Page 55 of Rare Blend
“Mind if we lose the hat? It’s just that it hides your pretty eyes.”
I snort. “My eyes are pretty?”
“Yes,” she practically yells. “I would trade eyes with you in a second. Anything besides my boring brown ones.”
We share a lingering stare. I can’t believe she would think any part of her is less than perfect. And even though her tone is humorous, it still bothers me. “Your eyes are beautiful.” I didn’t mean to let it slip, but the truth tumbled out before I could stop myself.
With our gazes still locked, I can’t help but notice her bulging eyes and raised brows. She’s stunned. Astonished. And I get the feeling no one has ever said that to her before.
I swallow, my attention wholly on her, but she quickly looks away, dropping her head and backs up.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, not looking at me.
I probably crossed the line. I should’ve worded it differently.Beautiful.It’s not a friendly word; it’s an intimate one. And I think I fucked up everything.
She’s backed up to the pathway, lifting her phone and looking at the screen. “Your hat,” she reminds me.
I take it off, tossing it a few feet away, out of frame, and attempt to smooth down my hair.
“Here, let me,” she says, coming back and rewarding me with a cloud of vanilla.
I squat down to her level and get a flashback to being a little kid about to get his hair fixed by a spit-wielding grandma. Thankfully, Marisa doesn’t hock one. But she does use her dainty fingers, running them through my hair and scratching at my scalp. It takes Herculean strength to not let my eyes roll back in my head and moan. Meanwhile, my dick doesn’t have the same levels of restraint and starts to harden.
“There,” she whispers.”
I tense at her closeness. Her warm breath grazes my forehead, a jolt of heat that sharpens my senses. The contact feels too visceral. Her presence is overwhelming, intoxicating.
“All better.”
She goes back to the edge of the path, but I’m still reeling. She starts taking pictures, and I couldn’t tell you if I looked at the camera, if I smiled, if I even stood straight. Mentally, I wasn’t there. I was still living five minutes ago when she was close enough to hear her heartbeat, completely dazed.
“I think I got it,” she says excitedly.
I’m so fucked.
CHAPTER 20
Marisa
MINUS THE CULT PART
“Come in, come in,” Leanne Ledger gestures her hand at me to come inside.
My eyes flick over the colonial-style exterior of the home before I step in. The house is tucked away deep within the vineyard property, nearly hidden unless you know exactly where you’re going. If Jenn hadn’t drawn me a makeshift map, I’m not sure I would’ve found it.
“I hope it wasn’t too hard to find,” she tells me, looking over her shoulder as I follow her down the long hallway lined with family photographs and art pieces.
“Jenn gave me directions.” I hold up the napkin with black ink scribbles that Jenn drew for me.
She smiles warmly. “It’s a bit of a maze out here.”
As we pass the kitchen, she pauses and turns to me. “Would you like something to drink? I made a fresh batch of lavender lemonade.”
“That sounds amazing.”
While she works on pouring two glasses, I continue to look around. The home reminds me of something out of a Nancy Meyer’s film, with its mix of new finishes and antique-looking furniture. My focus sweeps around, trying to take it all in. Maybeit’s the reporter in me or maybe I’m just nosy as hell, but all I can think is this is the home Ethan grew up in. He probably ran through this kitchen as a kid or watched TV on that couch or walked down the stairs near the foyer for dates. I’m imagining him everywhere.
In the living room near the kitchen, there’s a credenza full of framed photos. I glance over at Leanne and see she’s still busy, so I quietly wander over.
