was in favor of Birdie catching the spider, she didn’t love the idea of it taking up permanent residence in the yard right next to her apartment.
“We should do something about that cut on your head,” the man said.
Mia’s gaze darted back to him, and she remembered she was bleeding in addition to being wet and clad in nothing but a damp towel.
“Let’s go in the house so I can take a closer look.” He was without his hat tonight, and he ran his hand over his head, ruffling his dark brown hair as he politely averted his gaze from her state of undress. “And maybe find you something to wear.”
“That’d be great.” Mia followed him toward Birdie’s back porch, picking her way through the grass in her bare feet and trying not to think about all the chicken poop she was probably walking on.
The man threw a look over his shoulder, slowing his gait to match hers. “I’m Birdie’s nephew, Josh Lockhart.”
“The cheesemaker, right? Birdie brought me some of your cheese. Your feta is exquisite.” Mia stumbled as she stepped on something sharp. “Ow!”
“Watch out for the pecan shells.” Josh offered her his elbow. “Here, hold on to me for balance.”
She gripped his arm with the hand that wasn’t holding her towel up, feeling her cheeks redden further as her fingers squeezed his substantial biceps. “I’m Mia Ballentine, Birdie’s new tenant.”
“You work at the university?”
“Starting next week. I’m a lecturer in the math department.”
“Should I call you Dr. Ballentine, then?”
“Mia’s fine unless you’re one of my students. You’re not a student, are you?” He didn’t look that young, but you never knew. Better to find out now, before she accidentally went and developed an inappropriate crush on a student.
Not that she was crushing on Josh. But the potential was certainly there. Hot goat farmer. Master cheesemaker. It was a dangerously alluring combination.
Josh’s expression turned wry as he shook his head. “My college days are long past.”
“You can’t be that old.” If she had to guess, she’d put him in his late twenties, close to her own age.
They’d reached the house finally, and he held the back door open for her. “You don’t look old enough to be a college professor.”
“I’m twenty-eight. This is my first full-time teaching position after finishing my PhD.” She let go of Josh’s arm and preceded him inside, grateful to put her bare feet on solid floors.
The interior of Birdie’s house was as eclectic as the exterior. The furniture was mismatched and comfortably worn, nearly every surface covered with clutter. Books mostly, but a variety of projects also lay scattered about—a disassembled bird feeder on the dining table, a basket of knitting on the couch, a TV tray by the window covered with seedlings growing in tiny paper cups.
“Sit down.” Josh gestured her to a stool at the breakfast bar. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Mia sank onto the stool while he disappeared into the back of the house. On the bar next to her sat a bowl of newly harvested okra and bright red and green peppers of various shapes and sizes. Beside the sink were rows of empty mason jars and a drying rack full of dishes. Pots full of fresh herbs lined the windowsill. More herbs that had been cut hung in bunches from clips suspended by a length of string above the sink.
Despite the clutter, the house was clean. There were no dirty dishes in sight and no visible dust on the surfaces. Everything in Birdie’s house looked cared-for and loved.
Josh returned shortly with a silk kimono-style robe. “Here, you might be more comfortable in this.” He handed it to her and turned his back, offering her privacy while he busied himself with the first aid kit.
“Thank you.” Mia stood and slipped the floral turquoise robe on, turning away before letting the towel drop and tying the robe closed. Once she was more decently attired, she sat on the stool again, balling up the damp towel in her lap. “It’s safe to turn around now.”
Josh faced her, his gaze flicking downward briefly before homing in on her injured forehead. “Let me see that cut.” He moved closer, peering at it as he tore open an alcohol wipe.
Mia flinched when he dabbed at the wound.
“Sorry,” he said, brushing her damp hair back. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
“It’s okay. It just stings a little.” She cast her eyes down as a shiver traveled through her. “Is it bad?
Touching a finger to the underside