The next day, I slept late in an attempt to ward off the hangover pounding inside my temples, but it didn’t get the memo and lingered like a bitch. Should’ve stuck with whiskey instead of moving to the wine Jeremy had brought over. Now I trudged up the cracked cement walkway that led to the front porch, juggling supplies from the hardware store. Pamela Mayberry ran the place now, since her father retired down to Boca Raton. Pamela peppered with me questions, trailing me around the store as I made my selections. It was only through the grace of God that I managed to carry on a polite conversation without snapping. You can take the girl out of a small town, but that small town will never forget her.
It was time to start ripping the inn apart, room by room. I’d begin with the ugly wood paneling in the living room, which would be used by guests as a common space. There would be coffee, croissants, and tea, and soft music playing as the fire roared cheerfully…
That was about as far as I’d gotten.
But it painted a pretty picture.
Smiling, I unlocked the door, almost dropping the bags in my left hand. After heaving them inside, I turned around, breathing heavily, and headed to my car for the next batch. By the time that was inside, my back ached and my palms were abraded. I started to shut the door and froze, fear shooting through my chest. There was something else on my porch, obscured by the dead potted plant to the left of the door.
Roses.
Not just any roses.
Red roses.
I glanced around the yard, looking for signs of anyone watching—waiting. Nothing moved except a few birds in the nearby apple tree. They chirped happily, flapping their wings, completely unaware that I was about to lose my shit. When no one jumped out to attack, I took a deep breath and bent down, grabbing the brass vase before going inside.
Slamming the door shut, I leaned against it, heart racing. I longed to throw them out without reading the note tucked among the petals, but that would be a foolish move. If there was a threat, I needed to face it head-on, not cower behind false ignorance like a scared child. That wasn’t my style. I preferred using my fists for cover instead.
I glanced down at the card—and fear immediately turned to anger when I realized it was a different ghost from the past haunting me. I’d recognize that cursive J anywhere. That son of a bitch didn’t know when to quit. Without thinking my anger through, or identifying the true cause of it, I was in my car heading for town. For him.
Even though I knew rationally that I shouldn’t be doing this, and that I was playing right into his hands by seeking him out, it didn’t stop me. When it came to Jeremy, I wasn’t rational.
Which was why he was such a danger to me.
I couldn’t afford to mess up right now.
Angrily, I aimed for the run-down motel off Main Street, which was the only lodging in town. I saw Jeremy’s late model truck parked in front of the motel and I screeched into the parking lot. It was like it was meant to be—I’d found him so easily—but I refused to look too deeply into that. I wanted to give him the damn flowers back, and make sure he understood that I meant it when I said to stay away, since he seemed to think this was some kind of game.
He should know better.
I’d never been the playful type.
Pulling up next to his truck, I picked up the flowers and marched up to his door. Lifting my fist, I knocked hard enough to wake the dead. The door swung open, and there he was, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweats, which clung to certain parts of his body I tried very hard to forget about, thank you very much. The lack of a shirt only highlighted how good he looked, because good God, those abs had to have been chiseled by Michelangelo himself. There was no way those were real.
He’d always been fit, but now…
He was a freaking Adonis.
Damn him.
At my obvious appraisal of his body, he grinned and gripped the opposite side of the doorjamb, leaning closer. “You look good, too, Chels.”
That annoying childhood nickname snapped me out of my haze of abs and pecs. Gnashing my teeth together, I ducked under his arm, barging in his room without invitation.
After all, he’d done the same thing to me.
“Please,” he said dryly, closing the door behind me. “Come in.”
The room was tiny, and being shut inside with him wearing practically nothing was too much. I needed that door open again…better yet, I needed to get the hell out of here. Away from him. “I’m not staying. Keep your stupid flowers and stop showing up at my place. I don’t need you coming by, scaring the shit out of me—”
“Scaring you?” He raised a brow, crossing his arms. “Why the hell would flowers on your porch scare you?”
I lifted my chin, knowing I’d said too much and cursing myself because of it. When would I learn that less was more, especially when it came to Jeremy Holland? “When will you realize all I want is for you to stay away—”
“—from you.” He walked across the room, not stopping until he was directly in front of me, in my personal space, doing the very opposite of staying away from me. “I know. I heard you. When will you realize I don’t give a damn what you want, because I know that you’re hiding something, and I’ll keep asking questions until I get some answers?”
I sucked in a deep breath, watching him closely, my chest rising and falling way too rapidly. He always could read me like an open book, and clearly he hadn’t lost that skill during our years apart. I needed to do something to throw him off balance.
So I did the most unpredictable thing I could think of.
I kissed him.