I’d brushed the napkin sentiment off as a gimmick, a form of subliminal advertising. Obviously Coco fancied herself a matchmaker and her lovely inn as a place to meet the perfect man. That was fine, but I was hardly convinced that my future happiness was now within reach and dressed in faded flannel, jeans and steel-toed boots. Even if he was incredible in bed. There was that damn school girl blush again.

I finished buttoning the cotton blouse. It fit perfectly as did the khaki shorts and hiking boots. Coco had even left a new pair of panties with the clothes. If there was a contest for hostess of the year, I knew who I’d check off as my top choice. My own mom had nothing on the cupcake baking wonder downstairs.

I picked up the breakfast tray, now merely a platter for the few leftover scone crumbs, and headed out the door. I passed the spot in the hall where Grayson had trapped me between his wet, hard body and the wall. Instantly, I felt a tickle of heat swirl through me. It had been the most sensual evening of my life. I was sure every other night with a man would pale in comparison. That grim conclusion left me feeling a little empty.

I could hear the continual activity on the roof, the occasional beat of a determined hammer and the buzz of a table saw, which helped squelch the butterflies I’d been feeling about running into the man again. After all, he’d seen every intimate inch of me. I’d exposed myself to him and let him take full advantage of me. The idea of seeing him sent a mix of emotions through me. Anxiety laced with dread and thrill was probably the most concise way to describe it. Although that was hardly concise at all.

Coco was rolling out pie dough as I carried the empty tray into her spacious kitchen. “Just put it in the sink.”

“Do you need some help?” I asked. “It’s been awhile since I baked pie, but when I was younger, I always loved helping my grandmother.” I walked over to the kitchen work island where Coco was rolling dough. Cubes of butter were piled up next to a stack of cinnamon sticks and a basket of apples. I picked up a green apple and the peeler. “Peeling was my job.”

“Absolutely.”

I slid the peeler over the fruit. “Thank you for the clothes. I will have them cleaned and mail them back to you once I get home.”

“No worries.” She lifted up the rolled out dough and lowered it over the dish. “It’s for Grayson. He’s been working so hard on the house. I decided to make him an apple pie. He doesn’t have anyone to bake him pies at home.” She wrinkled her nose conspiratorially as if we were sharing a secret.

I decided it was my opportunity to learn a little about the handsome stranger whose name I’d been crying out in ecstasy the night before. “So, he’s not matched—attached to anyone?”

She shook her head rather indecisively.

I laughed. She turned to me. A wide streak of flour crossed her forehead. “What was that laugh about?”

I concentrated on my task as I answered. “It was nothing. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never met anyone who was so skilled at giving nebulous answers to very simple straightforward questions.”

It was her turn to laugh. “I suppose that’s true, but my philosophy is that nothing should ever be simple or straightforward. Nebulous is much more fun. Leaves so much more room for interpretation.”

Just then the backdoor swung open. I didn’t need to turn around to know who had walked inside. The sound of his work boots on the wood floor made my hands tremble. I had to concentrate not to peel my hand instead of the apple. I pretended to be extremely absorbed in my job as he circled around to the front of the work table.

The scent of fresh cut wood and sweat mingled with the fragrance of cinnamon. “Impossible,” I muttered to myself as I dropped the apple I’d been holding. It bounced off the table and onto the floor, where it continued its escape plan by rolling beneath the stove.

Coco put her hands on her hips and stared at the stove. “I think that one’s a goner. Good thing I have extra.”

“Sorry about that.”

My gaze barely flicked Grayson’s direction, but he had no problem staring unabashedly at me. He even seemed to be taking pleasure in watching me squirm under his unflinching scrutiny.

Grayson picked up one of the apples. “Interesting. I don’t really picture you as the pie baking type, Jessi.”

He was taunting me to get my attention. Of course, he already had it. Every inch of me was at full attention with him standing just a few feet away.

I finally stopped to look at him. Probably a mistake. How on earth could a layer of sweat and a fine film of dirt and sawdust look so damn appealing on someone? His face was more suntanned from being up on the roof. It made his eyes look bluer. Not that they needed it since they were already like deep lakes of azure. And now, it seemed, I was writing poetry in my head about the guy.

Coco reached over and took the apple from my hand. I looked at it. I hadn’t realized that I was still peeling it. Only peeling wasn’t really a good description for it. Decimating was closer. I’d taken it nearly down to its core.

“Jessi, why don’t you take that walk, and I’ll finish the pies.”

I wiped my hands on the dishtowel. “Probably a good idea.” I walked confidently past Grayson’s gaze but was feeling anything but self-assured. This, I reminded myself, was what happened when I let down my usual guard. Last night, I’d crumpled, I’d given into my urges convinced it would be no big deal. Now I was dealing with the consequences. I just wasn’t sure how to define the consequences. It should have been embarrassment and shame, but instead, I was feeling something much deeper, something akin to regret. I’d thrown caution and propriety to the wind, and somehow it had left my heart vulnerable, a heart I’d worked hard to protect from unnecessary things like love.

I could feel Grayson’s gaze still on me as I hurried out the back door.

“Just take the path along the honeysuckle bushes,” Coco called as the screen door snapped shut behind me.