All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,29

laughed and shook her head. “You’re such a gardener.”

“Guilty as charged. I have a friend who’s an interior designer. I might let her loose on it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Won’t Hayley have something to say about that?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she assumed he and Hayley were still a couple. After all, five weeks ago they’d arrived arm-in-arm to stay in one of Mel’s cottages together. But he was, and it took him a moment to formulate a reply.

“Hayley and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” She took a big gulp of her wine, her swallow audible. Her free hand smoothed down her thigh before gripping her leg above her knee. Tightly, if her white knuckles were anything to go by.

“It’s okay, Mel. I didn’t invite you in so I could jump your bones.” He’d meant it half as a joke, half as reassurance, but she only grew more tense.

“I should go,” she said abruptly. She set her glass on the hearth and stood. She seemed impossibly tall viewed from his prone position, with her features limned by firelight and her curls a halo around her face and shoulders.

“Okay,” he said, more than a little baffled by how quickly their conversation had shifted. He swallowed the last of his wine, then stood and led her to the door. The cold night air was a shock after the coziness of the living room.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said as she moved past him to the porch.

“Thanks for bringing the lanterns. And for being my first visitor.”

She rolled a shoulder, brushing off his gratitude. “Have a good night.”

She disappeared into the darkness. He stood in the doorway listening to her retreating footsteps. After a while there was nothing but silence, then he heard the faint, distant sound of a car starting. He shut the door and returned to the living room, where he threw more wood on the fire and poured himself another glass of wine. Then he stretched out, his head supported by the sleeping bag.

He couldn’t work her out. Every time he saw her she seemed to be walking on eggshells—when she wasn’t backing away at a million miles an hour. He’d practically had to hold her at gunpoint to get her to accept a glass of wine.

Yet she’d gone out of her way to bring him the lanterns tonight, and he bet if he arrived at her place at three in the morning, he’d find the key to Tea Cutter Cottage beneath her doormat.

He thought about how she’d looked, standing above him a few minutes ago outlined by firelight, and acknowledged to himself—at last—that he found her attractive. Very attractive.

He always had.

And maybe he’d lied when he’d said he hadn’t invited her in to jump her bones.

If he closed his eyes, he could still remember in vivid detail how she’d looked rising out of the fountain at the Hollands’ that night, her gown glued to every curve and hollow of her body. Over a year and a half had passed, but that moment was still etched in his memory as though it was yesterday.

That didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. No matter how sexy her tall, athletic body was. No matter how compelling he found her soft gray eyes and wide, mobile mouth.

Someone had hurt Mel Porter. Quite badly, if he was any judge. She was vulnerable. Maybe even a little broken.

He was the very last thing she needed in her life. As he’d proven so thoroughly with Hayley, he was not a good bet in the romance department right now. He had too much on his plate, too much uncertainty in his world, and he didn’t want to set up expectations that he wasn’t going to fulfill again. At best, he was good for some no-strings sex and some laughs, but Mel was not fling material. Not by a long shot.

He took a long swallow of wine and told himself it was a good thing she’d gone home.

By the time he’d finished his third glass, he had almost convinced himself it was true, too.

MEL CHASTISED HERSELF the whole drive home. She’d known taking the lanterns to Flynn’s place had been a bad idea. From the moment she’d spotted them in her garden shed this afternoon she’d been at war with herself, going back and forth over whether she should drop by Summerlea and offer them to Flynn or not.

She’d been worried the gesture would come across as sucky