Being in a relationship with a sexy farmer was somewhat challenging time-wise. Roane was a busy guy. He tried to pop into the store at lunchtime every day to see me, and then he and Shadow would appear at my apartment for a late dinner. Sometimes we’d go to the pub, but mostly we stayed in bed. The guy was used to running on less than five hours of sleep but, considering he reached for me in the early hours of the morning every night, pulling me out of sleep to either ravage me or make love to me, it was a miracle he wasn’t a zombie at work. He awoke before sunrise, which was around four forty-five a.m. in these parts during the summer. Sometimes I woke up and felt his kiss goodbye and sometimes I didn’t, sleeping right through until my alarm went off a few hours later.

There were days I found myself drifting off in the armchair of the bookstore, marveling over Roane’s boundless energy. And stamina.

Oh yes, that man had stamina.

Moreover, he was so considerate. Sometimes he’d get phone calls in the evening about work, and he always went downstairs to the bookstore to take them “so he wouldn’t disturb me” if I was watching TV or reading a book. I insisted he didn’t have to do that, but Roane was always thinking about my needs and wants.

Inside and outside the bedroom.

I was falling for him.

Which was why I’d felt it prudent to call Greer to update her.

Just in case . . . well, just in case I made a decision that would affect how much we saw each other in the future.

It was around eight o’clock in the morning in Chicago when I decided to call. I’d turned the sign on the store door to closed and ventured into the storeroom to multitask. Stock had come in that morning. Cracking open the boxes, I dialed Greer as I sorted through the new books.

She’d listened quietly as I explained what was happening between my farmer and me.

Then said nothing when I drew to a close.

“Greer?”

“What do you want me to say?”

A flicker of annoyance flashed over me, but I kept it out of my voice. “That you’re pissed at the implications but, ultimately, happy for me.”

“Pissed at the implications? So, you’re seriously considering moving to England for a guy you’ve only known for a few months? A guy you’ve only been dating a week.”

That flicker was suddenly a flame. “Don’t make it sound like that. You know it’s more complicated than that. And you know me. I don’t throw myself into relationships willy-nilly.” I scowled ferociously. “What happened to being supportive of this?”