But then I put on my favorite short-sleeved button-up shirt with tiny pink sailboats on it, so it was probably a wash on the dorky front.
I didn’t have time to second-guess myself. I slipped my feet into my brown leather sneakers and raced out of my room, careening around the corner of the hallway before skidding to a stop by the front door.
He wasn’t there.
I peered out of the glass panes in the top half of the farmhouse door and spotted Tiller and Mikey’s SUV partway down the drive. The rear hatch was open, and Sam was busy rifling through various tools and supplies.
The gate repair.
I clapped my hand to my chest to calm my racing heart. I’d been so focused on the dinner date, I’d completely forgotten about the gate.
While I stood there catching my breath, I watched Sam’s large, capable body move through his tasks. His ass looked amazing in his jeans, and the broad muscles of his back and shoulders stretched his T-shirt as he moved. The worn work boots he wore added to the masculine look of him, and I wondered—not for the first time—what it was about big strong men that made them so damned attractive.
Especially when they had the power to hurt you. Or control you. Or scare the bejesus out of you.
I hadn’t heard from the Stanner brothers since filing the eyewitness report yesterday, and the silence sat heavily on my nerves. Retaliation was most likely coming, and part of me would rather it come in swiftly than have it hanging out there like the pall of doom.
I moved back to the kitchen to double-check everything was ready for his arrival. Had he left his groceries in the vehicle? Maybe I needed to grab them and at least put the chicken in the fridge.
Before heading outside, I grabbed one of my reusable water bottles and filled it with ice and water. It wasn’t particularly hot today, but he’d probably get thirsty doing physical work. Also, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
On my way back to the front door, I caught sight of myself in the front hall mirror. My hair was a giant, flaming mess.
“Oh dear god,” I said to the horrific reflection. I put the water bottle down and tried to finger-fix my wild curls into some kind of orderly coif.
One of the joys of living in Colorado was being able to avoid humidity-hair which was super-important when your hair was as curly as mine. But I’d let it get too long, and it had crossed the border from adorably wavy to lion’s mane crazy about two weeks ago.
“There’s nothing for it,” I finally admitted to myself, pushing my glasses back up my nose. “This is going to be a disaster.”
On that pleasant note, I fortified myself, grabbed the water bottle, and headed outside to greet Sam.
He didn’t hear my approach until I was only a few feet away, but when he noticed me, his entire face lit up.
And my stomach exploded in a vat of drunken hummingbirds.
“Did you know that water is the only substance on earth found in three forms? Liquid, solid, and gas,” I informed him, shoving the bottle at his solar plexus. “Also, a hundred gallons of water are used in the growing and production of a single watermelon. I find that fascinating. And since one in six gallons of water is lost in leakage before reaching a water customer, just think of how many more watermelons we could grow if we fixed the leaks.” I glanced at him and tried not to assume he thought I was weird. “Not that we need that lost water for watermelons. I don’t think there’s a watermelon shortage or anything. But there’s definitely a water shortage. In Africa especially.”
Before adding the sad facts of time spent collecting water in Africa, I forced myself to stop talking.
Sam’s smile grew until it lit up the entire farm. With the heat from that smile, I could grow an entire year’s crop of anything. The hummingbirds swooped again.
“Hi,” he said softly before leaning in to press a kiss on my cheek. “You look good enough to eat.”
His lips lingered against my freshly shaved skin. I turned my face toward him the tiniest bit in hopes of “accidentally” brushing my lips against his, but he pulled back before I got there.
“Do you… do you need help?” I asked before realizing how ridiculous I sounded. “I mean, I could hold your… hammer?”
Why did that sound wrong? My face ignited while Sam’s widened into a smile, and he held up his tool.
“It’s a drill, but I’d love your company. How was your day?”
He moved over to the broken half of the gate and began to dismantle it. As he worked, I told him about finally starting the process of cleaning out the farmhouse attic.