Page 225 of Love Bites

The first place we checked out was located in a narrow gulley on the way up to Terry Peak. Several cars and a pickup sat in the drive. An Open House sign and the sweet smell of fresh-baked cookies drew us inside.

Upon entering, I nodded to the redheaded real estate agent who was acting as hostess, noticing her petite-yet-busty frame. Harvey did too. His whispered comment was flattering, admiring her tight silk dress; mine was a tad snarky.

We shook our heads at the mustard-colored living room carpet and walked through the first doorway on the left—a bedroom.

Harvey let out a low whistle. “These pink walls remind me of a brothel where I used to hang my hat in Nevada.”

I nudged him with my elbow, my face warming as a young couple over by the closet hit us with a pair of frowns.

Harvey ignored me. “What was the name of that beauty with the big bottom? Oh, yeah, Wet Willy.”

I cleared my throat, glaring at him.

“She sure loved horses. She used to strap this saddle on my back and ride to town, whoopin’ and hollerin’ the whole time.”

The couple was gaping now, disgust mirrored on their faces.

Criminy!I pushed him into the kitchen, where a batch of chocolate chip cookies cooled on a plate. I grabbed two when the redhead wasn’t looking; Harvey nabbed three. They tasted pre-made. Figured. She didn’t look like the Betty Crocker type. More like Jessica Rabbit with talons.

A gray-haired man with an anchor tattoo on his left arm entered the kitchen. Harvey’s mouth kicked back into drive, his anecdote including a Navy buddy, an exotic Spanish dancer, and a handful of numbered Ping-Pong balls. By the time he’d finished, Miss Rabbit hovered, red lips squeezed tight, nostrils flared.

I took the hint and hightailed it out of there. Having learned my lesson on exposing Harvey to other clients, I headed to the house in which Doc had experienced his gardenia-inspired allergic reaction. When I pulled up in front and found no other cars in the drive, my shoulders sagged in relief.

Twenty minutes later, I stood next to the stainless-steel fridge while Harvey inspected the cupboard under the sink, confirming the new-copper-plumbing claim listed on the brochure. The smell of Pine-sol and Lemon Pledge wafted around me, making me wonder if the owner had an air freshener stowed somewhere.

My thoughts returned to last night’s ending and the kiss that never happened. “You were wrong,” I told Harvey, leaning against the counter with my arms crossed. “Wolfgang is not gay.”

“Then he’s the purtiest man I’ve ever seen,” Harvey said from inside the cupboard. “What makes you so sure he’s not?”

“I went out on a date with him last night.”

“That doesn’t make him straight.”

“He kissed me good night,” I fibbed, kind of.

Had Wolfgang and I not been interrupted by another of Aunt Zoe’s neighbors, Mr. Stinkleskine, who was moonlighting as a Peeping Tom while taking his Chihuahua out for a potty break, we would have played some serious tonsil hockey. As it turned out, voyeurism was a major turn-off for both of us. Instead, all I’d gotten was a peck on the lips and a “see you next week.”

Harvey grunted, backed out of the cupboard, and with my helping hand, returned to his feet. “With or without tongue?”

His question made me squirm for a second. “Harvey, that’s none of your business.”

He grinned. “Fine, but tell me this—was it just a single kiss, or was it several all lumped together.”

I tugged on the collar of my sleeveless dress. Discussing the particulars with Harvey of a barely-existent kiss was not what I’d planned when I brought up the subject. “I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.”

“What? I was taken away by the whole moment.”

His narrow eyes held mine. “Until you sleep with him, I’m not buying he’s straight.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to call you with the details if that time comes.”

“What do you mean ‘if’? Did you wear your hair down or up?”

“Mostly up.” I pushed away from the counter and headed for the French doors leading into the backyard. I needed some air before the dew on my back turned into a full-on sweat.

Harvey followed me outside. “You should have worn it down. Men like long hair.”

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