She remembered the sheriff’s warning about small towns and gossip, and not really wishing to be a subject for the rumor mill, though she suspected it would start regardless of what she said, she was vague when she replied, “Just going out.”
“With pie?” Maureen asked before she leaned up against the car, ran her tongue along her teeth and added, “He likes pie.”
Arissa wasn’t surprised; Maureen all but had her binoculars out that first day when Hank had come to the house to stop the flooding. “He saved me from Hilda.” Arissa heard herself saying. Maureen’s expression didn’t change. She stared for a minute before her head tipped back, her blonde locks falling down her back. Her laugh was melodic, like a siren luring sailors to the rocks. Her eyes were sparkling when she said, “He has a way about him.” She stepped back from the car, turned to leave but glanced over her shoulder. “You’re good for him,” she said cryptically before she sauntered back across the street.
Arissa watched her, her words rolling around in her head. There was more to that comment, but regardless…she liked it. Climbing into her car, and starting it up, she punched Hank’s address into the GPS that he’d texted her. “House of the Rising Sun” blared from her speakers as she pulled down her drive and started up the street.
When his house came into view, she couldn’t help the smile because it was the arts and craft style home she’d seen earlier on the way to Ed’s farm. The perfect house, on the perfect patch of land with a view that was unparalleled was Hank Weather’s house. Somehow that seemed fitting. She drove up his long drive, parked behind his SUV and saw the man himself shooting hoops. She didn’t climb out of the car immediately, giving herself a minute to enjoy the sight. And he was a sight in jeans and a tee, his muscles flexing under the cotton as he effortlessly tossed the ball in the hoop. It took effort to pull her gaze from him, before she shut off the engine, reached for the pie and climbed from her car. Walking around it, she took a minute to look around his yard. The front of his house was picture perfect. The kind of home she’d feature on the cover of Southern Charm, but the backyard was even better. Warm, welcoming with a massive deck and teak furniture adorn with dark blue cushions that just begged for a person to take a seat. Large porcelain pots in cobalt blue and hunter green were scattered around the deck, adding a softness to the hard lines with the lush green foliage. A pergola rested over part of the deck, lights strung along it. She could see wisteria climbing through it; the delicate purple flower with its sweet scent, attracting bees and butterflies while offering shade. Maybe she’d suggest that to him.
Hank’s arms were lifted, ready to take a shot, when he glanced behind him. She was here. But what he found alarming was that he never even heard her pull up. Jesus. Was he thinking that hard about her that he lost all sense around him? Her head was turned, taking in his place. He’d give her the time to do that because it gave him the time to take in her. Those sexy as fuck legs were on display again. Jesus. The white lace of her blouse contrasting against the slight tan she had on her skin. He was thankful for the flips flops this time instead of rubber boots.
Arissa’s focus shifted back to Hank; her breath caught because he was no longer shooting hoops, but standing there, ball on his hip, looking back. “This place is amazing,” she said as she started across the drive to him.
Hank glanced to his place before looking back at her. “Thanks.” He smiled because he thought his place was pretty fucking amazing too. He started toward her. “I see you brought more than one dessert?” He caught the quick flush of red that crawled up her neck and onto her cheeks. He didn’t give her time to answer. When he grew closer, he tossed the ball to her. Her soft brown eyes went wide, confusion on what to do came next. When he saw she was going to let the pie plate go, he swiftly took it from her hands. She caught the ball, then took a deep breath.
“Glad one of us has good reflexes,” Arissa said, then teased, “It would be a crime to drop a perfectly good cherry pie.”
Hank winked at her. “There’s other pie to eat.” His gaze drifted down her body, lingering at the juncture between her legs before he said, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” He started toward the patio.
Arissa’s legs went weak. The man was not shy, and, damn, it felt nice being on the receiving end of his particular brand of charm.
Hank gestured to the hoop. “You can just toss it over there.”
Arissa tossed the ball in the direction of the barn then followed Hank inside. If the outside was picture perfect, the inside was lived in, homey and somehow even more appealing. Heavy oak furniture, a stone fireplace, hardwood floors that were aged and marked but the signs of living only added to their charm. A large woven basket sat near the hearth filled with blankets. The walls were painted a sage green, white wood blinds covered the windows. The kitchen was massive and the window over the sink brought natural light into the space. Herbs in concrete pots lined the window. Arissa smiled to herself because she would guess they hadn’t been planted by Hank. His mom, or a girlfriend, but the touch of feminine in the masculine space worked. She’d wondered about him, and seeing that little
