eyes had roamed my body as though I was dirt beneath her perfectly pedicured, sandal-wearing toes. Her attire alone had said I’m not from here and I won’t be staying.
The shower she just made has soaked her already thin, sheer shirt, causing the material to cling to the swell of two ripe, beautiful breasts. The weight of the wet material over the black bra underneath leaves nothing to the imagination, and I don’t want to be imagining her. I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but last night, when I couldn’t sleep after hours of tossing and turning, imagine her I did, resulting in a sticky mess.
I’m not a teenager. I’m a thirty-six-year-old single father, and I have to keep it together, not lose myself in a pretty face, a sweet body, and those eyes—innocent and bright blue.
I watched her dancing over here, waving her arms in the air and singing off-key. Noise travels to the top of a roofline, especially once the incessant hammering stops. And even though I had a ringing in my ears, I heard her voice. I couldn’t look away from her swaying hips or her shimmying ass.
She’s like a teenager in the body of a grown woman.
I don’t know what she was thinking when she asked Katie to come into her yard nor what Katie was thinking following every movement of this woman like a lost puppy. Like a forgotten child.
That’s what happened to her.
Damn Debbie. Again.
Debbie Swan was curvier, heftier, and all dark hair with blue eyes that shone like the devil lived in them. She wanted out of this town, and I offered an escape to her without thought. I should have been thinking better.
“Time to go,” I bark out, and Emily drops the hose, the water making a puddle in the grass. She stands, her knees covered in wet grass blades. Her hands have lost some of the dirt from earlier, but now it seems to be on her face. She’s a wreck, and I want to roll in the mud with her.
Jesus.
I lower my head for a second, willing away the thoughts of her in that wet T-shirt and those water-stained shorts. It’s been twenty-four hours and I can’t get her out of my head.
Go home, I mentally shout at her, knowing this isn’t her house.
Elizabeth Parrish is an esteemed member of this community and an accomplished icon. Rumor has it she hasn’t had family here in over five years. Of course, I wasn’t here five years ago either, but I’m back now.
This is my home. I didn’t think I’d ever live here again once I’d left, but now that I’m back, I know I’m in the right place for me.
A woman like Emily, though? This town would never fit her, and yes, that makes me someone who judges a book by its cover, but I can read. She has it written all over her—temporary.
I watch Katie slowly walk to the edge of the bushes lining the back of Mrs. Parrish’s lot. They’re scraggly and dangerous, and I hold my breath as my child crawls under them like some rodent in the night. She’s drawn to this woman for some reason, and I see it even now. Moving so slowly toward me, it’s like she’s magnetically connected to the beautiful stranger behind her. She can’t seem to break the force.
Speaking of force, what the hell was that when I helped her with the spigot? I realize by quietly sneaking up on her I startled her, and she spun too fast, catching herself on my chest, but holy hell. When her hands slid down my body and landed near the waist of my jeans, I nearly detonated. The circuit rippling through my body was like a live wire, dangling after a storm. The rush intense. The result dangerous. I had to get away from her before she could see what she’d done to me.
Then I saw her watching me speak to Katie as I warned my daughter to use her manners, be respectful, and do as Miss Emily Post of Chicago said.
I don’t know anything about this woman so it’s even more shocking I left my child with her, but something told me Katie was safe. Emily is Elizabeth’s granddaughter, and I like to think that speaks for something.
Maybe not common sense, given she danced around her yard like a pole act.
Maybe not cleanliness, given she has more dirt and grass on her than this lot.