My mother would have a heart attack if she knew I allowed the senseless tossing out of perfectly beautiful spring pretties.
My phone buzzes in my lap, and I lift a finger when I see it’s Taylor calling.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I say.
Weston nods.
“Taylor, hi,” I answer. “What’s up?”
“We have a showing,” his overly excited voice booms through the phone. “It’s in an hour. Is the house ready?”
I rise, my mind immediately conjuring a vision of my unmade bed and the trail of dirty clothes I left leading to the bathroom. I meant to pick them up earlier, but I was in a hurry to get Rue’s Crew to their spa appointment on time.
“Um,” I say, glancing at Weston. “No. Give me a half hour. I just need to make sure everything’s in order.”
“Move quickly,” he says. “Normally I like to give a twenty-four hour notice, but the agent said their buyer is only in town until five and they’re very interested.”
“Got it.” I hang up with Taylor and gather my tray. “I’m sorry, I have to go. My aunt has a showing, and I need to get back to the house.”
Weston smiles. “No worries. See you around.”
* * *
I pull into Rue’s driveway and slam on the brakes, barely shutting off the engine before I grab my bag and head in.
Stopping in the kitchen, I grab a package of chocolate chip break-and-bake cookies and pop them in the oven. They should be done in fifteen minutes, and this article I read online said the smell of fresh baked sweets helps sell houses.
While the cookies bake, I scamper off to my room, fling the comforter over the sheets, fluff the pillows on my bed, and toss my dirty clothes in a hamper. By the time I’m finished inspecting the place, the timer on the oven is beeping.
I’ve been replaying my conversation with Weston since I left the café. He’s a nice guy. Almost too nice. He seems like the kind to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but if he knows Zane and says he’s a nice guy . . .
. . . then maybe?
I let the cookies cool for a few minutes before arranging a few on a plate on the island. I scribble a note telling the buyers to help themselves before packaging up the rest in one of Rue’s Tupperware containers.
Armed with cookies and peaceful intentions, I lock up the house and walk next door.
Maybe I’m crazy.
Maybe he’s going to think I’m crazy.
But it feels like the right thing to do.
Chapter 6
Zane
“Anything new with you, Zane?” Coach’s voice plays through the speakers as I drive home from a two-hour session with my trainer.
“Nothing.” I grip the steering wheel. I know exactly what he’s asking. “Nothing at all.”
“Keeping your nose clean?” His voice is low, and judging by the sound of children laughing in the background, I’m guessing he’s hanging out at the lanai in his backyard while his four boys try to out-do each other with cannonballs.
“You’d know if I wasn’t.”
“Good, good.”
“Your need to babysit me is concerning.”
He laughs. “Not babysitting you, Zane. Looking out for you. Want to make sure you’re not going anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t be by choice. The owners say anything lately?”
“They’re laying low,” he said. “Didn’t bring you up in the meeting last week, which was the first time in months.”
“Good. I live a saintly existence.” I huff, intentionally leaving out the innocent ruckus I’ve been known to cause with the Laguna Palms HOA. It’s all in good fun. Those people need a life. They need a little entertainment beyond ice cream socials and shuffleboard. “Still can’t believe you talked me into moving to a fucking retirement community. I have no idea how you pulled that off.”
“Yeah, well. When money talks, people listen.”
“Anyway.” I run my palm along the steering wheel, pulling through the security gate and veering right toward my street. Ahead, I spot Delilah sauntering down my sidewalk with something in her hands. “Coach, I’ll call you back.”
I park in the driveway and climb out of my truck, and she stops, doe-eyed.
“What do you have there?” I ask, slipping my hands in my back pockets when I meet her halfway along the front walk.
“I want to call a truce,” she says, shoving a little plastic container in my hands. It’s warm, and when I pry the lid open, the scent of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies fills my lungs. “You didn’t have to bring me cookies, gorgeous, but I’ll take ‘em.”
I pop one into my mouth, loving the way she longingly watches me lick melted chocolate off my fingers. I bet she doesn’t know she’s making that face, her lips parted and moist from her tongue slicking their length.
“You want to come in?” I offer.
She looks over my shoulder toward Rue’s driveway. “Yeah. If you don’t mind. Rue has a showing, so I can’t be there.”
As soon as we’re in, I point her toward the living room and kick off my shoes. Peeling off my gym tank, I toss it over my shoulder and snap the waistband of my shorts.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” I say, sitting the container of cookies on the coffee table. “Just finished working out. But you make yourself at home, all right?”
* * *
When I finish showering twenty minutes later, the sound of her voice trails down the hallway.