His and Hers by Ashley Ludwig Page A

matching bolster pillows.
    Cain wiped down the chain with an oiled cloth and stepped up to re-hang the refurbished swing.
    Misty held up the bench while he adjusted the clips then stepped back as he frowned and fiddled with hanging it.
    “Pillows.” He reached out like a doctor asking for a scalpel.
    Misty obliged, watching Cain toss them onto the bench. She frowned, and stepped up to fluff and arranged the final touches until she was satisfied. “Better.”
    “Let’s see how she does.” He eased himself down, setting the swing to rocking, a pat to the empty seat alongside.
    They sat, swing moving lazily beneath them, frosty jars of lemonade in hand, and un-chaperoned as Grandma begged off their invitation in favor of a catnap.
    Back and forth, like a scene out of Andy Griffith, a subtle creak of the bench, the well-oiled chains kept silent as they rocked. They drained their glasses and watched the final descent of the sun over Long Valley. No sound but bird song and breeze interrupted as they discussed the plans for the revamp.
    “This place is a local landmark you realize. They’ll probably send up Bob Vandroff from the paper to take pictures.”
    “We’re not doing this for publicity.” Misty frowned.
    “Something you’re not likely to avoid, though. Your grandma’s a local legend.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of. Who’s escorting you two lovely ladies to the film festival?”
    Misty slid her glance his direction, and his rugged face crinkled into a grin. They were both sweaty, dirty, and she was sure any hint of her perfume had long since worn off. Still, sitting with him this way made her thoughts zip and knock around in her head like fireflies in a jar. She took a last sip of lemonade, mumbling her response into the melted ice in her glass.
    Cain tilted his head. “What was that?”
    Misty shrugged. She wanted to tell him about Grandma’s admirer. About the man they’d both romanced, unwittingly, into flying across an ocean to be here, but hesitated. What would Cain think of such a crazy stunt? “Just each other, I guess. My folks’ll probably come out. My sister said she’d try.”
    “Is your family close, then?” From the look on his face, she gathered he was truly interested.
    “We are. Were. My sister and I’ve suffered some differences of opinion on my being here. She thinks I’m hiding.”
    “Are you?”
    “Sometimes.” Her voice came as a whisper. “Didn’t you ever want to hide from anything?”
    Cain pursed his lips. “Didn’t have to. I just never went anywhere.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, and then stretched, one arm casually draped across hers. “So, we’re just a couple of cowards, hiding out in a slice of heaven. Could be worse.”
    “Yeah?” She smirked at his smooth move then tilted her face to take in the warmth he sent in her direction. “How’s that?”
    “We could’ve never met.” He looked off at the horizon.
    His gaze elsewhere, she observed the hard line of his jaw, the dusting of stubble at his cheeks, and swallowed down her racing heart.
    “That would have been tragic.” She jogged her shoulders at the weight of his stare, the heat behind his gaze, pouting in an attempt to keep it light. “Then who would I have conned into painting my grandma’s house?”
    He closed the gap between them. His generous mouth paused for her to meet him in a tentative kiss.
    Heat from his lips, his breath, she closed the distance, and gasped at the electric shock of his lips brushing hers. The tips of her fingers reached to trace, explore the hollow of his throat.
    His hand found the back of her neck. He dragged her closer, mouths, lips, gently exploring one another, tongues slow dancing in perfect step.
    Just the tips of their toes held on to the porch. Her thoughts swirled in a twister of wonder. When was the last time she’d sat like this? If ever? How could he know to be so cautious?
    All remaining doubt evaporated in the setting sun. The porch swing