Page 13 of The Maine Attraction

Her forehead creases. “What’s the difference?”

“Crochet uses one hook. Knitting uses two needles. The results are different, too.”

“How?”

“I’ll show you later.”

I wait for her to laugh at me or ridicule me, but she doesn’t. “What are you working on?”

“Pants for Lindy.” I show her the pickle print.

“She will absolutely love these!”

I show her to the guest room. “As you probably remember from the tour the other day, you have a private bathroom. It’s small but has a full-size bathtub.”

“It’ll be perfect, thank you.” She tosses the suitcase on the bed and looks up at me. “Well, if we’re going to get everything finished, we should start right away. I think the kitchen cabinets are a good place to start.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

She grins. “I like the sound of that.”

For the rest of the morning, we remove cabinets doors, sand them, and prime them for a fresh coat of paint. While the primer dries, we get started spackling holes and cracks in the walls.

By the end of the day, the cabinet doors and the walls are ready to be painted. Charley’s brought several options for me to look at, and we stare at the color swatches before simultaneously reaching for the one labeledHoney Wheat.

“For the walls?” she asks.

I nod. “I think it’ll look great. Still a neutral but with a pop of color.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

We’re in sync as we work, and it’s both odd and wonderful at the same time. As the next few days pass by, I find myself more and more drawn to her. I find myself looking for reasons to touch her. Even just brushing fingertips as I hand her a paint roller sends a jolt of electricity through my body.

One night, unable to sleep after dreaming of her, I realize that I’m starting to develop feelings for her. I spend the next few hours crocheting a hooded scarf for her.

The following morning is chilly. She bounces on the soles of her feet as she makes coffee, clearly trying to warm up. I drape the new scarf over her shoulders.

She fingers the fabric and smiles. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

I smile back. “I made it just for you.” My smile grows as I realize she’s the first person I’ve ever said that to outside of my direct family.

“Thank you,” she says again, standing on her tiptoes and brushing her lips gently against mine. It’s over in the blink of an eye and she glances away quickly.

“Charley,” I whisper, my voice gruff. I pull her toward me and nuzzle my nose against hers. “I want to kiss you.”

She licks her lips, and my insides turn to jelly. “You do?”

I nod, desperate to feel her lips on mine. “I need to kiss you.”

“You don’t hate me anymore?”

I rest my forehead against hers. “I don’t think I ever hated you, sweetheart. Not really. You’ve just always gotten under my skin. And now—”

I tilt her chin up with my forefinger and lower my face to hers. The kiss is tentative, gentle, at first. But the need, the urgency to claim her with my mouth builds until I can no longer control myself. I bury my hands in her hair and deepen the kiss. She groans, dipping her hands beneath the hem of my t-shirt and letting her fingertips explore the planes of my chest.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless.

“I think you may be my Prince Charming,” she whispers.

“I want to be,” I admit.

“Maybe this thing between us doesn’t have to be fake?”

“It’s not fake. Not for me. But we still have one major challenge ahead of us.”

She licks her lips. “What’s that?”

“My mother,” I say ominously.

“We have two whole days before then,” Charley says, rising on her toes for another kiss.

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