Oh my God, what am I doing?

“You must think I’m ridiculous, the way I keep going on and on and on about this idea.”

He shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been plotting how to get another taste for days.” A splotch of red appeared on his neck. “Of your pie I mean.”

Another frisson of heat. This one wasn’t in her belly. It was lower down and more like the sharp crack of kindling. His words were nothing, just polite small talk, right? But why did they sound so dirty?

And why did she love it?

“Ahem.” She squared her shoulders and summoned all her courage. “Well actually, I…um…happen to have a fresh strawberry pie cooling in my kitchen if you’d like to stop in for a bite.” Her eyes widened as she realized her own moxie. Quickly, she tried to backtrack. “I mean, you probably have plans for today. I just meant—”

“I’d love to.” His reply had a quiet intensity that made her heart rate accelerate for the second time that morning, this time for a much better reason.

As they strolled back to her little cottage, she tried to recall the state of her house. It was clean, of course—her home was always clean, with only one tidy person currently living there—but had she left out anything embarrassing? She often draped bras to dry over the backs of the kitchen chairs, and she was reading that one very steamy cowboy romance. Shoot, she’d left that on the nightstand, yes? Or was it tossed on the sofa after she indulged in a few chapters along with a glass of merlot last night?

But as the sun broke free of the clouds and the warm rays kissed the back of her neck, she made a conscious choice. Time to cut loose worry, let go of insecurity and simply allow herself to bask in her proximity to Dr. Dan. The way their hands almost brushed against one another’s. The faint smell of citrus that clung to him—either shampoo or soap. The tiny shaving nick on his otherwise perfect jaw.

Were neighbors watching them from behind their curtains?

Hopefully.

Even though she hadn’t had the heart to get another cat after Smudge died last year, she often wondered if Cranberry Cove considered her a fuddy-duddy cat lady, one who was forty-three going on eighty. Sure, Myles was relentless in his blind-date setups, which Renee humored a few times each year, but nothing ever panned out. The last one had been with a man named Thad Maxwell. An insurance salesman from Freeport, Thad chewed with his mouth open in an unsexy way and tried to sell her a whole term life insurance policy over dessert.

There had been a few charming guys over the years, but no one special enough for Renee to risk getting her heart shattered all over again. She wondered if anyone was worth the sheer devastation of being abandoned the way Russell had left her. That sort of pain was huge and crushing, and she would do anything to avoid experiencing it all over again.