Page 20 of Fighting Words

I swear the corner of his mouth rises.

God.

That mouth. I know Alice has felt that mouth on her body. I’ve never been more jealous of another human being, and I once watched a lady snag the last pair of size-8 thigh-high boots at a Stuart Weitzman after-season sale.

“Just making conversation,” Nate replies.

“By the way, we just passed an inn.” I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “And I think I saw a hotel back there too. I thought you told me there was nowhere for me to stay in town?”

He frowns, keeping his eyes on the road. “This time of year, there isn’t. A few shops and restaurants are open with restricted hours, but the hotels in town aren’t letting rooms. They’re only open for the festival crowds in the summer. You could find a place in Kendal, but you don’t have a car and there’s not a train to get there.”

“So you’re really okay with letting a perfect stranger live with you?”

He shrugs. “You’re an employee of InkWell. You’ve been vetted and checked a thousand times over, I’m sure.” He looks over as if scoping me out. I know it’s meant to be teasing, but the way his eyes draw down my body, I swear there’s heat behind it. Then, finally, he adds, “I’ll take my chances.”

I shift in my seat and look out the window. “Right. It’s probably me who should be worried. You’re the recluse author, the man living by himself in the middle of nowhere…”

“Scared?” he asks lightly.

I know it’s meant to be a joke, but the question rings true.

Yeah, I am.

Terrified, actually.

CHAPTER 7

NATE

I haven’t sharedmy space with someone in years, not since before I moved to England. This cottage has only ever beenmyhome. My kitchen has only ever beenmykitchen, but when I walk downstairs in the evening after showering, I find Summer destroying it.

Well…destroying is a strong word. She could possibly be cleaning? The trash bin is sitting over near the sink, overflowing with junk she’s pulled out of the cupboards and fridge.

“You’ve been busy” is my passive-aggressive way of calling her out.

She spins around and smiles, propping her hands on her hips. She’s wearing jeans and a white V-neck, her sweater tied around her waist. Her strawberry blonde hair is twisted up on top of her head. A few strands slip free of the knot and frame her face.

I shouldn’t notice the way her t-shirt stretches a little too tight across her chest. I shouldn’t notice a lot of things about her.

“I took the liberty of organizing the fridge.” She pulls it open to show me and then sweeps her arms out Vanna White style. “Got rid of a few expired condiments.”

By few, she means a lot.

I frown and step up beside her so I can lean down and inspect her work. “Those were best-by dates, not expiration dates,” I point out, annoyed that she’s already messing things up. My fridge looks empty now. Where’d all the food go?

“Yes, well, I’m used to yellow mustard, notgreen,” she says playfully.

I stand up to my full height again and look down at her. We’re close enough now that I can pick apart all the varying green hues in her eyes. Beautiful.

I look at her mouth and frown. “I want my mustard back.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Go digging.”

She’s pointing to the trash bin. I have half a mind to actually do it.

“Now, I’m happy to label things mine and yours,” she continues, “but it seems silly. We can share if you’re okay with that. I promise I won’t eat all of your chocolate.” She notices my alarmed reaction, and it makes her laugh. “Don’t worry.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t throw away the bar you had on that shelf.”

I tug a hand through my damp hair, and it makes me shiver. It’s cold in here. I haven’t put the fire on yet.

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