She finished varnishing the Honky Tonk floors by three.

"Well, that's the first thing that's gotten done ahead of schedule," Marianne muttered as she checked it off her to-do list. Her gaze traveled back up the crisp, neat rows of items, trying to identify anything she had missed for today. "Guess there's always the coriander," she murmured to herself.

But even planting proved less of a hassle today, and by the time she had finished patting the last of the dirt into place, it was only nearing five. The sun blazed in the Texas sky like it had never in its celestial life considered the notion of setting; a waxing gibbous moon hung on the opposite end of the horizon, looking as if a particularly strong breath might blow it off like a puff of smoke.

Marianne went back inside to check on the floors, until the overpowering smell of varnish chased her out again. She grabbed her laptop and purse and twisted the key in the door behind her, though she figured the fumes were enough to keep any would-be burglars at bay. That, and I've got Sheriff Trent Wild on my side, she thought as she slid in behind the wheel of her car. Even if he doesn't quite know it himself yet.

Her heart gave an insistent throb in her chest at even the passing thought of him. He had occupied her mind all day, before and after his surprise drop-in with Sabrina. Maybe it was just the floor varnish making her feel confused and muddled. She had told herself that seeing Trent again would weaken her interest in him—wasn't that what familiarity was supposed to do? Instead, she found herself wishing she had thought of a way to prolong the tour, to make him chuckle just once more, to casually bring up the drinks mentioned in their first conversation.

She pulled into her driveway ten minutes later. She made a beeline for the shower—Trent Wild wasn't the only hot thing on her mind.

After her shower, Marianne changed into a fresh pair of shorts and a crisp white tank top. She had just stepped out on the back porch to enjoy some sunshine while she called for pizza when the divine smell of sizzling meat mixed with charcoal smoke drifted to her.

Marianne's thumb hovered over her cell's keypad. Her stomach groaned in revolt. It didn't want to hold out another half hour for dinner to arrive, but she wasn't just going to waltz over to her neighbor's house and beg to be fed alongside a proper introduction.

She considered her phone a moment longer, before stuffing it in her pocket. She would go over and introduce herself, then she would order out. And if her neighbor happened to disrupt her dinner plans and extend an invitation…

"I'm only doing as the sheriff suggests," Marianne muttered under her breath as she stepped down onto the lawn. "Getting to know the locals and their preferences a little better."

The aroma wafting over from her neighbor's yard became more mouth-watering the closer she got to the source. The sight of who was responsible for her present temptation, though…well, more than the food was worth salivating over. The tall figure bent over the grill was distinctly masculine, distinctly muscular, and distinctly familiar. His neck was tinged with a light sunburn beneath the close-cropped dark hair, and the cowboy hat discarded on the table beside him bore a distinct gold badge.

"Trent?" Marianne exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Her mysterious neighbor was none other than Lockhart Bend's sheriff.

Trent glanced up from the smoking grill and froze. "Marianne?" He sounded as perplexed as she felt. "What are you…?" His eyes traveled to the house behind her and back again. "I wasn't aware the place next door had sold."

Marianne leaned against the fence, trying to affect a more casual demeanor than she actually felt. On the inside, her heart raced like it had a prize to claim, a marathon to win.

"Yeah. I haven't…I've been meaning to take the 'for sale' sign out of the yard." She blushed a little at her oversight. She felt as if she had been trying to recover ground ever since their first meeting, when Trent had found her doubled-over and swearing in the dirt. She didn't want to appear temperamental or absentminded; she wanted to appear capable, dignified. It wasn't her fault he kept catching her unawares, but now at least she had a chance to project herself a little differently. "I've just been down at the Honky Tonk so much, I've barely had time to unpack."

"You eaten yet?"

She shook her head, her damp waves tumbling free and clinging around her shoulders. She was very, very glad for that shower. Had Trent ever seen her out of her work clothes? The way his eyes dropped to consider her bare skin told her otherwise.

"I got enough patties here for two if you'd like to join me." He held up his can of beer. "You want a drink?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Marianne replied as she came over. She regretted it the next instant when Trent popped open his cooler and tossed a silver can her way. She caught it one-handed, and tried not to cringe outwardly when she read the label. God, I remember drinking too much of this stuff in college. Before I decided on my major. "Thanks," she said aloud.

"My pleasure." The way the word rolled off his tongue was a treat unto itself. Marianne shifted her hip to a more comfortable position as she popped open the tab on her beer. "Think you'll like having me for a neighbor?"

She snorted. "I'm getting used to seeing you every time I turn a corner."

Trent grinned. She loved the way the laugh lines flexed into prominence around his eyes when he smiled. "I'd hate to bore you," he said.

"It hasn't gotten boring yet."

"Agreed."

There was something happening beneath the current of their conversation, like tectonic plates shifting just below the surface. It had been so long since Marianne flirted and was actually flirted with in return, that she was hesitant to revisit the word now. The word was exciting; unpredictable; and halfway outside her control, considering it wasn't something she could do alone. Was Trent Wild flirting with her? Half the time she couldn't decide whether he wanted to run his hand along her curves or run her out of town. He certainly knew how to disguise what he was really thinking when it suited him.

Trent broke eye contact, and it was only then that Marianne realized she had been staring back at him. He gestured toward one of the lawn chairs. "Have a seat. Feel free to take a load off."

"Thank you." Marianne sat down, crossing one sleek leg over the other. She may not have the Texas tan, but the way Trent's eyes dropped appreciatively to her lap told her it wasn't a prerequisite for grabbing a man's attention around here. "Your work must keep you busy," she said as he turned back toward the grill. "I've been living here a whole week, and our paths never crossed."

"Our paths have crossed a lot. Can't seem to avoid you."

"That should be my line," she informed him with a wry smile. "What I mean is, I can't believe it took us this long to realize we're neighbors."

"My police vehicle has been in and out of the shop this month," Trent explained. "And every time I've been home during the day your driveway's been empty."

"Sounds like we could both use a break from work," Marianne said.

"My thoughts exactly."

"But speaking of work," she volunteered quickly, "I just wanted to let you know I decided you were right. At least about some things. I'm going to keep more of my aunt's decorations around to spruce up the place; it just won’t be so…cluttered as before. I don't want the locals to walk in feeling like their memories have been evicted…like they've lost an important part of their day thanks to me. A meaningful part of their day."

Trent was silent a moment, and Marianne wondered if she'd done the right thing. She thought her change of heart was a step in the right direction toward bridging the new with the old, but maybe it wasn't enough for him. "You'll have to pry some of that stuff from Sabrina's cold dead fingers," he said finally. "But I'll help you if you like. We'll get a warrant if we have to."

She laughed, and a comfortable silence passed between them as Trent flipped meat patties and took a sip of his beer. He eventually set his spatula aside and began stacking burgers atop buns. He carried them over and passed her a plate. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you," he said as he sat down.

She reclined a little in her chair, though she kept her mental guard up at his words. "Sure," she invited. She sipped a spot of foam off the top of her beer can and pretended to be unconcerned about whatever he might ask.

Trent likewise leaned back in his chair. He regarded her for a moment before continuing. The dark, soulful eyes Marianne had been trying to stop thinking about all day were lighter in the sun; they transfixed her. They appeared amber, almost hazel. How did she miss seeing it before?

"Your last name…" he began, though he trailed off before resolving the question.

Marianne latched onto his pause. "I was married before. Divorced now, obviously." She shifted the beer to her right hand so she could waggle the naked fingers of her left.

"I figured," Trent replied. "It's just that your aunt still refers to you as 'Marianne Mantel' sometimes."

Marianne grimaced. "Yes, apparently that's how Aunt Celia introduced me to a few of the Honky Tonk's delivery people as well. It's taking the family some time to adjust—they had just gotten used to my married name. Anyway, I'm glad you asked."

"You're glad I asked?" He smiled a little.

"I mean…better to know these things, right? In a general sense." Marianne quickly chugged the rest of her beer and crumpled the can to get some of her nervousness out. Trent's smile broadened at this, and he did the same. He tossed the can into a nearby empty planter, and Marianne followed suit once she realized it appeared to be set aside for that purpose. "And I think you like to know things," she added before she could help herself.

"Makes me a good sheriff," he replied.

"Makes you a little nosy," she said.

"I'm not the one sitting in my neighbor's yard drinking his beer." Trent's smile completed its curve as Marianne cursed under her breath. "Not that I object to the arrangement," he added.

"Well, if you're worried about me drinking all your beer, I have some samples of my own I can bring over," she hinted. "From my garage setup."

"Hm." Trent rose and pulled open the cooler. For a moment, Marianne thought he would accede to her request; instead, he just passed her another can, before going back to the grill to adjust the coals. She bit down on her lips to keep from growling in frustration.

"This is not beer!" she exclaimed, waving the can at him before realizing shaking it was probably a bad idea. It had been so long since she had drunk a brand this generic, she thought she could be excused for forgetting to handle it gently.

"It's what it says on the label."

"I know what it says on the label," she said in exasperation. "But I also know what my human taste buds and expensive education tell me. If this is what you always settle for…" Again, she had to stop herself from shaking the beer can demonstratively. "Then you're just beginning your beer journey. You have no idea what's out there. Why are you so resistant to trying something new? Are you afraid you might like it, and that might lead you to change your opinion?"

"You think I'm stuck in my ways," Trent said. "I'm not."

Before she could respond to this, Trent kicked a bucket over her way and turned back to the grill. Marianne caught it with her own foot and looked in. The bucket housed a gorgeous pile of leafy corn, each ear gleaming like gold from behind its sheltering husk.

"Here," Trent said. "Shuck some corn while you enlighten me."

"I was a kid here too, you know," Marianne said. She rose and carried the bucket to the nearby table. "Before my mother moved my sister and me to Colorado. I know what this town is like. I know what's important to it."

"Do you now?" Trent snorted, but Marianne chose to ignore his skeptical tone as she started on stripping corn of its husks. "How old were you when you moved away? Maybe three years old?"

"I was five," she corrected quickly. Trent snorted.

"I'm not saying what you think you know is wrong. Clearly you know a lot about beer,"

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she mentioned. This was in lieu of making a bad please continue, I'm all ears joke. She set her second successfully shucked ear down beside the first. Trent took both and set them on the grill rack.

"All I'm saying is it takes more than a few good brews to pull off a place like the Honky Tonk," Trent said. "I don't doubt you know your stuff about the former, but if this is your first time owning and operating a business, then you might want to focus on the human element as well. Keeping some of those decorations is a start."

"Are you saying it's more about atmosphere over alcohol?" she asked him.

"Yes. Every time."

Marianne snorted. "And you don't think good alcohol is a contributing factor to a good atmosphere?"

"I don't 'think' anything. I know you need both. And right now, you have only one."

"You sure about that?"

Trent turned away from the grill, tongs poised in his hand as precisely as if they were surgeon's tools. He paused when he noticed the look on her face. She knew she looked exasperated. "What the hell are you talking about?" He sounded amused. "Are you saying the beer you're brewing isn't good?"

"I'm saying I'd be happier if you decided that for yourself." Marianne set the corn down and held up her finger. "Wait here."

"Don't take too long."

Blushing, she hurried back to her own yard and punched in the code to open her garage door. No way Trent's crappy gas station beer was giving her this kind of buzz; it had to be Trent himself. She was willing to give the first beer credit for making it feel okay to acknowledge it. She snatched a six pack of craft beers out of the fridge and carried them back over to Trent's yard. He turned the ears of corn, and she could see that the kernels had gained a perfect char.

"They look nice." he said as she handed him a beer. He turned the unlabeled bottle over in the sun, before twisting the cap off and squinting inside at its contents. "Dark." She thrilled at the note of approval in his voice. "You got a name for it yet?"

"Well, the working title is 'Cherries Brewbilee,'" she said. Trent pulled a face, but she couldn't be sure whether the name or the hint at the beer's flavor made him regret his decision to try it. "Here. Sit. Wait one second."

She ushered him down into his chair, then went for her pocket and pulled out a stick of cherry lip balm. "This is one I brewed for fun. I wanted to see if I could make a beer that pairs well with cherry lip balm."

"You certainly have me interested now," Trent said as she sat down beside him. "But what do you mean by 'paired'?"

"Watch." Marianne puckered her lips, coated them, and gave a little smack to pop the flavor into place. Then she twisted the cap off her own bottle and took a long drink. The rich stout tingled against her lips and flowed down her throat as thick as cold cream; she could practically hear her taste buds rejoicing. The chocolate underpinnings of the stout mixed with the zesty notes of the cherry lip balm, complimenting each other perfectly.

"Ahhh." She gave an exaggerated sigh as she pulled the bottle away and offered the lip balm to Trent. "Want to try it out?"

"Sure."

But Trent didn't go for the balm. Instead, he leaned across the arm of his lawn chair and pressed his lips against hers.

Marianne's eyes widened in shock, before slowly easing closed as she lost herself in him. If she thought the taste of her craft beer had started the party, then Trent's kiss was the real jubilee. The way his lips joined with her own was the perfect union she always looked for inside the brewing room, and when his tongue swept her bottom lip to taste…

They rose together, dispensing completely with the obstacle of chairs. Marianne still held the lip balm clutched in one hand, her beer in her other, but Trent's hands seized both sides of her face and pulled her close. He held her steady when she thought the gravity of his kiss might bring her to her knees.

He paused and drew back a little. Marianne licked her lips as she grasped for something smart to say. All she could come up with was his name: "Trent…"

He took the beer out of her hand and set it aside. Then he swooped back in for an equally unexpected second round. Marianne cast the balm away completely. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he crushed his mouth to hers. There was no teasing for entry or toying with taste this time; Trent's lips roamed against hers with a demanding pressure, until she had no choice but to open slightly, and he took full advantage of her weakened defenses to slip his tongue past her teeth. The invasion felt so good she wanted to sag in his arms and let him take every inch of her, but it wouldn't be a proper kiss between them if there wasn't some fight to it. Some bite.

The next time Trent's tongue withdrew, Marianne pursued it. She grazed her teeth along his bottom lip, gently pulling it into her mouth. Trent groaned and recaptured her lip in turn, sucking until she couldn't take it anymore. She could feel a moan building, a real whimper of pleasure that, once unleashed, would change everything between them.

But before her passion could crescendo, Trent drew away once more. He released her lip at the last instant, and it sprang back into place, worried and oversensitive. Marianne longed for him to take it back. He examined her for a moment until he appeared satisfied with what he saw; then he simply slid his hands off her neck and returned to the grill.

Marianne watched as he picked up his bottle of Cherries Brewbilee and took a long drink from it. His eyes shifted to the sky, and his look of contemplation warred with a grin of satisfaction.

"I see what you mean about pairing well," he said. "Sometimes the things you least expect to go well together taste better than anticipated. Ready for corn?"

Marianne wanted to scream. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to climb into Trent's lap and pick up exactly where they left off, until that maddening little smile of his vanished and he got back to more important business.

Instead, she back dropped down into the chair beside him. "Yes, please."

Once his back was turned, Marianne took a very unladylike swig of her beer. She had a feeling she would need all the strength she could muster to get through this evening, after that kiss.