I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(20)

“They’re not going to be here until tomorrow at the earliest,” she says.

“What happened?”

“Noodles ate a pound of butter.”

“Oh God.” Noodles is Gel’s labradoodle. She’s the sweetest dog, but she eats everything. Including socks. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah, but she has wicked diarrhea, so they have to stay put until she’s done destroying their lawn. They said they’ll check back with us tomorrow, but they might not be here until Sunday, depending.”

I’m surprised at my disappointment. Not just because I don’t get to see Gel and Lauren, but also because I’d been looking forward to a weekend on the beach. I put the car in reverse.

“What’re you doing?”

“Going home.”

“Park the damn car, Rian.”

I take my foot off the gas and hit the brake. “We can’t stay if Gel and Lauren aren’t here.”

“We sure can! We have the code. She’s forwarding the email from the rental company. As far as anyone knows, we’re Gel and Lauren.”

I consider this for a moment. Possibly so many moments that Marley feels she needs additional justification.

“They rented the place for the weekend. Why let it go to waste because their dog ate a pound of butter? Gel said she wants us to enjoy it if they can’t. It’s too late to cancel and they can’t get their deposit back.”

She has a point. I shift back into park and Marley lets out a whoop of excitement. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

I cut the engine and step out into in the warm sunshine. We’re having such great weather for May, and I’m looking forward to spending some time on the beach soaking up the sun—with my laptop, but still.

The two-story clapboard house is a sight to behold and the craftsmanship is stunning. Marley keys in the code while I lug our bags up the front walk. The interior is as breathtaking as the exterior.

While the outside retains that classic Hamptons style, the interior is modern and fresh. Granite countertops and a massive open floor plan including a wall of windows facing the beach make this a desirable piece of property.

Marley lets out a low whistle. “Can you even imagine how much we’d get for this if we could convince the owner to sell?”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” There must be some kind of brochure around here somewhere with their information.

I leave our bags at the entrance and cross through the massive kitchen, stopping at a wrapped basket that contains two bottles of wine—one white and one red, as well as antipasto and crackers. Whoever rents this place out pays very close attention to the fine details. There’s even a bowl of fruit and a list of all the amenities nearby. It seems like whoever the owner is, they go the extra mile to make the renters feel comfortable.

I hold up the personalized, handwritten note wishing Gel, Lauren, and Noodles a pleasant stay. “I wonder if we’ll meet the owner or if he or she has someone who manages this place for them.”

A set of sliding doors lead to a gorgeous cedar deck that smells new, a fabulous hot tub set to the right. This place is amazing. I’m so glad Marley convinced me to stay, because this is so much better than a weekend in our duplex, driving back and forth to the beach for open houses.

The crash of waves on the beach, kids laughing, and the low strains of music coming from somewhere close by are suddenly drowned out by the sound of a lawn mower revving to life. A few seconds later the mower appears from under the deck. Then the person pushing it comes into view.

Sweet mother of all things delicious.

The man pushing the mower is dressed only in a baseball cap, a pair of cargo shorts, and bright-green running shoes. His bare, tanned back is covered in a sheen of sweat that glistens in the sun. The glistening isn’t the only notable thing about this man. It’s the broad shoulders and tapered waist, along with the flex and shift of muscles in his back and arms as he pushes that mower across the lawn.

I’ve never considered lawn mowing to be a sexy activity until this very moment.

I want to call out to Marley so she too can get a look at our lawn boy, but I don’t want to alert him to my presence. I hope he has to spend the entire weekend tending the gardens. The flowers are already in full bloom. They must need a lot of watering. I envision this man, standing with a hose in his hand, spraying those lovely rose bushes, turning the water on himself when he gets too hot, letting it run down his back in sweet, sweet rivers … God, it’s hot out here.

When he reaches the edge of the lawn, he pivots with the mower. His ball cap is pulled low, obstructing my view of his face.

But that chest. So broad. So defined. And there’s an actual six-pack. Not a pretend six-pack, or a four-pack, or the kind where the guy is obviously flexing to achieve definition, but a real one. And just from pushing a lawn mower. It’s not even uphill.

I’ll be so disappointed if his face isn’t awesome.

I take a few steps backward until I hit the sliding glass door. I knock on the window until Marley finally appears. “What’s up?”

“Check out our lawn boy.”

Marley follows my head jerk. “Whoa.”

“Right? I wonder if he comes with the house. He can mow my lawn any time he wants.” I say this rather loudly so I can be heard over the lawn mower.