Page 33 of So Wrong It Must Be Right

Carter reminded her of an artist. His mind was filled withfarmlike some people’s minds were filled withart, and there was very little room left for anything else in his life.

She smiled a little at that, because she wasallorder and focus, and maybe she was a little bit of what Carter might need.

She got dressed and had to roll her eyes at herself a bit. She believed in optimism, wholeheartedly, but even she was getting a little too optimistic about her idea.

“One step at a time,” she told herself, stepping outside the bedroom when she was completely dressed. She still needed her shoes, and would head back to her apartment for a shower and change of clothes. Based on the amount of light coming through the windows, she thought she must have slept later than she had yesterday morning.

She stopped in the small hallway as the smell of something surprising hit her.

Coffee.

She padded into the kitchen, and though it was empty—Carter was surely out working in his little fields—there was the strangest sight on the stovetop. Something she might not have recognized if not for the smell emanating from it.

It looked kind of like a teapot, but rustier and taller. Still, the smell coming from it was definitely coffee.

Which he said he didn’t drink, which meant he’d bought and made some just for her. She blinked at the odd little pot and tried to breathe through the tightness in her chest. He’d gotten something he didn’t like but knew she did, and she tried to think of the last time someone had done something selflessly kind for her.

It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt big and it hit her hard, and she was disgusted with herself for feeling a little teary. It was just coffee. At most, he’d gone to the store and bought a little bag or can. Why should that touch her?

Because it meant he listened, and thought, anddid. A combination she didn’t know if she’d ever encountered in a guy before, which probably said a lot more about the people she knew than it said about Carter.

Hesitantly, she stepped toward the stovetop. There was a mug with a little note balanced on top.

Coffee is cheap, but might do the trick. Sugar in the pantry, milk in the fridge. Feel free to drink all.—C

Dinah swallowed and looked around furtively before she slipped the note into her pocket. She had a lot of emails from the man, but this was handwritten, and it was . . . sweet. Really, really sweet.

Shereallyneeded to get her head together.

The screen door to the back screeched open and Carter stepped inside the kitchen. “Good, you found the coffee.”

His hands were wet, as though he’d washed them before he’d come inside, and yet they were still stained with dirt. Around his fingernails, in the grooves of his skin. He even had a smudge of it on his forehead under the brim of his baseball cap.

His dark eyes studied her and she didn’t know what he was looking for. She found she didn’t know how to act around him this morning, what with the coffee and the possible ideas for him and Gallagher’s rolling around in her head. Withrealitya possibility.

“Um. Yes. Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate that,” she managed, turning from him and focusing on pouring herself some coffee. She had to find D, and all that effortless flirtatious charm that came out when she was around C.

Who’d bought and made her coffee. Of his own volition. Yeah, she’d need at least this full cup to find some sense of calm over that.

She stood with her back to him, staring at the inky brown liquid. It looked to be a little weaker than she preferred, but how could she care? He’d made her coffee. No one made her coffee.

Seriously, you’d think he’d showered you with millions. Calm it down.

“So, what farm business have you been up to this morning?”

She could hear him moving around the kitchen behind her, but she wasn’t quite steady enough to watch him yet.

“Spraying down the pumpkins with some mold killer. Harvested a butt-load of zucchini. Some broccoli and beans. Market day tonight over in Maplewood.”

She took a breath and turned to face him. He was pulling slices of bread out of a bag. “Toast?” he asked, holding up a piece of bread. “I’ve got some jelly my neighbor made out of my blackberries.”

“You’re quite the pioneer, aren’t you?”

He smiled, and it didn’t have that sexy, predatory edge his smiles normally did. It was just a sleepy, morning smile and her heart pinched. She probably needed to get the hell out of here.

“As I opt for indoor plumbing and electricity, pioneer doesn’t seem quite apt.” Since she’d nodded her assent on the toast situation, he placed the bread into the toaster and pushed the handle down.

She sipped her coffee and considered the rumpled farmer before her. Farmer, of all damn things. “I might stop by the market tonight.”

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