“Well, you can’t blame them,” Lorraine said. “They don’t have to know you’re the one who purchased the property, right?”
“Right,” he agreed. “Even the realtor thinks I’m just the agent. But the guy said that even he might get crap from the townspeople for selling that particular piece of land without notifying anyone. He made it seem like it was significant to the town somehow.”
“And you didn’t ask why?”
“Nope. Didn’t want to know, honestly.” And just why was Burke suddenly worried about that? An image of Justine shot to his mind, answering that question before his conscious mind could.
Lorraine laughed a little. “Quite right. Well, if they bring out the torches and pitchforks, you’ll have to turn on that Benton Charm. It’s proven to be hard to resist, and you’ve definitely got it.”
Burke didn’t know how to accept the compliment. “Maybe.”
She sighed. “You’re like your father in more ways than one—handsome, successful, and far too humble.”
He grinned. Hearing her talk about Jonathon, about how Burke was like him—it fed him in one way, and left him hungry in another. Hungry for the years he’d never have.
“So what’s on the agenda tonight? Quiet evening at your cabin there?”
“Actually,” Burke said, “I’m having dinner with a…someone I met in town.” He tightened his lips, already regretting sharing the tidbit. The last thing he needed was Duke razzing him about dating some country bumpkin.
“Someone?” The emphasis she put on the word said she was looking for details. “Who is this someone?”
“Just…a…” Burke shook his head. Just lie, man. Can’t you just lie and say it’s the agent? “A woman I met, but it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a friendly dinner.”
He cringed.
“Hmm. Very good. I’m glad to hear that you’re not just isolating yourself out there.”
He nodded, still wishing he could rewind time and take back what he’d shared. “I better go, Grandma.” He liked how easily the term fell off his lips that time.
“Alright, dear. And keep me posted on any offers you get for the property. Once you get it on the market, that is. I spent some time in Piney Falls as a child. Lovely place.”
Burke nodded. “Definitely. I will.”
The phone call distracted Burke enough that he hadn’t paid mind to the spot where Justine’s truck had been. Something he only realized as he pulled into her drive and spotted it on the side of the house. He had to hand it to Frank—he was a quick responder.
Burke snatched a roll of Mentos candies he’d set in the cup holder and nudged one of the chewy pieces out with his thumb. He popped it in his mouth and took in the appearance of Justine’s modest-sized home. It was cute. In a listing—if he still sold homes as he did the first year of his career—he’d call it charming. Like a little cottage in the woods.
On the small porch, lit by the outdoor light, a rocking chair stood beside a large clay pot of sunflowers. A bright green watering can rested nearby, along with a pair of canvas tennis shoes.
Warm light spilled from the front windows—one beside the door, the other at the opposite side. Her bedroom perhaps.
As he stepped out of the car and smoothed a hand down the front of his suit coat—this one black instead of navy—Burke noticed a new crispness in the air. The temperature had dropped significantly. Turned out the guy at the gas station was right about the cold front coming through.
Nerves tangled in his gut as he approached the steps, visions of the beautiful blonde floating through his mind. He’d seen her in Levis, a flannel top, and a pair of hiking boots. The outfit seemed to suit her. But what would she wear to some “fancy” place outside of town where reservations were necessary, as Wilfred pointed out?
Burke spotted the doorbell, but he opted for a knock on the door instead. Three short taps.
The far light flicked off. Just the sight caused something to flick on inside him—a new dose of adrenaline. Sweat broke out over his palms. Tightness built along his throat.
If she was in something modern, more normal, if you will, what in the world would she look like in it?
The knob twisted.
Burke’s pulse spiked.
The door creaked open, revealing—inch-by-inch—Justine standing slightly taller in a stunning black cocktail dress. He moved his eyes up her slender legs, curvy hips, and delicate looking shoulders.
It was a rare occasion that Burke found his face filling with heat, enough that the effects would be visible. But as he fixed his gaze on Justine’s hazel eyes—the most alluring quality about her—Burke felt his face turn Red Sox red.
“Wow. You look…” He ran through a list of adjectives. Gorgeous, beautiful, incredible? “Great.” Great? You idiot.
Justine bit her lip. “So do you.” She let out a soft chuckle and tucked those pretty locks behind one ear. It didn’t do much to tame it, but he liked that too. Her blonde curls seemed to be a reflection of her—soft, carefree, and a bit unpredictable.
Burke had dated plenty of women over the years, but not with any real intent. Only once since his initial heartbreak back in high school had he developed feelings for another—Ella Brinkley. She was smart, sophisticated, and yet down to earth too.
The moment he’d caught himself falling for Ella, Burke got so freaked out he ended their date early, saying something had come up. It hadn’t been too hard to avoid her after that, though he’d often wondered how she was. What she was doing with her life. A wedding announcement months later answered that question for him, putting his curiosity—and any feelings he had left for her—to rest.
To say he was developing feelings for the stranger beside him was absurd. But the potential seemed stronger than any he’d known. So where was his instinct to run?
It hadn’t made an appearance yet. Burke held out his elbow for her. “Shall we?”
Justine blew out what seemed to be a pent-up breath. “Yep.” She stepped through the doorway and wrapped a hand around the nook in his arm like she’d done at her granddad’s. It felt nice there. Soft, warm, and comforting.
He watched as she spun back to close the door completely, tipping his head as a cluster of furniture appeared to be crammed close to the door.
“Do you block the door at night?” he guessed.
She pulled the door closed completely then turned a questioning look on him. “What was that?”
“The furniture,” he said. “I just wondered—”
“Oh, yeah. No. I mean…” She chuckled. “That’s for the festival. I restore furniture,” she explained. “I use discarded materials to add artistic touches, I guess you’d say. Colored glass and old, shattered pots can make a gorgeous looking mosaic on a tabletop.
“Of course, not all the improvements I make are like that. Sometimes I just use a special stain or unique type of paint. The right finish can make all the difference. ”
“No kidding? I’d love to see them sometime.” He pulled open the car door for her.
Justine slid her hand down his arm to grip his fingers as she settled into the passenger seat. She reached for her seatbelt next, fastening it as he gave her a nod.