Page 106 of Love in Riverbend
This isn’t a costume party.
Steadying my steps so I don’t slip, I go closer to the pond. My ears perk up, but all I hear is the distant party and the sounds of an Indiana night. The chirping crickets are a sure sign the weather is warming.
As I get closer, I see that it’s not a cape the person is wearing but a hooded sweatshirt. With the rising of the moon, I can tell the color is golden. From the size of the person, I’m assuming it’s a woman. “Are you all right?” I ask.
The person spins.
The moonlight brightens her face.
She’s definitely a woman.
Damn.
Her eyes are as big as saucers.
“You scared me,” she says in a friendly yet frightened tone.
I lift my hands. “Sorry.” Reading her sweatshirt, I add, “Boiler up.”
“What?” She looks down and laughs. “Right. Yes. Boiler up.”
Her laugh is contagious, and for a moment I join in.
Tilting my head, I walk closer. With each step I realize how petite this woman is. Nevertheless, with my eyes on hers, I have no doubt she’s a grown woman. “Are you from around here?”
She pushes her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt. “I used to be.”
Shaking my head, I stop a few feet away. “I’m sure I’d remember you if you still lived here.” I gesture back to the party. “How did you hear about this? It’s kind of a local thing.”
“A friend invited me.”
“Oh.” I look around. “Is that friend going to be upset that I’m talking to you?” I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually this forward. Then again, I meant to get away from people, not come face-to-face with an attractive woman.
She pushes the hood off her head.
My breath catches as the moonlight glistens off her light hair. It’s piled on top of her head in what Kandace calls a messy bun. Even messy she’s stunning. With a perky nose, full pink lips, and a slender neck, I’m awestruck.
“I don’t have a boyfriend or significant other—if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I don’t know how that is possible.”
Her chin lowers.
The movement is shy, cute, and damn sexy.
“My name is Justin.”
Chapter 5
Devan
Holy shit. This is Justin Sheers.
I recognize him, but he obviously doesn’t recognize me.
“Hi, Justin,” I say, unwilling to give away my identity.
With his hands pushed down in the pockets of his jeans, I see the man my brother’s friend has become. His auburn hair is mussed—not short but not too long. His chiseled jaw is covered by a day’s or more beard growth showing red even by the light of the moon. It’s his eyes, though, that I can’t look away from.
