Healing Hearts (Hope River #3) - Margaret McHeyzer Page 0,8
market for something more permanent,” Hope offers.
Joanne laughs. “I’ll let you know in a couple of days, okay?”
“Sure.” Hope hands over the two electronic keys. “This one is for Roger and Jean’s Room, and this one is for May’s Room. Both are upstairs.”
“Thank you.” Joanne holds out a key to Miles. He hasn’t said a word since he stepped inside. He’s the strong, silent type. As he walks out the front door, my eyes skim his retreating back. But as he walks out, Charlie walks in.
“Hey, ladies,” he announces when he enters.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have work to do?” Hope asks. And this is my cue to disappear into the walk-in pantry, and do a quick inventory. I don’t want to be around Charlie. He does something to me. He makes my heart flutter, and my stomach twist with feelings I don’t want to have.
“Hey,” I hear his gruff voice call from the doorway of the pantry.
“Hey,” I reply without turning.
“What’s happening?”
“Working.”
“So.” He steps into the pantry, closing the space between us. “I was thinking, maybe we could catch a movie tonight.”
I try to step further away from him, but there’s not much room in here. I was dumb for isolating myself in a spot that doesn’t give me an escape. “I’m busy,” I say.
Charlie moves so he’s standing right beside me, his arms crossed in front of his chest. I glance at him quickly, then close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. Whenever he’s on the tools, his arms seem to get particularly muscled and bulk up even more. He has this manly, woody smell to him when he’s been working hard. Almost like, a combination of sweat, and wood shavings. It’s intoxicating, and dangerous to my heart.
“Are you busy, or are you just saying that?”
“I’m busy,” I say again, shutting him down. I give him another quick look before going back to pretending I’m working when all I’m doing is avoiding him.
He reaches out, and skims his fingertips slowly and softly up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps and desire in his wake. My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a deep breath. Closing my eyes again, I revel in his touch, his smell, his heat. “I think dinner and a movie would be nice. We haven’t done that before.”
No, dinner and a movie wouldn’t be nice. It would be devastating. It’s bad enough my body already craves his, wanting him to be close to me as often as humanly possible. But this, this is risky territory. It blurs our boundaries. I gather all my courage, and push past Charlie. “I’m sorry, I can’t tonight, I’m busy,” I say again as I leave the pantry.
I hear Charlie sigh, then a few seconds later he comes out of the pantry, gives me a curt nod, and walks into the office.
This is the best and only way. Keeping it casual.
“You’re home?” Aunt May asks when I walk into the house. She’s preparing something in the kitchen that smells amazing. “You hungry?”
“Yeah, I am. Want a wine?” I’ll keep her company even though all I want to do is collapse on the sofa.
“When have you ever known me to say no?”
I smile as I walk over to her wine rack and look at what’s here. “What’s for dinner?” I ask so I can pair the wine with it.
“There’s lamb, beets, carrots and potatoes roasting in the oven,” she calls from the kitchen.
I run my finger along the wines, and grab the Heitz 2015 cabernet sauvignon from the wine rack and walk into the kitchen. I take the corkscrew out of the drawer, open the bottle, and leave it on the counter to breathe.
Aunt May looks over to me, and scrunches her brows. “Set the table, Tabby.”
I like it when she calls me that, she’s the only one in the world I’d let call me Tabby. I set the table and head back into the kitchen where Aunt May has already poured herself a glass and is sipping it. “You’re supposed to let it breathe,” I say.
“I’m too old to let things breathe. Anyway, what’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing, why?”
“Is it the boy? Charlie? You know he’s a good one?” She looks out the window toward the stable, where Charlie’s been living since he arrived in Hope River.
“I suppose he is.” I look down at the counter, where I’m drawing the symbol eight with my fingertips. “But it’s not like that for me.”