I don’t want that.
At all.
I’m not in the market for more babies, for another pregnancy.
And for a second—no, for several seconds—my heart is an anchor, weighing me down with a heaviness I shouldn’t feel.
After all, the man lives next door to me. That’s reason enough to shove all these errant tingles into a metaphorical closet and ignore them until they go away.
Surely they’ll go away soon.
These tingles come from airborne lust particles. From the yummy, clean, woodsy scent of him. From the empirically handsome face he happens to possess.
That’s all. He’s easy on the eyes.
Nothing more.
I’ll adjust, get used to it, and I won’t think twice about the flip my heart executes when he flashes those big brown eyes at me.
I fasten on a smile. “Since you want a family, I’d say it’s a good thing we moved you away from the man-cave furniture,” I say, doing my best to keep the mood light. I sweep my arm out to indicate the store and the mission of the day. “You’re getting a whole new look for the settling-down phase of your life.”
“No more bachelor pad furniture, thanks to your help.” He takes a beat, then with serious eyes, he asks, “What about you? Any settling down in your future? More kids?”
I gasp, shrinking back. “More kids? No. I’m still working up the nerve to adopt a cat. With my kid a mere three years away from college”—I stop to pat my belly—“I’m good with keeping the shop closed.”
“Cat, kid . . . What’s the difference, really?” he asks, holding his hands out as if weighing both options. “And when will this cat come into your life?”
“Ripley?”
His forehead knits in confusion. “What’s that?”
“I’m going to name my future cat Ripley.”
“Not Every Other Week or 1982?”
I stare sharp knives at him. “Ripley, as in the badass alien hunter from four flicks.”
“Do you want your future cat to hunt aliens?”
“Look, if aliens are coming, that’s a damn good time to have an alien-hunting cat.”
“True. I like a woman who plans ahead,” he says. “When will we meet Ripley?”
I shrug. Took me long enough to start my business—I bet it takes me longer to commit to a pet. “It could be anywhere from three days to ten years. And what about you? When are you going to start dating?”
The question comes out sticky, like each word is glued to my tongue.
But what the hell?
He can date.
He should date.
“Soon. Very soon.”
“Online, I presume?”
“Tinder, here I come.” He sounds excited, but there’s some trepidation too. “Once I get settled in at my dad’s practice, I’ll start up a LovesToCookShowerYouwithGiftsandGiveFootRubs profile. Think that’s a good dating profile name?”
“I mean, maybe?” I tease. “The only edit, I suppose, would be AlsoGoodinBed.”
Maybe that was too flirty. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
“Ohhh,” he says with a sly grin. “You suppose I’m good in bed?”
My mouth falls open as a flush creeps across my cheeks. I hold up my hands, not wanting to touch that one, even though I started it.
He taps my toe with his. “C’mon. You think I’m probably good in bed. I give off good-in-bed vibes, don’t I?”
And the flush turns into flames. “I’m pleading the fifth.”
“Look, you can sense the truth. I get it. And let’s just be up-front, like you were about the furniture.” He leans a little closer, dropping his voice. “You’re completely right. But . . .” His tone goes low and smoky as he shoots me a dangerous look. “We can call it GreatinBed.”
A myriad of risqué thoughts gallop through my brain, runaway horses heating me up. I have got to wrest control of this conversation. So I take a breath, imagine the air clearing away filthy thoughts of saddling him up for a wild mustang ride, and say, “You came to the right town. The women will be lining up for a guy who cooks, loves animals, and is great in bed.”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he teases.
As we leave, I’m keenly aware of a few key facts.
One, I’m glad he moved next door.
Two, he already feels like a friend.
Three, he is going to be such a hot commodity in Duck Falls.
Later that evening, Alva, though not in the market, texts me to get a jump on everyone else for the details. She asks how the shopping trip went, but I know what she really means, because she follows up with a GIF of a doe-eyed celebrity, batting her lashes and saying, Tell me more.
* * *
January: He’s everything all the women in town whispered he’d be.
* * *
Alva: You lucky bitch. You get to live next door to him.
* * *
January: How does that make me lucky exactly?
* * *
Alva: Because you can just climb out your window when you want to bang him.
* * *
January: Yes, of course. I’ll sneak across the front lawn barefoot in my nightgown and get some lovin’.
