stranger. It’s, in fact, uplifting to share those around. Maybe moving on won’t be as hard. It doesn’t mean that I’ll forget, or that I’ll find someone else. It only means that I can let myself live again.
I’m standing in front of a gorgeous Victorian style home, along with a gorgeous guy who is staring back at me. The house isn’t as big as my aunt described it, but we’ll make it work, at least for now. We’re only staying temporarily until I find a job and a place for us to live in. I double-check that the number is right, three forty-eight, and my eyes land on him again. He might be in his early thirties, with short dark hair, perfectly sharp cheekbones, firm angular jaw, and a perfectly straight nose. A pretty face that maybe one of those plastic surgeons could’ve designed for a Hollywood actor. His deep melted-chocolate-brown eyes, framed with long, thick lashes, stare down at me. He’s about eight inches taller than my five-three, and under the gray t-shirt he wears, there are some lean well-defined muscles.
Not bad, but instead of ogling the Portland-welcome-committee, I ask the obvious, “Um, I’m looking for 348 North East Holman?” I show him the printable version of Google maps I have.
He narrows his gaze at the paper and points at the letter A I overlooked, then shows me the letter B right below the big numbers on the wall. “Next door,” he says with a low voice, turning around and leaving me standing in the cold.
What the hell, and what door?
I glance over to the driveway where I parked my car to make sure that the kids are still asleep and push the keyless remote to lock it and set the alarm. I then pull out my phone to verify with my aunt that she gave me the right address and find out where the heck the entrance to her house is. But Mr. Few-words comes out of the house wearing a jacket and a cap before I can call her. He tilts his head, signaling me to follow and walks across the driveway.
Chasing behind him I stare at the fine ass wrapped up by a pair of loose jeans. My head tilts from side to side appreciating the male form in front of me. Oh, shit, wait. I halt in my tracks. Why am I eyeing this man? I’m a married woman and Leo wouldn’t appreciate it if . . . I lift my left hand looking at my bare fingers. Right, moving on from Leo and Kenzie. It doesn’t mean that I’ll jump into bed with the first hot body I notice. Only that I have to push away the guilt from looking.
Crossing the driveway, there’s a tree hiding a small porch and right in the corner there it is, the second door. Before I knock on it, it opens wide. Aunt Molly rushes out with her arms wide open. She hasn’t changed much—same curvaceous body, short, blonde hair and happy, blue eyes. She looks just like Mom.
“Mackenzie?” I hear her voice. “You made it sweetie. It’s so good to see you.”
“Aunt Molly,” I greet, hugging her back.
“Where are the kids?” She asks releasing me and looking behind me.
“In the car.” I take a step back to make sure both kiddos haven’t woken up. “I thought it’d be best to swing by to let you know I’m here, but I want to bring them by when their stuff is delivered. For now, we can pretend we’re still traveling and we’ll stay at a hotel.”
“Nonsense, I have the bed ready for you.” She walks around me and toward the car. “The two of them can fit on that bed and you can sleep on the couch. Maybe tomorrow we can break down that bed and set up the kids beds in that extra room.”
“How many rooms do you have available?” I ask trying to understand the setting. Shit, no one told me she owned a duplex—and that one of them was leased to somebody else.
“Two. My room and the guest room,” she explains, standing right by the minivan. “We’ll make it work, sweetie.”
Pivoting toward the door I knocked on earlier, she calls out, “Porter, dear, are you working tomorrow?” The guy leans against his door, his gaze focused on me for
I’m standing in front of a gorgeous Victorian style home, along with a gorgeous guy who is staring back at me. The house isn’t as big as my aunt described it, but we’ll make it work, at least for now. We’re only staying temporarily until I find a job and a place for us to live in. I double-check that the number is right, three forty-eight, and my eyes land on him again. He might be in his early thirties, with short dark hair, perfectly sharp cheekbones, firm angular jaw, and a perfectly straight nose. A pretty face that maybe one of those plastic surgeons could’ve designed for a Hollywood actor. His deep melted-chocolate-brown eyes, framed with long, thick lashes, stare down at me. He’s about eight inches taller than my five-three, and under the gray t-shirt he wears, there are some lean well-defined muscles.
Not bad, but instead of ogling the Portland-welcome-committee, I ask the obvious, “Um, I’m looking for 348 North East Holman?” I show him the printable version of Google maps I have.
He narrows his gaze at the paper and points at the letter A I overlooked, then shows me the letter B right below the big numbers on the wall. “Next door,” he says with a low voice, turning around and leaving me standing in the cold.
What the hell, and what door?
I glance over to the driveway where I parked my car to make sure that the kids are still asleep and push the keyless remote to lock it and set the alarm. I then pull out my phone to verify with my aunt that she gave me the right address and find out where the heck the entrance to her house is. But Mr. Few-words comes out of the house wearing a jacket and a cap before I can call her. He tilts his head, signaling me to follow and walks across the driveway.
Chasing behind him I stare at the fine ass wrapped up by a pair of loose jeans. My head tilts from side to side appreciating the male form in front of me. Oh, shit, wait. I halt in my tracks. Why am I eyeing this man? I’m a married woman and Leo wouldn’t appreciate it if . . . I lift my left hand looking at my bare fingers. Right, moving on from Leo and Kenzie. It doesn’t mean that I’ll jump into bed with the first hot body I notice. Only that I have to push away the guilt from looking.
Crossing the driveway, there’s a tree hiding a small porch and right in the corner there it is, the second door. Before I knock on it, it opens wide. Aunt Molly rushes out with her arms wide open. She hasn’t changed much—same curvaceous body, short, blonde hair and happy, blue eyes. She looks just like Mom.
“Mackenzie?” I hear her voice. “You made it sweetie. It’s so good to see you.”
“Aunt Molly,” I greet, hugging her back.
“Where are the kids?” She asks releasing me and looking behind me.
“In the car.” I take a step back to make sure both kiddos haven’t woken up. “I thought it’d be best to swing by to let you know I’m here, but I want to bring them by when their stuff is delivered. For now, we can pretend we’re still traveling and we’ll stay at a hotel.”
“Nonsense, I have the bed ready for you.” She walks around me and toward the car. “The two of them can fit on that bed and you can sleep on the couch. Maybe tomorrow we can break down that bed and set up the kids beds in that extra room.”
“How many rooms do you have available?” I ask trying to understand the setting. Shit, no one told me she owned a duplex—and that one of them was leased to somebody else.
“Two. My room and the guest room,” she explains, standing right by the minivan. “We’ll make it work, sweetie.”
Pivoting toward the door I knocked on earlier, she calls out, “Porter, dear, are you working tomorrow?” The guy leans against his door, his gaze focused on me for
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