Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Daniel.”
I turn back to catch his languid gaze over my shoulder, though I have the sneakiest suspicion his eyes were aimed lower before I caught him. “What was that?”
“You can call me Daniel, remember?”
Get in. Get out. Pretend I didn’t hang on every word that came from his mouth and move on with life. “Yes, I remember, Mr. Sutton. But I think it’s best if we keep things professional.” I stop to face him again. “And you’re parked in a no-parking zone.”
“How is that area designated no parking when it’s perfect for parking?”
Our gazes travel to the side of the house at the same time. “It’s for safety purposes. No one can park there like the sign says.”
“I’m partial to that spot.”
“How are you partial to a spot you just started parking in?” My eyes flick to him. “Anyway, it’s a hazard.” He somehow manages to make me feel judged for caring about this. So what if I don’t have much to focus on? It’s a current life setback, is all. Not everything has panned out the way I’d like, but it will. I can feel it. “And rules are rules.”
He shifts, though his gaze narrows like a hawk who’s spotted his next prey. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
I gasp before I can contain it. My fingers tap to my chest, and I hold back the offense from encroaching on my voice. “Not in Mountain Laurel Cove. Word of warning, it’s best to stay on the right side of this town. The locals aren’t shy and very vocal about troublemakers and rule breakers.”
“Small town gossip, huh?” He chuckles again even though I was only giving him fair warning after seeing how disrespect gets handled here. “Everybody knows everybody—”
“And they are more than happy to give advice on how to live your life.”
“Sounds personal.”
I snort, involuntarily, of course, but that doesn’t stop a taste of embarrassment from wedging its way into my psyche. Rocking my head back and forth, I grin. “Trust me. It is.” I start for the house. “Let me show you around, and then I can get out of your hair.” I take a few steps across the deck. “I’ve stocked the fridge as requested, and—”
“That’s not necessary.”
Stopping, I look back to see his sunglasses set back on the bridge of his nose while holding the basket in the spot where I left him. “What’s not? I already stocked it—”
“The tour.” He summons me back to him with a wave of his hand.
Excuse me? The gesture raises my hackles. He hasn’t really put off complete jerk vibes up until this point. I sure as heck hope he doesn’t start now.
I stay in my spot. “I want to point out the tricky—”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.” The arrogance pulls a smirk into place like it’s in its natural habitat.
I find myself blinking slower as my eyes narrow in reflex. His reaction is rude, quite frankly, and as much as he thinks he can do everything on his own—he can’t.
But if Mr. Know-It-All wants to figure out the quirks of this old place, I’ll let him. Why fight him? One attempt at the shower will have him calling me to fix the hot water. He’ll need my tips on unplugging the kitchen drain, and he’ll be begging me to reset the box when streaming’s not working every other time he tries, thanks to the tree coverage. And when that happens, I can drink my cheap wine with my sisters and have a good laugh. Pure entertainment. Until he has to take a cold shower, and then he’ll be begging me to return.
I smile so sweetly I could rot a tooth. “I just bet you can, Mr. Sutton.” Literally. The sister betting pool is back in play. “Have a good day.”
I return to my car, leaving him to enjoy his day without me in it. This whole interaction was hot and cold, cold and hot. It was unpredictable at best just like the shower here at the cottage. I get into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
Mr. Sutton is an anomaly that is probably best accepted as-is. Spikey. Moody. And the most tragic of them all, ridiculously handsome.
Good thing I won’t need to be out here very often. I don’t think my eyes can handle the hotness—or his attitude—all summer long. As I hold the button to raise the window and block him like the sun is blinding me by visoring my eyes, he says, “Thanks for stopping by, Ms. Season.”
Glancing back at him, I can’t help but wonder how I’m supposed to survive the summer with not much to do and this guy as a next-door neighbor.
Yes, I do. I need to focus on the prize.
And although he’d be considered one to most women, my prize is not a six-foot-four man with movie-star looks and a smile that is as deadly to my willpower as tequila is to me.