I have no idea how that conversation ended because in an attempt to protect me from literally dying of embarrassment, my brain blacked the entire thing out. All I know, three hours later, is that somehow I got to my car and drove home. I didn’t even remember my phone, which was the entire reason I ran my awkward ass into Ryder in the first place.

I’ve been in the shower for a long time—I don’t know how long—and no matter how cold the water gets, my cheeks still burn.

I told him I wanted him to mow the lawn shirtless. I told him that. I spoke those words out loud with my mouth.

Worst of all, it’s true. I do want to see Ryder Harrison without his shirt on. I’ve wanted that from the moment I saw him at the Short Stack. What I don’t want is to get attached, and get burned again, like with Conrad. God, that was a disaster...and all over something that turned out to be nothing.

But Ryder wouldn’t be like that. Clearly.

Or maybe he would. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about him.

I step out of the shower, towel off, and throw on a tank and some shorts. I’m not going out again tonight. Tomorrow, Cece’s made plans for us, but tonight I’m staying in with a good book.

I am definitely not going to stroll across the lawn to the other cottage. This property used to be two lots, back in the day, but the families who owned them had the same company build identical cottages on either end, with a wide lawn in the middle. My parents bought the lots as a kind of a package deal before I was born, and they only open the other building if they need the space. We’re not the kind of family who loves reunions, so that’s basically never. Thus, there is absolutely no reason for me to go walking out there. Not at all. 

I’ve just settled in on the small screened-in porch facing the lake when I hear it.

The hum of a mower, coming from across the street.

* * *

I sit with the book open in my hands for a full five minutes, my heart practically beating out of my chest. 

Ryder Harrison is baiting me.

I force my eyes back to the page. No. I’m not going to be baited. That was mortifying, what I said earlier, and what am I supposed to do now? Go over and look at him like he’s a piece of man meat?

No. Absolutely not.

On the other hand...

I’m not going to be living here forever. And neither is he. I promised myself in the spring that I’d be out in a year, so at most I’ll only have to suffer through eight months of awkwardness. 

I don’t have to suffer at all if I just stay inside. 

I bite my lip.

I have to know. That’s the awful truth of it—I just have to know.

But he doesn’t have to know.

I put the book on the table and stand up, adrenaline flooding my veins. I assess my outfit. It’s fine for what I’m about to do.

I go out the front door of the cottage, scanning around the maple trees to see if he’s in sight. The mower hums loudly, off to the left. He must be beside his own house. If I cut diagonally across the lawn, I’ll be shielded by the hedge, then by the maple tree.

Halfway across the lawn I realize I’m sneaking, hunched over like a caricature of a robber. Yes, it’s true, I am a grown woman. I straighten up, but I can’t help walking softly...as if the sound of the lawnmower isn’t going to cover up my approach over the grass on the other side of the street.

This is where I’m at now. I might as well embrace it. Worst-case scenario, he’s wearing a shirt.

I come up behind the maple tree. It’s huge, the trunk thick and round, and easily conceals me from the other side of the street. The only issue I face now is that it also conceals the other side of the street from me, so all I can hear is the damn mower. 

It’s quiet now, like he’s behind the house, which is set back from the road by a stretch of yard. I bet Minnie would love a playhouse out there. The Culvers never had kids, so there’s nothing of the kind. Maybe I could—

I shake myself out of the weird plan I’ve started to make involving one of those playhouses that they sell in front of the hardware store when the sound of the mower gets louder.

I have to play this cool.

If he’s coming toward the road, that means that eventually he’ll turn back and face the house. That will be my moment. That’ll be when I finally get a glimpse of those ripped shoulders.

Behind the tree, every fiber of my being is locked on listening to the sound of the mower. It gets louder and louder. I’m in tune with the sound; the sound is me. I hear the shift in the noise as he reaches the road, pushing the front of the mower a couple of inches onto the asphalt, and then I hear it as he turns back.

Heart in my throat, I move to the left side of the tree and lean out, ever so carefully.

He is shirtless.

“Damn,” I whisper, because even his back is sexy.

Just then, a white stripped-down Jeep zooms down the road between us, and the group of college girls inside lets out a loud, uniform whoop that pierces air. “Ow ow ow!” one of them screams at the tail end, and that’s probably what brings my plan crashing to a halt.

Ryder turns at the sound, but by the time he’s facing the road again, the Jeep is gone. The sight of his absolutely fucking gorgeous body in the sun has addled my brain, and it’s only at the last second that I jump back behind the tree.

I hold my breath.

He probably didn’t see me. This tree is huge, and I’ve been careful to put it directly between me and his house. He probably—

The sound of the mower cuts off. 

No. No no no no no. He’s not going to catch me doing this. It’s not going to happen. It can’t happen. If it happens, I’ll never live it down. I’ll have to move, and I can’t move. Not today, anyway.

I cross my fingers on both hands. No no no.

“Valentine?” His voice sends blood rocketing to my cheeks. I have to be redder than a stop sign. “Are you hiding behind that tree?”