Should I be? My heart pounds. I don’t know. But I’m not about to get back in the truck and leave.

Palmer catches me off guard when she opens the door. I turn toward her, shifting my gaze from a row of pine trees to the stunner in the doorway.

Holy shit.

She’s wearing a pair of camouflage pants that look soft to the touch. A cream shirt that has four tiny buttons at the top, three of them undone, skirts her curves. Her hair is half-up, half-down, and I immediately think of kissing her on the exposed piece of skin just behind her ear.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the door. “Did you just realize where you were or what?”

“No.” I chuckle. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

“I mean, there’s no pressure if you’d like to leave.”

She pretends like she’s going to close the door in my face. Or maybe that’s what she is going to do. But I reach out and catch the corner with my hand and grin.

Her pupils widen as a small, soft grin spreads across her lips. “Okay, then. Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

I step inside her house, and a thought hits me instantaneously. This isn’t a house. It’s a home.

I’m not sure what I expected, if anything, when I showed up at Palmer’s. But this? This isn’t it.

The air is lightly perfumed with citrus, as if love and laughter take place here often. The walls are suffused with the aroma of home-cooked meals. It’s not really a scent but a warmth. I know because my mother’s house has the same vibe, and no matter what I do in my own house, I cannot duplicate it.

I’ve tried.

Books pepper the room in front of me. On all available surfaces sit spines with topics ranging from the wildlife of Ohio to the benefits of essential oils. Pictures are propped up on a small mantel above a fireplace that’s seen better days, and a painting of what might be a dog with the words LOVE, ETHAN hangs in the corner of an oversize mirror by the front door.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Palmer says as she shuts the door behind me.

“I love it.”

She blows me off. “It’s not the greatest thing ever, but it works.”

I consider telling her what I was thinking only a few seconds ago, but I don’t. I don’t want her to think I’m pandering to her.

“Do you mind if I look out the window?” I ask, motioning toward the large picture window directly across from me.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

She steps to the side and allows me to walk by her. I avoid my natural inclination to touch her. Instead, I march on by to the glass that promises a view of green.