Page 55 of The Best Wrong Move

I laugh, feeling myself fall somewhere between a potential second orgasm and wanting to wrap myself up in his body, feeling the weight of him, holding me in place while I glide back down to earth from whatever form of ecstasy we just found in each other.

Making a racket was the last thing on my mind, but I realize we probably did anyway. Though I don’t even care about that anymore. Nothing feels further than my past with that man on the other side of the wall. And nothing feels more like my future than the way I feel right now.

Chapter 33

A few days later, I’m heading back from a morning surf session, trying to stave off writer’s block, when I get back up to the townhouse and notice a little black bag sitting in front of my back door. I bring it inside with me and shut the door, hoping it’s from Dom and not my bastard neighbor.

I read the notecard hanging off the side.

Hey gorgeous,

You looked too peaceful to interrupt your surf sesh out there in the waves. These are for you. There’s a garden you can write in behind the house, if you’d like a change of scenery.

Wearing these, of course. Call me for the address.

Dom

P.S. If the asshat next door asks where you’re going, it’s to hang out with me.

I laugh and peek inside the bag. It’s a silky kaftan in cobalt blue, stitched with shimmering gold thread. A heap of the most delicate gold bangles is nestled underneath.

“No way.” The silky, embroidered fabric is stunning. I don’t think I’ve everseenanything so beautiful, let alone owned it.

He must have gotten these after I told him my secret dream of wearing kaftans and writing in beautiful gardens. I laugh and hug the kaftan over my denim shorts and tank top, twirling around once, before adding the bangles down each of my wrists. Then I move my arms, so the bangles clink against each other. They sound like the opening notes of a music box melody.

Grinning, I pull up Dom’s number on my phone, still listed asAirbnb guy, and make a mental note to change that. He answers on the second ring, and I can already hear the smile in his voice when he says my name.

“Liv.”

“I love them,” I immediately tell him, then shake my wrist near the phone so he can hear the bracelets jangle.

“A little granny chic gets you in the mood to write, huh?”

“This is all too much, though, you really shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t even think about it, just enjoy them.” His voice is warm and buttery. “If this is your lifelong dream, you really need to do it right. Starting now.”

I run to the mirror in my bedroom and spin around, beaming at my reflection.

“We’ll talk about this more after you see me in it.” I feel giddy. “I’ve never owned anything so perfect. It’s already making me inspired to write more. You know what else gets me in the mood to write?”

“Snacks?”

I laugh. He’s already seen my growing pile of junk food on the kitchen counter. Those are mostly an excuse to stretch my legs and hit the market a few times a day. Except the Swedish Fish. Those are strictly for eating.

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Where is this garden? What’s the address?”

He tells me the address and Wi-Fi password. As I write it down, I’m over the moon that I’m finally getting invited to his house for once.

“There’s a little bistro table out back with a nice view. I think you’ll love it. I have a few errands to run today for work. But if you’re still around when I get back, I’ll bring something for dinner.”

“Yes, please!” I say, hopefully not too enthusiastically. I’m a terrible cook, and haven’t had a truly homemade meal since I last went home to see my parents.

“I hope you like the garden. It’s kind of my hobby, besides relentlessly bugging my favorite Airbnb tenant,” he says. “It’s my second favorite place to be.”

“And your most favorite?”

“The water,” he says without hesitation.

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