourselves alone, we snuck a quick kiss while the wind whipped my hair. We took a ride on the old ferry boat, admired the Victorian mansions along the shore, and listened to the guide tell stories about the past. We took his niece and nephew out for ice cream at an old-fashioned sweets parlor, and I got to taste the fudge Veronica had raved about. We shopped on Main Street, and I made Xander stand outside the fitting rooms while I tried on outfits. Then I’d come out and demand to know what he thought.

“Well?” I said, modeling a halter sundress in emerald green. “What do you think?”

“I like it.”

I rolled my eyes. “You like everything. Scale of one to ten—and don’t say ten. You’ve rated everything a ten.”

“Eleven.”

I clucked my tongue. “Never mind. You’re no help.” But I was smiling, and so was he.

“Get the dress,” he said. “I’ll take you to dinner.”

The following Saturday night, he took me to the Pier Inn. Xander had called ahead and reserved a table, and when we got there, he introduced me to the manager, who happened to be his aunt.

“Kelly, this is my aunt Faye. And Aunt Faye, this is Kelly.” He placed a hand on the small of my back when he said it. I liked that he didn’t give me a label, like friend or client. That hand told me how he felt.

“So nice to meet you, dear.” She gestured toward the dining room, where tables were covered in white linen and topped with flickering candles. “Your table is all ready.”

We followed her to a corner table by the window, and Xander pulled out my chair before sitting across from me, facing the room. He looked gorgeous in a dark navy suit, light blue shirt, and maroon tie. We’d stopped at his house yesterday and picked it up, and I wondered if it would be strange to see his wide swimmer’s shoulders restricted by a formal jacket, his thick neck enclosed by a stiff collar, his beard above the crisp knot of a tie.

It wasn’t strange at all. It was breathtaking.

“You can’t see the view from that seat,” I scolded him. “And it’s so beautiful.” The sun was setting over the water, and the harbor shimmered with pink, orange, and amber light.

“My view is beautiful too,” he said, his eyes on me. “In fact, I think it beats yours.”

My cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

* * *

As we finished dessert—well, asIfinished dessert, since Xander said he was full but I could not resist chocolate lava cake—his aunt Faye approached, looking nervous.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, wringing her hands together.

“What is it, Aunt Faye?”