made.
Unless . . . naw, he didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to think those thoughts.
Even if, when he added what he’d just learned to the whole Desiree conundrum, it seemed like . . . a big warning sign. And Jake knew something about warning signs.
And yeah, he’d just reminded himself—again—that he was done with her, that her issues were none of his concern, but that didn’t stop his feet from leading him the few blocks to her building. He stood across the street, just looking up at the window, at the light, trying to catch sight of her. He had no idea why. And damn, he was beginning to feel a little like a stalker.
Still, even that sobering thought didn’t tear him away—at least not just yet. Standing beneath a streetlamp, he realized that if she happened to glance out, she’d see him, too.
Shit, stop this. Go back to Schubert’s. Drink a fucking root beer and get to know the locals.
Talk about good advice.
“Okay,” he murmured, actually answering himself out loud, then turned on the sidewalk—to find himself face-to-face with Carly Winters.
Chapter 6
S he looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one taking a quiet walk in Turnbridge tonight.
“Carly,” he said, soft, deep.
She sucked in her breath as if surprised to hear him call her by name—or at least by the right name.
She looked like she might dart at any moment, so he said, as gently as he could manage, “Please don’t run away from me.”
His eyes locked on hers, which shone beneath the streetlamp as big and expressive as ever. She wore her long hair loose tonight, falling around her shoulders, messy, pretty. She’d tied a long cardigan sweater over her top and blue jeans, wearing something plain and dark underneath. So simple looking, this girl. And yet . . . so damn complicated.
And as he stood there, probably three feet away from her, he still wanted her. No matter how simple. No matter how complicated. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny it, either. The same chemistry that had drawn them together so easily that night in Traverse City flowed between them now, hot and palpable. The same but different. Very different.
Would she be surprised to know he thought she was prettier like this than on the night they’d met? She’d been a knockout as Desiree, but in all truth, that night she’d been the kind of woman you thought of fucking, not spending time with. Here, now, she looked like the kind of woman he wanted to be with, talk with . . . and yeah—fuck, too. But again, it was so very different from the first time.
He swallowed, trying to find words. “Listen, I—”
“I’m sorry—I have to go,” she said quickly, then stepped down off the curb and moved briskly across the street before disappearing inside her building.
Jake stood silently watching, torn inside. In too many different directions.
He burned to know what made this woman tick. He ached desperately to take her to bed. And he knew it would still be a hell of a lot smarter to just walk away and leave it all alone.
So walk away he did, on a sigh, back to Schubert’s, where he drank a root beer and indeed chatted with more of the locals and started to feel, bit by bit, as if he were beginning to fit in here, becoming a part of this town.
But would he leave it alone? Leave her alone? That part he wasn’t sure about yet.
He should. But the hell of it was . . . he wasn’t certain he could .
T he two chocolate cream pies Carly held carefully on one of her handmade cherrywood trays were both perfect, just like every year. The recipe had come down from her grandma to her mother and was now hers. But her mom claimed Carly’s meringue was even taller and fluffier than when she baked it herself, and Carly couldn’t disagree. She wasn’t an outstanding cook or baker, but there were a few things she made well, and chocolate cream pie was one of them.
Now she stood in line at the pie baking
Unless . . . naw, he didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to think those thoughts.
Even if, when he added what he’d just learned to the whole Desiree conundrum, it seemed like . . . a big warning sign. And Jake knew something about warning signs.
And yeah, he’d just reminded himself—again—that he was done with her, that her issues were none of his concern, but that didn’t stop his feet from leading him the few blocks to her building. He stood across the street, just looking up at the window, at the light, trying to catch sight of her. He had no idea why. And damn, he was beginning to feel a little like a stalker.
Still, even that sobering thought didn’t tear him away—at least not just yet. Standing beneath a streetlamp, he realized that if she happened to glance out, she’d see him, too.
Shit, stop this. Go back to Schubert’s. Drink a fucking root beer and get to know the locals.
Talk about good advice.
“Okay,” he murmured, actually answering himself out loud, then turned on the sidewalk—to find himself face-to-face with Carly Winters.
Chapter 6
S he looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one taking a quiet walk in Turnbridge tonight.
“Carly,” he said, soft, deep.
She sucked in her breath as if surprised to hear him call her by name—or at least by the right name.
She looked like she might dart at any moment, so he said, as gently as he could manage, “Please don’t run away from me.”
His eyes locked on hers, which shone beneath the streetlamp as big and expressive as ever. She wore her long hair loose tonight, falling around her shoulders, messy, pretty. She’d tied a long cardigan sweater over her top and blue jeans, wearing something plain and dark underneath. So simple looking, this girl. And yet . . . so damn complicated.
And as he stood there, probably three feet away from her, he still wanted her. No matter how simple. No matter how complicated. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny it, either. The same chemistry that had drawn them together so easily that night in Traverse City flowed between them now, hot and palpable. The same but different. Very different.
Would she be surprised to know he thought she was prettier like this than on the night they’d met? She’d been a knockout as Desiree, but in all truth, that night she’d been the kind of woman you thought of fucking, not spending time with. Here, now, she looked like the kind of woman he wanted to be with, talk with . . . and yeah—fuck, too. But again, it was so very different from the first time.
He swallowed, trying to find words. “Listen, I—”
“I’m sorry—I have to go,” she said quickly, then stepped down off the curb and moved briskly across the street before disappearing inside her building.
Jake stood silently watching, torn inside. In too many different directions.
He burned to know what made this woman tick. He ached desperately to take her to bed. And he knew it would still be a hell of a lot smarter to just walk away and leave it all alone.
So walk away he did, on a sigh, back to Schubert’s, where he drank a root beer and indeed chatted with more of the locals and started to feel, bit by bit, as if he were beginning to fit in here, becoming a part of this town.
But would he leave it alone? Leave her alone? That part he wasn’t sure about yet.
He should. But the hell of it was . . . he wasn’t certain he could .
T he two chocolate cream pies Carly held carefully on one of her handmade cherrywood trays were both perfect, just like every year. The recipe had come down from her grandma to her mother and was now hers. But her mom claimed Carly’s meringue was even taller and fluffier than when she baked it herself, and Carly couldn’t disagree. She wasn’t an outstanding cook or baker, but there were a few things she made well, and chocolate cream pie was one of them.
Now she stood in line at the pie baking
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