Page 19 of Too Delicious

When the screen door slaps behind me, Cooper looks up and smiles. My insides threaten to turn to goo at the picture of him grinning up at me, leaning on his shovel, sweat dripping down his chest. But I keep it together by reminding myself, this is a trap. He’s trying to confuse and confound me into becoming more than friends, and it won’t work.

I’m not looking for a relationship, as I’m not fully healed from the last one. I might live alone for the rest of my life, which will be fine with me.

“‘Morning.”

I return Cooper’s broad smile with a smaller one, padding down the deck steps in my bare feet, holding his drink. “Good morning. I have your caffeine order.”

He eyes me suspiciously then removes his gardening cloves. He takes the jar, examining the contents.

“Just coffee? What are you concocting here, Dr. Frankenstein?”

I laugh. “It’s my take on Kentucky coffee.”

“Sweet! Thanks,” he says, taking it and downing it in one go.

I try not to stare at the cords on his neck while he drinks, or at the Adam’s apple bobbing. Or at his bare trapezius muscles, or how he looks more tan and ripped than last week.

I swallow.

“You’re welcome,” I say, my throat dry.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but he still has a coffee mustache, which is too freaking adorable.

“How is it? I was thinking of some new after-hours coffee flavors for Little Spoon.”

“Delicious. Too delicious first thing in the morning, but I’m not driving anywhere.”

This pleases me, then I remember why I really came out here.

“May I ask what you are doing with all of this?” I ask, gesturing to the cement, the posts, flowers, and equipment nearby.

He once again leans on his shovel and it’s all I can do not to sigh at his supermodel good looks. “Well, I was just thinking the other day, you could really use a fence. And if you have a fence, you should have a garden bed to border it. That’ll make it really pretty back here.”

I’m not going to admit that he read my mind.

“But that was just me babbling. I’ve got nothing to fence in.”

He shrugs. “Want a dog?”

No, Harmony. Don’t go there. You must steel yourself.

“No,” I lie.

“Well, it’ll give you some privacy then.”

“This can’t keep happening.”

“What can’t keep happening?”

“You. This is too much.”

“It’s not too much. I like to keep busy.”

I fight the urge to tell him to find a hobby. Because…I don’t actually want him to find a hobby.

I’m in this weird space between feeling obligated to him for all the work and money he’s put into the business and the house, and wanting him around because he’s good company. And really good to look at.

“Then, could you please put a shirt on?”

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