She let herself slide, couldn’t resist it, as the kiss spun out.

He’d meant to do no more than brush his lips to hers. As he might to a friend, an aunt, a plump middle-aged woman with a couple of grandkids.

But he sank into it, too deep. The taste of her, the scent, the feel of her lips yielding to his.

Not sweet, not sharp, but something mysteriously between. Something uniquely Hope.

It—she—stirred him more than it should. More than he wanted.

Stepping back from her cost brutal effort.

He stared back at her for a beat, for two. Then she let out a breath, uncurled her hand, tried the knob.

“There.” She opened the door. “It worked.”

“Get moving before she changes her mind.”

The minute they were in the hall, he walked straight to the now cheerfully burning light, lifted the globe from the floor, fixed it on.

“Done.” He stood where he was, gave her another long look.

She started to speak, and the doorbell pealed.

“My guests are here. I need to—”

“I’ll go out the back.”

She nodded, hurried downstairs.

He listened to the clip of her heels on wood, let himself take a breath.

“Don’t pull that crap again,” he said. With his dog faithfully at his heels, Ryder walked away, out of the scent of honeysuckle and Hope.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

GRABBING PRIVATE TIME PRESENTED A CHALLENGE, BUT a woman needed the ear and input of her female friends. Hope grabbed what she could the next day in the window after preparing breakfast for guests and before Vesta opened.

She dashed across Main Street a few minutes after ten, and straight into the restaurant. Clare and Avery already sat at a table, studying Avery’s potential wedding dress, again, on the iPad.

“I brought muffins.” Hope dropped the little basket on the table, tossed back the cheerful red napkin. “Blueberry, still warm from the oven. Thanks for being here.”

“You made it sound urgent.” Avery took a sniff, went mmm, grabbed a muffin.

“It’s not urgent. It’s just a thing. I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy. Sit down,” Clare told her. “You look frazzled, and you never do.”

“I’m not. Exactly. Just . . .” With a shake of her head, Hope sat. “I’ve been having trouble with a couple of the lights,” she began, and ran them through the story.

“It’s like what she did with Owen and me. It’s kind of sweet, in a weird way.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s infuriating. And he actually opened the window, considered climbing out.”

“Of course he did.”

Hope goggled at Clare. “Of course?”

“Not of course that was the answer, but of course he considered it. It’s a guy thing.” Amused, but supportive, Clare patted Hope’s arm. “I have three sons, I know guy things.”

“She really does,” Avery confirmed.