Gaining strength, she let out her own low laugh, arching her eyebrows, taking him in, trying to focus on the crisp September air instead of his musky scent. Or the way the shadows played up his bad-b
oy mystique. “I imagine you don’t often get told no.”
“Another compliment. For someone who is rejecting me, you’re doing it very nicely.” Voice still throaty, he swallowed, eyes fixed on hers.
“So you hear me saying no to your advance?”
He shook his head, the line of his lips growing taut. Sincere. “I hear you. No is no. I just want you to remember I still feel the same way. I want to kiss you. Very much. And if you decide you want to act on this attraction, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
The courtyard dimmed ever so slightly. The moody stars seemed brighter as the lights from the B and B went out one by one. People were making their way to bed. She ought to be moving in that direction, too. Away from Max. Away from the way his aqua stare sent her reeling.
“You assume the attraction is mutual.” A lame defense. She knew it as soon as the words flicked from her tongue into the night air.
He stayed quiet and held her gaze.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Attraction exists. But I think it’s fair to say people don’t act every time they’re attracted to someone.” She looked past him, toward the street. A neighbor walking a border collie shuffled by in a half daze. The sound of gravel shifting beneath paws and feet gave her something else to focus on besides the tempting muscled man in front of her.
“Touché.”
“You’re conceding?” Narrowing her eyes, she tucked a few strands of hair behind ear, unconvinced.
Max passed the now-empty beer bottle from hand to hand, the green glass glinting. “Not giving in. Just noting your point, since you noted mine. We are attracted to each other. I consider that a huge win. I’m a patient man, especially when the stakes are important.” He leaned forward, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Very important.”
“A kiss? Really?” She’d never met a man patient for a kiss.
He leaned close, so close his breath caressed her face. “Yes, really. What I believe is going to be a really amazing kiss.”
He smiled at her, collecting his empty bottle and her glass as he stood. His absence allowed for the light breeze to brush her exposed skin, leaving her aware of just how close they’d been sitting. How easy it would have been to act on any of her feelings and temptations. How she simply could not allow herself to do that.
As if she needed another reminder. Watching him walk back to the B and B, Natalie swallowed hard.
Just a boarder. Maybe if she repeated that enough times, it’d be true. Glancing up at the muted stars, Natalie realized it would be quite some time before she would find sleep.
* * *
Next to the kitchen, the craft room was Natalie’s favorite place to spend time creating—everything from her dresses to accessories she sold in The Courtyard. The little artisanal mall was a big hit in town, and a nice source of extra income for her stretched budget.
She knew she was lucky to have a creative outlet that blended with her life as a single mom. In a house drenched in color riffs of reds and yellows—remnants, in some ways, of a Texas sunset—the craft room boasted a lighter, airy setting. The light sea-foam-green wall stood in contrast to the other cream walls. Tufts of tulle, lace and silky fabrics huddled in the corner, sparking whimsy into Natalie’s life.
She ruffled through the half-finished sketches of bridal dresses on the glass desk rimmed with gold, nearly knocking over the arrangement of blue hydrangeas—her favorite.
The room itself, such a stark contrast to the rest of her house, made her feel like she’d stepped into a fairy-tale land. A place outside the reality of her existence. A place where she channeled the grief of losing her husband into more productive, selfless endeavors.
Like running a small, custom-wedding-gown business. Sewing was threaded throughout her entire life for as far back as Natalie could remember. Great-grandmother Elisa had taught her to crochet, and after that Natalie found the act of creation comforting. She’d soon transitioned into sewing, sketching and eventually designing her own clothes.
Natalie had always found art in these moments of baking and sewing. These weren’t merely goods to be sold, but pieces of her soul she sent out into the world.
Turning away from the desk after consulting the sketch, she tried not to think of the man staying in the room above. Focus on the here and now. In a slight state of disarray, she noted the piles of airy fabric in her three sewing machines—evidence of her works in progress. More than just her work, it was her creative outlet. A piece of the world just for her.
In the very back corner behind the white couch accented with gold pillows, where her two friends were sipping mimosas, she smiled at the completed gown—a wispy lacy dress with a sweetheart neckline. Perfect for a boho bride. Their figures formed a silhouette against the drawn blind to keep prying eyes out. No one needed to see the masterpiece until after it was complete and the bride made her debut.
Even with the blinds drawn shut, an expansive skylight allowed golden September light to wash over the room, adding to the otherworldly airiness.
Sketch in hand, Natalie made her way to the white couch where Emily Knox sat, green eyes rolling back as she bit into one of the apple turnovers. She swallowed and dabbed her pink lips with a napkin, a smile forming on her whole face. “You have outdone yourself this time, Natalie.” Emily placed the turnover back down on the glass-and-gold coffee table, her nimble, long fingers finding the champagne flute.
Natalie couldn’t help thinking about the drink with Max, how easy it had been to talk to him, to lean into his touch. How quickly he’d filled her home, her thoughts, her life.
Emily took a sip of the mimosa and then raised her glass to Natalie, appreciation radiating from her eyes and her yum. After she set the glass down on the table, Emily carefully arranged the knickknacks and uneaten pastries, pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. She fluffed her honey-brown hair, content to review her image. Emily saw photographically, and her ranch-based home provided a continual canvas of inspiration.