Page 124 of Headed for Home

A soft hum is paired with a nod.

“If the shade isn’t right—”

“No!” She startles at her own voice. “It’s perfect.”

And just like that, I feel ten feet tall and capable of anything. “Good. That’s, uh… really good.” I scrub at the prickles spreading across the back of my neck. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you,” Callie murmurs. She dips her face, but there’s no hiding the smile that’s likely to spark a heatwave. Or the way she bites her bottom lip.

It’s no wonder that I find myself staring at her. Shamelessly. But I quickly recall how our exchange began. Those handful of utterances she gave me are a big step. I won’t test my luck.

“Um. Is there anything else I can do for you? While I’m here, I mean?” The initial deed is done, but I’ll gladly stick around for more.

Red splotches appear on her cheeks. Before my mind can take a dirty turn trying to picture what’s causing that blush, she shakes her head.

I shove my hands in my pockets and prepare to leave. “Well, I did what I came to do. I’ll be next door if you need me.”

Callie peeks at me from beneath her lowered lashes. “Bye, Ridge.”

My foot catches in the grass and I barely keep myself upright. Damn, I’ve been waiting a long time to hear that. What I’ve been imagining doesn’t come close to the real deal. My name from her lips is a burst of sweetness wrapped in sinful delight. I’m already addicted and thinking of ways to have her call out to me on repeat.

But first, I need to regain control of myself.

Score on Youis available now on Amazon. Continue reading here!

Be sure to read Garrett and Grace’s book—Yours to Catch—as well as Harper and Jake’s enemies to lovers romance—Wrong for You.

And Paisley’s book is coming next to start a new series of standalones. You can preorder here!

Want more country romance?Leave Him Lovedis a friends to lovers, small town romance that you’ll love. Here’s an excerpt from Reeve and Audria to get you in the mood.

“Whoa, easy there.”

I spin on my heel at the gritty timbre, feeling like a spooked horse.Is he trying to soothe me? Make sure I don’t trigger a stampede?Those thoughts vanish as I take my first decent glance at the man.

When I picture a hunk of farm-raised hotness, Scott Eastwood fromThe Longest Ridepops into my brain. This guy couldn’t be farther from that stereotype. He’s dark and broody without leather chaps or a Western shirt in sight. Broad shoulders, toned muscles, and a trim waist fill my vision. His white T-shirt is tight enough to hint at a set of defined abs. It’s no wonder my arm is still vibrating from the impact. Without shame, I admit my mouth waters at the idea of tracing those washboard lines. I would gladly volunteer to scale him faster than a hayloft ladder.

The logo on his hat is familiar. Carhartt has a recognizable enough stamp, even to someone detached from country style. I’m pretty sure their apparel is made with heavy-duty labor in mind. Back home, the brand is popular with the hipster crowd. I have a feeling this guy didn’t choose the label to be trendy. Maybe he’s more purposeful about his fashion statements than I’m giving him credit for. He makes a ball cap look ultra-sexy, regardless of his purpose. As if hearing my thoughts, his stare bores into me from the shadows under the curled brim.

The chance to offer a polite apology and salvage my manners is vanishing with each stilted breath. I nearly choke on the buckets of sand lodged in my throat. “Shit… I mean, shoot. I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

Painful silence is all that greets me. It seems the stranger is too busy giving my body a full scan. I shift my weight from the blatant perusal. The need to fidget needles at me.Is he sizing me up because I’m seriously lacking in the height department?A tiny nudge from me certainly wouldn’t result in serious damage—to his flexing physique or otherwise. To be fair, anyone over six feet makes me look like a shrimp. I wait several seconds for a response, but he remains disturbingly quiet.

Taking the hint, I creep toward a stack of small baskets and prepare to sulk off without causing further injury. “Um, okay then. I’ll just be moving along.”

He blinks at me, drawing attention to his alluring gaze.

“Wow, are you wearing contacts?” I squint at him like some sort of stage-five creeper.

If possible, his frown dips lower. “No.”

“I’m aware that it’s super weird for a stranger to randomly ask. Your eyes are just really blue.”

“And yours are brown,” he deadpans.

Speaking of, I’m not scoring any brownie points with this guy. “Solid observation. Isn’t it rare to have light eyes with dark hair?”

“Can I question the same for your blond hair and dark eyes? Unless you use dye.”

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