Page 8 of Love You Too

But Is this whatIwant?

If you asked the guy with a twenty-two-year-old heart that never forgot Beatrix Corbett, he’d say that yes, it’s what I want. However, the thirty-two-year-old man standing before her isn’t so sure that sex is the only thing he wants from this incredible woman. But if that’s all she’s willing to give me, my greedy heart would ready accept it. My dick would too.

So I walk to my car without turning around. Just hoping she’s following me.

CHAPTER 3

Idon’t follow Ren back to his house. I think about it. I think about it as I get into my car and drive to the exit of the parking lot, but I don’t do it.

Because it would be ridiculous, and I don’t do ridiculous.

I’m not a woman who follows men to their houses just because I need a hookup. And I especially don’t follow heartbreaking ex-boyfriends anywhere.

I have an inn to renovate, a restaurant to run, and a list of design tasks as long as my arm. Those things are my focus, not Dominick Renaldi. So I wait behind him and signal to turn left like he does, but once he’s firmly headed down the road, I make a hard right and take the scenic route back to Buttercup Hill.

The tall oaks that flank the road to the winery perfume the air with a scent that defined my childhood—the smell of endless summer afternoons, dry earth baking under the sun, crunchy leaves combined with the fruit from hearty vines. A sense of calm washes over me as I drive up the lane to my house on the property where each of my siblings has a home.

Kicking off my shoes and dropping the stack of fabric samples on my white marble kitchen table, I can’t dislodge thejarring idea of Ren living nearby. As hard as I try not to think of him, that’s how hard my brain forces the image of his muscled arms back into my mind. The one saving grace is that the hockey season is long, and he’s new to the Otters, so he’ll probably disappear soon enough.

That thought lulls me to sleep after a long day, and by the next day, Ren is out of sight, out of mind.

Two days after that, I’m focused on blue paint. Sometime between three and five in the morning, I had an inspiration for the spiral staircase in the inn—it should be painted a deep marine blue to offset a tiny blue detail in the bold-patterned green wallpaper. For a month, something hadn’t been working in the color scheme. No matter what I did, the room looked too much like a forest, with a heavy green and brown emphasis. Dark wood, green walls…boring.

But blue…I could already see how it would be the right neutral to make the design pop.

I rush to the paint store the moment it opens to see if my instinct was correct. Leaning toward the passenger seat to grab my purse, I have one leg out of the car when I feel my ankle covered in…slobber?

No.No.

“No!” A now-familiar voice growls in the distance, and I look down to see the contented face of Truman blinking up at me as his tongue takes another swipe at my leg.

A moment later, there’s Ren, leash in hand, slightly out of breath. “Sorry.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you following me?”

“That’s funny. If I was, I’m doing a better job of it than you the other day.” It takes me a second to recognize the look on his face because it’s so unfamiliar, but I realize that it’s hurt. His smile sags at the corners, and the playfulness is missing from his eyes. Like it’s not just busted ego, but true disappointment.

“I didn’t think we were really serious about…all that.” I don’t intend to bring up my unintentional booty call, but my face goes hot thinking about it.

He shrugs, eyes regaining a bit of their spark. “Guess I thought you were more interested in design than you are.”

My competitive side can’t help but protest. “Iaminterested.”

He shrugs again and lassos Truman with the leash. “That why you’re stalking my paint store?” He nudges me with an elbow, and I don’t have time to brace my body for the way my heart races at the tiny touch.

“It’s not your store. It’s the best paint store in the area.”

The owner props open the front door and Ren shudders. “I still have PTSD from all the shades of white.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and I can’t help but be amused by his fear of paint.

“So why come back?” I meet his eyes and let myself enjoy their calming warmth.

“I’m not a quitter.” His jaw flexes and I see determination that I recognize in myself.

I indicate the open door with my head. “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

Ren sitson the floor of the paint store with about a hundred different paint samples scattered around him like a color wheel. They’re all variations on white, and I can barely notice a difference, but to Ren, it’s like splitting the atom.

“Which one do you like?” I’ve already picked the shades of blue I want and have them in a canvas tote bag. Ren looks as green as the Forest Lichen paint sample.

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