Then, I feel my mouth slowly curling up at the corners. “Iris…” I drift off. My voice is alarmingly hoarse and low.
Nervously, she flicks her tongue across her supple bottom lip. “Hello, Jude.”
3
Iris
Jude Kingston is standing in my living room. Clutching my picture frame in his big hand.
For a second, he seems shaken at the sight of me. That makes me feel marginally better about my own discombobulated state.
But Jude has always been smooth, confident. He quickly snaps out of it. Setting back the photo above the fireplace, he turns to face me and flashes an annoyingly perfect smile. “Iris…”
I lick my bottom lip. It’s a nervous tic that I hope he doesn’t interpret to mean something else. “Hello, Jude.”
As much as I hate to admit it, the man looks good—really, really good—standing in the shadowy room. For some reason, he seems even taller than I remember. His sandy, dark blond hair is darker and longer. His legs are thick logs of muscle encased in gray sweats. His arms are defined and, through his thin white sweater, his chest looks like a damn rock-climbing wall.
And all I can think is how much I don't want him to be standing here. But while children can afford to hold grudges, grown-ass, empty-pocketed, debt-riddled divorcées cannot.
I'm a landlord. And now, he's my tenant.
So, I swallow back my long-held dislike for the guy and approach him, my arm extended ahead of me for a handshake. Because personal feelings aside, this is a business transaction.
Jude takes one look at my outstretched hand and raises a thick eyebrow. And now, he's coming at me, full lips smirking, muscle-bound biceps spread wide to receive me.
In a hug.
Panic sets in when I realize what's happening. Because I don't want to hug this man. For me, even the handshake is pushing it, so chest-to-chest contact is definitely off the table.
Jude obviously didn’t get the memo.
Right at the edge of the rug, I halt in my tracks. When his thick arms envelop me, my toes get tucked beneath the rug. The power of his grip causes my body to heave forward.
An embarrassing, high-pitched sound shoots from my mouth as I fall headfirst into a wall of man chest. My nose smashes so hard against his swollen pectoral, for sure, it’s broken. His taut muscles surround me and swallow my face.
My god—the man’s muscles are concrete.
Gracelessly, I snort in a breath and his masculine scent invades my nasal passages. Instantly, I’m heady like a junkie who just took a huff of liquid testosterone.
"Whoa! You okay there?" His fingers clench painfully tight on my shoulders as he fumbles with his balance. Quickly, he rights me, a slight wince flashing on his face.
Shit, his knee…
I just hurled myself into a man with an injured knee. I feel like the idiot of the day. I take a hasty step backward.
Before I can issue an apology, a brash grin moves in to hide his pained expression. “Damn, girl—that was a throwback to college. Still got coordination issues, huh?”
Ducking my head to hide my blazing cheeks, I set my purse and fall coat down in an armchair. A series of slicing comebacks sit on the tip of my tongue. Still got epic douchelord issues, huh? Still suffering from assclown tendencies? I bite them back and go with a muttered “sorry” instead.
In moments like these, I really hate being the shy girl. Lexi would not have hesitated to put this jerk in his place. But with me, there’s a whole lot that goes on in my head that never makes it out my mouth.
In any case, I’m going to be a gracious hostess. Like the rental app requires. Long after he's gone, I'll still need to be renting this place out. Plus, I made a commitment to myself that I wouldn’t let my divorce turn me into a bitter bitch. I’m too young to be hard and cynical.
"Let me show you around.”
“Lead the way.” Again, his lips quirk into a delicious curve. And internally, I curse his stupid, perfect, dimpled face. A weaker woman would be disarmed by all that ‘pretty’ but I’m sufficiently acquainted with his rancid personality to not be impressed by the man's charm.
I walk him through the living room, dining room and kitchen, pointing out obvious features. “I’ll clean out a section of the fridge for you.”
I pull open the refrigerator door for demonstration purposes and he leans forward to peer inside. “Hell, that's a whole lot of vegetables." He turns up his nose like a kid.
I glare at the side of his head. “Vegetables are good for you.”
He ignores my comment and mutters. “And I guess that explains the smell."
My brows crinkle over narrowed eyes. “Excuse me?"
"Nothing." He straightens and hobbles away from me to open the snack pantry. He groans when he doesn’t find anything to his liking.
Rolling my eyes, I follow after him. "Here are a couple empty cabinets, if you need.”
He nods and continues limping around the room.
I open the backdoor to show my petulant tenant the outdoor space. I gaze out at the part of the property I’m most in love with.
Late-afternoon sunrays dance through the strong, old trees that dot my lush yard. Beyond the vast lawn, tulips, daylilies and California poppies line the fence. Moonflower vines climb the rustic trellis. The vegetable patch is nearly bursting with tomatoes and sweet peppers. Investing my energy into this garden has helped me keep my sanity over the past few months and I’m justifiably proud at how it’s turned out.
"It's beautiful out here," he remarks, gaze moving over the picturesque landscape.
"Yeah."
"You planted all those flowers?"
I fight off the smile budding at
