“It’s fine,” she muttered to herself when her phone stayed silent. “He won’t come anyway. He’s your fake boyfriend, Olli. Not your real one.”
She walked into the bathroom, nearly tripping over Witcher. “Oh,” she said to the black cat as she steadied herself with a hand against the doorjamb. “You must be out of food.”
The cat never came out of hiding except for when he was out of food. Even when Olli sat on the couch at night, the TV blaring in front of her, Witcher stayed hidden. She’d had him for a few years now, and she’d gotten him from the animal shelter to have as a companion. She saw him less than she saw her own shadow, and that honestly would’ve been a better companion than the cat.
She detoured into the kitchen to get his bowl. She put it on the plastic mat by the back door, but Witcher always pawed it under the kitchen table to actually eat. She found his backstory immensely interesting, and she wished he could talk to her and tell her why he did what he did.
Cats couldn’t talk to humans, though, so Ollie used the long broomstick to poke the empty bowl out from underneath the table. Witcher meowed as she washed it with hot, soapy water, dried it, and filled it with more cat chow.
She put it on the plastic mat, and Witcher immediately began to swat at it. “You can just eat it right there,” Ollie said. “I won’t even watch.” She bent to pick up his water bowl, and got that cleaned and refilled too.
She’d just set it down when the buzzing sound of a weed-whacker or lawn mower met her ears.
Turning toward the front door, Olli’s surprise doubled. Who was at her house, doing yard work? Despite still wearing her pajamas, she crossed the dining room and kitchen and into the living room, her goal the front door.
She opened it only a couple of inches, hoping she’d just been mistaken. The buzzing grew louder, because someone was definitely here doing yard work.
Olli stepped out onto the front porch and walked to the top of the steps. A man stood out in the ruined bed of four o’clocks, using an electric pair of handheld trimmers to clean up the ruined plants.
The morning light shone off his dark cowboy hat, and Olli distinctly knew the feel and width of those shoulders. She knew the strength in Spur’s large hands, and her heart started fluttering in a most unnatural way.
Spur continued to work, and Olli continued to watch him. He’d come to do the work himself instead of sending one of the men who worked at Bluegrass Ranch. He could’ve sent anyone, and yet…
Warmth filled Olli, and she leaned against the pillar on her porch, wondering if this fake relationship with Spur could become real. She’d sensed something in him last night, but it had been hard to put into words. She wasn’t even sure she believed the spark of attraction she’d seen in his eyes. It had only lasted for a moment anyway.
Spur turned toward her, and Olli straightened, her pulse pouncing now. Too late, she thought as Spur killed the trimmer and lifted his hand in a wave. He’d seen her.
Worse, he started walking toward her. All Olli could think about was how bad her breath must smell, and how disheveled her hair usually was in the morning. She hadn’t showered or caffeinated, and the most handsome, kind, and helpful man on the planet was walking straight toward her.
“Morning,” Spur said pleasantly. He looked all properly put together in a pair of blue jeans, his work cowboy boots, and a white, blue, and orange checkered shirt.
“Good morning,” she said.
“I didn’t wake you with the clippers, did I?” His eyes swept down to her feet and back to her eyes.
Olli shifted, though she didn’t find any judgment in his gaze. It seemed like a spark rested in his eyes, and Olli marveled at that for a moment. Could that be a spark of attraction?
“No,” she managed to say. “Did you want some coffee?” She indicated the house behind her, feeling self-conscious about her clothing and the state of everything she hadn’t brushed, cleaned, or washed yet. “I was just about to put some on.”
“Sure,” he said easily. He blinked and the spark was gone. Olli had probably imagined it.
Of course you did, she told herself as she turned around and went back inside. The moment she did, she paused, realizing her mistake. She should not have invited him inside her home. She took a big breath, trying to decide what to do. Her nose filled with the scent of something she’d made for dinner long ago, and she really needed to hire a maid service to help her get caught up on her housekeeping.
She turned around and nearly slammed into the very solid body of Spur. “I changed my mind. Let’s go out for coffee.”
“We’re already in,” he said, his hand sliding down from her shoulder to her elbow as he backed up a step.
Time slowed down until it stopped, and Olli couldn’t look away from Spur’s face. A very real attraction to him bubbled within her, and she was sure it showed on her face. That was bad news. The good news was that Spur had the same fiery interest resting in his eyes, and suddenly Olli knew her fake boyfriend had feelings for her too.
Her stomach swooped. He removed his hand from her elbow. She cleared her throat. “I’m not a very good housekeeper,” she said, ducking her head. “I’m embarrassed.”
“It’s fine,” Spur said. “At our place, Blaine brews the coffee, because when I do it, everyone complains about how bitter it is.”
She looked up at him, finding a smile on that mouth. She wanted to kiss that mouth so badly, and her whole body flushed.
“Everyone has something they’re not great at,” he said. “We probably should’ve talked about that last night.” He sidestepped her and went a few more paces into the house before he stopped, obviously surveying it. “It’s not bad, Olli, honestly.”
“Okay,” she said, though she didn’t believe him. She went into the kitchen, trying not to see all the things she hadn’t put away yet. The shoes, the mail, and the water bottles. The recyclable grocery bags, the empty boxes of ice cream bars.