He shut the shower off, grabbed a towel to scrub his hair dry. It made him think of Hope and her garden hose, and made him smile. Maybe it hadn’t struck him funny at the time, but it did now.

She wasn’t always perfect. She made mistakes, took missteps. He liked it better that way. Perfect? It could be boring, intimidating, or just outright annoying. He liked the chinks, and wondered if—if—things moved forward, he’d find a few more.

Taking time on it, he thought. He had enough on his mind, enough on his plate without adding her right now, straight off.

He walked naked back into the bedroom, pulled down the sheet he’d pulled up that morning—his method of making the bed.

His dog was already snoring, and his windows open to the night breeze, the night sounds. He didn’t bother to set the alarm. There was one in his head, and if it didn’t go off, D.A. would.

He thought about switching on the TV, winding the rest of the way down. He thought of Hope again, saw in his mind’s eye that look on her face—that post-kiss look.

And thinking of Hope, fell straight into sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

RYDER UNLOCKED THE DOOR OF THE INN JUST BEFORE seven a.m., while the early sun slanted over roses tumbling around the garden wall. He’d started the crew early, before the heat of the late June day drummed down on them. Already the sounds of hammers, saws, drills, echoed from the open windows across the lot.

The inn sat silent, which didn’t surprise him. He figured women who had the whole place to themselves with nothing to do but whatever women who hung out on their own all night did would sleep in.

He vaguely remembered what it was like to sleep in.

He went into the kitchen. Whatever women did on their own all night, they left the kitchen tidy, he noted. He set the empty pie plate on the counter, started to walk out again.

Turned back.

He’d been raised better, so opened a couple drawers hunting for something to write with and on. He hit on the third drawer, came up with sticky notes and a pen.

Good pie. We’re square.

He stuck it to the lip of the pan, then eyed the coffeemaker. Considered.

As he considered, Clare shuffled in, and let out a gurgling yelp.

“Easy.” In case the baby weight overbalanced her, he started around the island to grab hold of her arm. But she waved him off.

“You scared me.” She laughed when she said it, leaned back against the refrigerator, a hand resting on the mound of her belly as pregnant women seemed compelled to do. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone this early.”