Page 45 of Building What's Meant to Be

Forget small town. This is the big leagues.

Aiden Fuller first thing in the morning is a sight to behold. Meanwhile, I look like I asked the raccoon or whatever it was that paid me a midnight visit for a makeover.

Morning-Aiden comes through the bathroom-ette door on a billow of steam at the same time he pulls a black T-shirt over his head. But first, I get a peek at his chiseled abs. There are dips and lines and crown molding.

Slightly damp, his skin glistens like a real-life aftershave ad. Considering he’s a finance guy and probably spends a lot of time in an office, he also sports a slight tan. Could be from working outdoors on his property? Maybe he works remotely...here in this trailer? He did mention an office in town. Perhaps part of his run for mayor?

My future plans are about as mushy as my brain at the moment. All I can think isBoys, take a number. There is a man in town.

There is nothing mushy about this man. Firm muscles, strong hands, and a just shaved jawline that has authority all its own. His blue eyes land on me, staring like the ultimate fangirl. I can’t even hide it or pretend otherwise because my eyes are so big they probably fill the trailer. My mouth hangs slack like the stereotypical movie depiction of a half-witted Hillbilly. If there were flies to catch, I wouldn’t need breakfast.

This must be the new me...and cut! Just call it a wrap. I’ve become a country bumpkin in less than twenty-four hours. The transformation is complete because if this is how they build men in the country, I’m hooked. Addicted, and I’ll never go back.

Aiden smooths his palm through his wet hair, leaving it tousled.

Have mercy. I’m new at this! A girl can only take so much at once.

Yes, of course, I’ve seen many outrageously attractive men in my life. Name an actor or musician on the “Top 50 Most Desirable Men Alive” list and chances are we’ve “Canoodled.” Not sure what that means in this context, but the gossip bloggers who post images of me and these “Examples of Man Candy” can give you the official definition. Take Taylor Whitmer for instance. He was rated “Cutest Country Musician” for three years running. I sure know how to pick ‘em. However, not one of them made me feel like this.

I don’t know whatthisis, but it comes with a blush that goes beyond my cheeks. It also includes butterflies that are likely from the Jurassic period with the way their wings flap-flap-flap in my belly, and a center of gravity that leans more north than south.

My entire body swoops in his just-out-of-the-shower presence.

“Good morning.” Aiden’s voice has a hint of early-hour sleepiness that curls around his subtle and smooth southern drawl.

“Howdy,” I reply only it sounds more like “Help!” because I slide off the edge of the narrow bed and somehow end up twisted like a pretzel around the table legs. Have I mentioned the trailer is an incredibly compact space?

Aiden rushes over, intoxicating me with his soapy, aftershave scent. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Not struck, er stuck.” Not struck by your impossibly hunky first-thing-in-the-morning look or your dripping tousled brown hair. Not the lazy smile that suggests you know why I’m staring and falling all over myself. I’m not gawking either. Nope. Not at all.

I clear my throat. “Just thought I dropped something.”

My dignity? Yep. It’s right here under this table.

Aiden extends his hand to help me up. Doing so requires a few grunts and the twisting of my limbs. Good thing I own loads of fashionable yoga apparel yet have never taken a class.

I straighten, brush off, and then blow a loose piece of hair out of my face. “Oh, and that was a new, exotic fitness program calledGoga—it’s an exclusive variation of yoga and is meant to be done on the go, in hotels, on vacation, on a man-cation,” I add just to remind myself.

Aiden silent-chuckles like he knows I’m full of beans...and butterflies. His expression has the look of amused laughter but without the sound. “I have a few calls to make. You can find me outside when you’re ready.” He glances at the chunky, masculine platinum watch around his wrist. “You have a little less than an hour.”

“Less than an hour?”

“Yeah. Figured that was more than enough time to get ready. Remember? It’s your first day at Sweethearts.”

That’s pennies when it comes to time. “You’ve never had a woman living in your trailer, have you?”

“No, but I grew up with two sisters. I made an approximation. Mae takes twenty minutes. If we’d let her, Bess wouldn’t come downstairs for an hour and twenty.”

“Try three hours, Aiden. That’s how long my routine takes, at least.”

“Rhondy is expecting you at six sharp so get your hustle on. Oh, and skip the sequins today. Health codes.” Aiden opens the door to exit.

I holler after him, “I planned to run that dress over, leave it to stew in the sewer, and then burn the thing.”

He goes still. “Don’t you dare.”

I frown at the finality in his tone. “What? Why not?”

---