He fingers a strand of hair out of her face. “I realize we agreed to be just friends, but I can’t ignore the attraction anymore. Give me a reason to stay in Hope Springs, Presley.”
Leaning toward him, she cups the back of his neck and brings his lips to hers, kissing him ever so tenderly. He crushes his mouth to hers, prying open her lips with his tongue, in a kiss that lasts forever and sets her on fire with a passion she’s never known. He stretches out on the sofa, pulling her on top of him. Straddling his waist, she presses her hands to his chest and slides them down his tight abs. When she goes for his belt buckle, it becomes a free-for-all of tugging and unzipping until they’re both naked with her now lying beneath him.
Presley loses count of the number of times they make love. At some point, he carries her from the living room to her bed. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning by the time they’re satiated, their bodies aching all over. They’ve taken a shower together and are lying side by side, limbs intertwined, on the bathroom floor.
“I’ve gotta be at work earlier than you,” she says.
He belts out a slower, more somber version of “Should I Stay or Should I Go.”
Pressing her ear against his chest, she listens to his voice reverberate through his body until the song is over. “I’ll tell you what you should do. You should promise never to deprive me of your talent again.”
“I promise.” He kisses her hair. “Now, answer the question. Do you want me to leave or can I stay?”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t want to be without him ever again, not even for a minute. “I would love to wake up in your arms. Is your front door locked?”
“Yes.” He pushes himself off the floor, so he can see her. “What does my doorknob have to do with anything?”
“Do you have your keys with you?”
“No. They’re in my coat pocket in my apartment. Why?”
With a smirk on her lips, she says, “Because the only way for you to get into your apartment is through the window. Do you really want to make the crawl of shame across the balcony in the morning? All the God-fearing citizens of Hope Springs driving to work on Main Street will see you.”
He palms his forehead. “You’re right. I guess that answers my question. As much as I hate it, I must leave your beautiful body.” He reaches over and yanks a towel off the rack.
She grabs the towel from him, covering her body. “There is one other option.”
He sinks back to the floor beside her. “Talk to me.”
“You can set your alarm for sunrise.”
He touches her nose. “We can set your alarm since I don’t own a phone.”
“Tell me again why you don’t have a phone.”
“Another time. I’m too tired to talk anymore.” Getting to his feet, he picks her up, tosses her over his shoulder, and carries her to bed.
Having Everett in her bed feels right. Everything about her new life feels right. She came to Hope Springs for one reason, but she’s staying for so many others.
When her alarm wakes her at six thirty, Everett has already gone. How did he sneak out without her hearing him? She resets her alarm for forty-five minutes later, but despite being exhausted, she can’t fall back asleep. She stares at the ceiling as she replays their night together over in her mind. Even though she’s alone in her bed, she blushes at the thought of the things they did together. With Everett, none of it felt kinky. He’s her person. Her guy. They are meant to be together. She feels it in her soul.
She lounges in bed until seven fifteen. Skipping her yoga workout, she dresses in exercise pants and a fleece and heads out for a walk.
The sidewalks in the neighborhoods of Hope Springs are in a state of disrepair from tree roots buckling bricks. By now, she knows the worst areas, one being in front of 237 Hillside Drive. She’s stepped over and around the buckled bricks many times, but today, in her state of post-lovemaking bliss, she trips and falls hard to her hands and knees. As luck would have it, Rita and the girls are in the yard in front of their house, and they rush to her aid.
She’s discerned much about the girls over the past weeks. Emma, the eldest and prissy one, takes time to put on makeup and style her hair every morning. Abigail is a tomboy, dressed most days in jeans and T-shirts with her face free of makeup and hair in a ponytail. She’s the one who helps Presley to her feet.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Presley is more embarrassed than anything. She’s imagined this moment happening dozens of different ways, but never like this.
Mother and daughters are even prettier up close. Presley studies their faces, looking for something of herself but finding nothing. They are blue-eyed blondes with remnants of golden summer tans. She’s a redhead with gray eyes and skin that burns on cloudy days.
Rita gives Presley the once over, her eyes landing on her hands. “Oh, goodness. You’re bleeding. Let me go inside for my first aid kit.”
Presley’s palms and knees sting, and when she looks down, she sees that her nylon pants are torn at the knees.
When Rita starts toward the house, Presley says, “Please, don’t bother. I live close by, up on Main Street.”
“That explains why you walk past our house every day. Are you stalking us?” asks Emma in a tone that is anything but friendly.
Abigail covers her mouth to hide her smile.
Tears prick Presley’s eyelids, and she’s grateful to be wearing sunglasses. “I’m a creature of habit, I guess. Have a
