with an old-fashioned blue and white striped awning and—oh!—a yoga studio. The street was dotted with big, sweeping trees and cute wrought-iron benches.
It was postcard-picture perfect.
“Welcome to the White Crest,” Trent said as he eased into a parking spot. An old building sat like a monument on the corner, guarding the rest of the street like a father watching over his children. It had a white balcony on the second level where people had gathered, laughing and drinking. “Most important place in Patterson’s Bluff. Home to the best brew this side of the Peninsula and the spot where you can catch pretty much anyone in town. If you need to find someone, this is your first port of call.”
They got out of the car and walked into the pub. Inside, the place was decorated as one would expect from a seaside town. There was exposed, sun-bleached wood everywhere and big windows that allowed the afternoon light to flood in. The tables were high and round, once painted white but now had that delightfully worn-in and rustic look. And the bar appeared to have been carved from a single tree—the beautifully gnarled edges making for a stunning feature that flowed like a wave along its length.
“I love it already,” she replied with a grin.
Maybe the disastrous first part of her vacation was nothing more than a glitch. A speed bump. Perhaps from here on out, everything would go according to plan.
…
Trent tried not to notice the enticing way Cora’s short, loose-fitting dress shifted as she climbed onto a stool at one of the high tables, flashing hints of toned thighs. The dress exposed thin, white bikini straps at her shoulders that looked barely solid enough to withstand a strong breeze. Or a tug. The very thought of it—taking a strap between his fingers and pulling until the knot unraveled—had him shifting on the spot, battling a sudden surge of attraction that was so strong and so swift, it felt like a zap of electricity.
She probably thinks you’re a jerk after the way you spoke to her this afternoon.
Ugh, he owed her a beer for that.
Plumbing rule number one was always turn off the mains. Total rookie move. The guys he’d called in to help were never going to let him live that one down.
It wasn’t like him to be quick to anger—Trent was the smile-through-a-crisis kinda guy. The one who could be counted on to crack jokes even if the walls were crumbling down around them. But he’d had this instinctive reaction to Cora, a visceral gut churning that knocked him off-kilter and upended his usually calm-blue-ocean approach to things.
Maybe it was because she was a dead ringer for his ex. Like, long-lost-sister levels of similarity. If not for her accent, he might have been suckered into believing that she was the woman who’d shattered his heart only three years ago.
That’s why you’re attracted to her. It’s like…muscle memory.
Which was precisely why he’d repeat that over and over in his head as a reminder of why it was a terrible idea to ogle his sister’s houseguest, even if her dress stirred up all kinds of dark and dirty images with each indecent little flick of fabric. If there was one thing Trent wasn’t looking for, it was any kind of romantic entanglement.
Especially not one that spelled trouble in flashing neon letters.
Trent left Cora for a moment to order a couple of beers and a hearty mound of the herb and garlic chips that were his bar snack of choice. When he brought them back to the table, balancing everything with the expertise of someone who’d been doing bar runs all his adult life, she immediately reached for her bag.
“Snacks are on me,” he said, setting everything down on the table. “If you flew in today, then you’ve probably had nothing but shitty airplane food for the last twenty-four hours. The least I can do is make sure you’re fed.”
“Thank you. These look good.” She reached for a chip and bit down on the end. “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”
“We’re not big into fries here,” he said. The piping-hot, thick-cut potato planks were like salty morsels of goodness, and the perfect accompaniment to a crisp, cold lager. “But I’ve yet to meet a person who didn’t love these.”
“I can see why,” she said, reaching for another.
“Cheers.” Trent held his beer in the air and Cora clinked her glass against his. “So, a house swap, huh?”
She nodded. “Liv emailed me asking for recommendations