“This sounds . . . a bit more painful than what I agreed to,” I said, scratching my head as I pictured Beckett branding his cattle. “I don’t really want to be branded.”

Blair shook her head. “You have no choice. Swifty Auto is branded and believe me—they’ve got an entire team of people working on it.”

My frown deepened into a scowl.

“You shouldn’t make that face so often. It’s going to give you wrinkles.” She winked at me. “And you’re kinda cute when you smile.”

“Cute?”

“Something wrong with cute?”

“Cute is for babies and kittens, not mechanics,” I said cantankerously, feeling hot beneath my clothes. “And speaking of kittens, I have to go pick mine up.”

Her jaw dropped. “You have a kitten?”

“Temporarily. My bleeding-heart sister volunteers at the animal shelter, and she conned me into fostering a kitten until she can find it a permanent home.”

Blair put her hands on her cheeks. “I’m going to melt. It’s so sweet.”

“No melting, please. I’m not sweet, I’m just doing it because my sister made me feel guilty. She moved in with our mom after she had eye surgery and both hips replaced. I wouldn’t have survived.”

“I still think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I grumbled. “Like I said, it’s temporary.”

“It counts.” Her eyes held mine, and my body temperature ratcheted up even higher.

I cleared my throat. “So listen. You’re welcome to stay here, or wait at my apartment, while I run over to the shelter. I wasn’t sure if you’d made arrangements for tonight yet.”

“I made a couple calls but haven’t had much luck. The bed and breakfasts in town are booked solid through Labor Day, the motel just out of town is full until next Tuesday, and Airbnb has no listings in Bellamy Creek. The closest is Holland, but seeing as my job is here and I have no transportation . . .” Her face fell, and she studied her shoes again. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to come to you for help again, but maybe you know someone with a room for rent?”

“I don’t, not off the top of my head, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find someone. Look, why don’t you just hang out at my place while I go get the cat, and then we can grab dinner and I’ll make a few calls.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Really. This is a small town, but there must be something.” I grimaced. “If it comes down to it, I can ask my mother. She knows everything and everyone.”

She clapped her hands and rose up on her toes. “Perfect!”

Just then the bell over the entrance rang, and we both turned to see a delivery guy walk in carrying a giant basket full of fruit, snacks, and what looked like a bottle of champagne. “Oh, good you’re still open,” he said with obvious relief. “This order came in last minute and I thought I’d be too late.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a wedding gift.” He glanced at the name on the card. “For Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey.”

I swore under my breath.

Blair winked at me. “Oh, honey, how nice! Our first wedding present! Who’s it from?”

The delivery guy, whose polo shirt had a Bellamy Creek Gifts Galore logo stitched on it, set the basket on the counter and handed me the card.

I opened it and rolled my eyes. “Mrs. Applebee, of course.”

Blair giggled. “Isn’t she sweet?”

“Mrs. Applebee, the English teacher?” the delivery guy asked.

“Yeah.” I looked at him. “You have her too?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t everybody?”

I had to laugh. “Probably. Well, thanks for the delivery.”

“You’re welcome.” He headed for the door and pushed it open. “And congratulations. I’ve been married twenty-two years. Best thing I ever did.”

Blair and I looked at each other, and I shook my head. “I need a fucking beer,” I told her, “but first I have to go get a kitten.”

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded, grabbing her bag from the desk. “You can introduce me to my new sister-in-law.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Why? Are you getting cold feet already?” she teased as she walked by me, giving me a sassy little look that made me want to throw her up against the wall and show her exactly how hot I was—all over.

I watched her push open the glass door and hold it for me, but I stayed where I was for the moment, studying her on the sidewalk. I liked the way the sunset turned her hair a coppery color.

“So what exactly did you do in your former life?” I asked. “After the French, but before the change in your circumstances?”

“I was in charge of brand management for my father’s media company.”

“Were you good at it?”

“I was, not that anyone ever listened to me. The board was full of pompous men who looked at me like I was a cake decoration. They never took me seriously.”

“Even your parents?”

“Especially not them. It was a placeholder job, as they saw it. They were just waiting for me to get tired of working for a living and find a rich husband, fill my days with charity work and lunching with the ladies.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I ever thought that would be my life.”

“You don’t miss the money?” I asked.

She laughed. “Oh no, I definitely miss the money. But I don’t miss what came with it—all the bullshit rules. I want to make my own rules.”

Switching off the lights, I followed her out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind us. “I need a quick shower and change of clothes. Want to come up with me?”

“Sure.”

I was following her up the stairs to my apartment, looking at her ass and wondering if she had sexual rules and how long it would take me to break them, when I realized she was still talking.

Shit, had she just asked me a question?

At the top of the stairs, she turned around and faced me. “So? Are you going to?”

I stood close. Ridiculously close. So close I could smell her—vanilla and lemon—and she could probably smell me—sweat and motor oil.

“Am I going to what?” I asked, looking at her lips.

She licked them. “Listen to me.”

“Oh. Yeah. I am.” But at that moment, I was pretty sure I was going to do something else to her too.

Suddenly she stepped back. “Good,” she said, her cheeks flushed pink. “On second thought, I think I’ll wait outside. I’m a little warm, and there’s a nice breeze.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Nodding, she turned and descended the stairs so slowly, I wondered if she was dizzy. I watched her hand sliding along the wooden rail, thinking dirty thoughts.

On the landing, she pushed the door open and disappeared from view, but I still couldn’t breathe right.

What would she have done if I’d put my mouth on hers like I’d wanted to just now? Would she have kissed me back? Would she have welcomed my hands on her skin? Or would she have kneed me in the balls and told me to keep my filthy fingers to myself?