“This just in: they want to be directly behind the daisies.”
His laugh was like the sizzle of water on a hot stove. There was something intimate about it. About the storm and his lamplit window. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Maybe a little.” She fell forward on hands and knees, securing the lilacs in place and patting the earth around the edges. “I don’t mind working in the rain, actually. The one responsible thing I’ve done recently is buy a waterproof phone case. Did you know there is no dog slobber damage clause in the Apple contract?” The raindrops on the window didn’t quite obscure the twitch of his lips. “If you need to get back to writing, we can hang up.”
“No,” he answered, as if involuntarily. “How is Corked doing these days?”
Hallie paused and studied Julian. Was he really not going to take credit for buying three cases of his own family’s wine? Apparently not. He was frowning at the computer screen, no sign of the good deed visible in his expression.
She’d skidded into Corked for the afternoon tasting, only to find that Julian had not only stopped in and had a glass of wine with a thoroughly charmed Lorna, but he’d dropped enough cash to pay this month’s rent. As if she needed another reason to send him love letters—of which there would be only two. Two, tops.
Unless he answered.
Which he definitely didn’t seem inclined to do.
Maybe a third would nudge him?
“Corked is doing slightly better than usual, actually. Lorna has more of a spring in her step the last couple of days, which is nice to see,” she said breathily, her hands working the earth. “I’m not sure why, though. She’s been very tight-lipped. Maybe she landed an investor. Either that or she’s got a boyfriend.”
He studied her through the window, trying to either determine if she was joking or perhaps deduce whether or not she’d been made aware of his generosity. When she only kept her features schooled, he cleared his throat. “And this makes you . . . happy? Lorna having more spring in her step?”
Did he appear hopeful, or was that her imagination? “Yes. It does.”
“Hmm.” Apparently the topic was dismissed, because he leaned forward to look up at the sky and shifted in his chair. “There is going to be a downpour any second now, Hallie. Come inside,” he said, without thinking. “I don’t want you cold.”
Her hands paused slightly at his deeper tone.
She looked up, their eyes latched, and her oxygen grew scarce. Did he have any idea how his caring affected her? It was a glimpse at the man beneath. The man she’d always known was there, but who had been buried in his adulthood. Not so deep that she couldn’t see it. Couldn’t wish to dig and dig and wrap herself in his uniquely refined kindness.
“Do I need to come out there and get you?” he prompted.
Mother Nature sent thunderheads rolling across the sky above them. Or maybe that turbulence was moving straight through her, reverberating in her bent thighs and tightened tummy muscles. She was the human version of a plucked tuning fork. Bottom line, if she stood up right now, her arousal might not be visible . . . but she couldn’t guarantee it. Who could hide this potent a feeling? Better to stay crouched, maybe drown in a flash flood.
“Very well,” he clipped, hanging up before she could . . . what? Tell him not to bother coming to collect her? Was she really going to pretend that she didn’t want to go inside his house to wait out this romantic rainstorm?
A screen door opened in the distance, and her heart accelerated, beating even faster when Julian came into view. Just in time for the sky to make an ominous tearing sound and condensation to begin falling in a spiky deluge.
“Come on,” he said, reaching down to take her hand, his warm palm sliding against hers, his fingers compressing around hers, leading to what felt like an electrical charge straight to her hormones. Leaving her tools to fall where they may, she allowed herself to be pulled along the front path and into the cool, dry interior of the house.
Julian guided her into the kitchen and stopped, looking down at their joined hands, his thumb ever-so-slightly brushing over the pulse at the small of her wrist. Could he feel it pounding like McConaughey on a pair of bongos? Did she want him to? Ultimately, a muscle popped in his cheek and he let her go, retreating to the opposite side of the island like last time, with his hands propped wide, dress sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Oh Lord, the forearms. There they were. In her fifteen years of fantasizing about this man, she’d definitely neglected one of his best features. Going forward, she needed to do better.