Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(8)

“He’s adorable. Go for it!” she whispers in my ear, before taking the stroller and leaving us both there under the shadow of the cypress trees.

I try to catch my breath. What is it about this guy that throws me off-balance? I can feel his gaze on me, those delicious hazel-green eyes, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness, remembering the feel of his body, his lips on mine.

“So . . .” I start, feeling awkward. Then I decide to cut straight to the chase. “You were just joking before, right—about moving here because of me?”

“What makes you say that?” Will is grinning, like he can see my discomfort.

“Because it’s crazy, that’s why!”

“You’ve never had a guy move for you before?” he asks.

“No!” I exclaim.

“Huh. Surprising.” He shrugs, nonchalant, like this is a normal conversation we’re having. “Then I guess they weren’t that smart.”

I blink. What’s happening here?

“You look different,” I blurt.

He glances down. “That’s because I’m not heading to an office every day.”

“You sound different, too,” I add, suspicious.

“That’s the Georgia in me,” he explains. “It comes out once I get south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

I pause. “I didn’t know you’re from Georgia.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” Will tilts his head, giving me a tempting smile. “Want to find out? Dinner? Tonight?”

I gulp. I want to—which is exactly why I shouldn’t say yes. I keep things simple, no-strings. This guy making me feel so flustered isn’t simple. It’s messy as hell.

I shake my head, ignoring the regret when I say, “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

I’m expecting him to put up a fight, try and convince me to take a chance on him, but instead, Will just nods. “OK then. See you around, Delilah.”

I watch him easily hoist his bags and head back across the square to where an ancient-looking pick-up truck is parked. He loads the back, then climbs up into the driver’s seat, pausing to look back at where I’m still frozen, dumbfounded. He waves.

I quickly turn and hurry away. I have a million things to do right now, and none of them involve thinking about this guy, but as I drive over to my new listing, I can’t help puzzling over what he’s playing at. This can’t be some kind of joke or game; he seems way too sincere for that, but he can’t be serious either! Nothing about him makes sense, and no matter how hard I try to figure it out, I’m coming up blank.

So, instead of wasting precious time on the mysteries of the male mind, I vow to put him out of my head and focus on what really matters right now: staging an open house that will sell this place in record time.

That, I know how to do.

The listing is a cute townhouse, set on a newer developed block just past the creek. I convinced the sellers to give it a touch-up, so now there’s fresh paint on the walls, covering all their kids’ crayon marks, and pretty ruffled curtains hung on all the windows. It’s small, but sweet, with a neat square of yard out back: the perfect starter home for a young family. I called up everyone on my list, sent out emails, even left a stack of glossy flyers at the daycare and library, and now it’s finally showtime.

The doorbell rings, right on cue at two p.m. I shove a baking tray of store-bought cookie dough in the oven, and go to greet my potential buyers. “Welcome!” I usher the first couple inside. “Take a flyer, look around, let me know if you have any questions!”



An hour later, and the open house is going great. I know half the people coming through, and I can tell exactly if it’s what they’re looking for—or not.

“Didn’t we talk about finding you somewhere with more . . . privacy?” I tactfully draw one of the attendees aside. Jed Springer and his girlfriend are looking for a place to house them—and their amateur rock band. “I’m not sure this place has the sound-proofing you’re looking for.”

“You think?” Jed frowns. “Maybe they won’t mind a jam session or two.”

From the way the neighbors have been twitching their curtains all day, I’m not so sure. “It’s a pretty quiet neighborhood,” I say instead, smiling brightly. “And you guys want to be closer to the action, so you can stumble back from Dixie’s on a Friday night.”

Jed laughs. “True. OK, we’ll keep looking.”

“I’ll call you to set up some more viewings next week!”

I steer them out, just as a new couple arrives. “Mike!” I exclaim, surprised, recognizing a guy I know from a few towns over. “Hey, it’s good to see you, it’s been forever.”

“You too, Dee.” He hugs me enthusiastically. “You look great. Have you met my fiancée? This is Angela.” He proudly presents a very-pregnant blonde woman.

“Lovely to meet you,” I greet her. “I don’t need to guess why you’re looking at this place. It’s got family written all over it. Here, let me show you around.” I take them inside, and tour them through the property, tickled to see Mike fussing over Angela, helping her up the stairs. Mike and I had a casual fling, years ago, and he was about as low-effort as they come. I was lucky if he took a break from beer and video games with his buddies to even give me a call. Now, he keeps one hand on the small of his fiancée’s back, like she’s made of glass.