I’d rallied when he’d brought Polly to the diner the next day, and rallied pretty well, based on her reaction to the sandwich, now proudly her favorite. But still, there was something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. An uneasiness, almost like the feeling you get five seconds before a lump forms in your throat.

You’re pre-lump? Jesus Christ, is that the best you can do?

And speaking of the best I can do . . .

It was Saturday night, and I twirled in the mirror upstairs in my bedroom. I’d brought only one nice dress back with me this summer, and I finally had a chance to wear it. A deep bloodred linen shift, it was softened by a sprinkling of pale pink flowers here and there. V-neck and sleeveless, it was cool but quite elegant. Eschewing my usual twin braids or top bun, tonight I left my hair down and curly. I’d tamed it with a bit of coconut oil, and it shone a burnished copper. And though I’d applied sunscreen liberally every day, my skin was a rosy bronze, my nose and cheeks freckled.

But more than that? I looked relaxed and happy. The worry lines that had begun to appear between my eyes and across my forehead had smoothed out this summer, making me look young and fresh. Leo was like Botox.

I slipped into my lacy gold high-heeled sandals, then hurried downstairs to put the finishing touches on my housewarming gift. Tiny crème brûlée cupcakes, soaked in orange-scented brandy and covered with a crackly sugared crust, they were bites of heaven. I’d made some for the guests and a separate container for Chad and Logan to enjoy after everyone had departed. Cupcakes at midnight—not a bad way to ring in a new house.

I was just placing the last few in the container when I heard a car pull up outside. It didn’t sound like Leo’s Jeep, so I looked out the open door and saw a big black Mercedes in the dusty driveway.

It took me a moment to realize that it was Leo. With his vintage tees and his rusty Jeep, he flew under the radar so well that it was easy to forget that he was rich. And the guy, the man, getting out of the car was more than I was expecting too.

Clad in a white button-down, black blazer, runway worthy jeans, and some kind of adult shiny shoes, he was stunning. And . . . oh!

He’d shaved.

Hiding under that hipster beard? Cheekbones cut by Da Vinci. A jaw chiseled by Michelangelo. His green eyes were set in the most handsome face I’d ever seen. His sandy blond hair was swept back, tousled, but under new management. Pomade? Wax? It was perfection.

His gaze swept across me hungrily, taking in the dress, the heels, the legs. I knew how much he liked my legs. As he approached the porch, I could feel my skin pebble everywhere his gaze touched.

“You’re beautiful,” he said as he stopped below me, one foot resting on the bottom step.

“You’re . . . what’s better than beautiful?” I asked, going down one step, bringing me closer to him.

“Luminous? Radiant? Sexy beyond rational thought?” He stepped up once more, bringing me within pouncing distance.

I nodded. “You’re all those things.”

Before I could take that last step and pounce, he pulled me down to him, suspended in midair, crushing me into his chest and kissing me breathless. After five days of sexy texts and a lonely bed, this man had me in his arms, with one hand creeping up my thigh, and my heart nearly beat out of my chest.

When he finally let me catch my breath and I opened my dizzy, dreamy eyes, he nudged my nose with his. Dropping one more sweet kiss on my mouth, he set me back on my feet and winked.

“Let’s go warm that house.”

With his hand resting on my knee, his pinkie traced circles over my skin as we drove through town. Tiny, imperceptible circles that were firing me up so much that I nearly vaulted over the center console and sat on his. . . lap.

“If you don’t stop that, sir, you’re going to have to pull the car over,” I warned, setting my hand on his to stop the motion.

“I fail to see the problem with that.” He carried on, ignoring my request.

Smiling back, I volleyed the one threat that I knew would get his attention. Leaning over, I brushed against his arm and whispered into his ear, “The faster we get there, the faster we get back home and I get to try out your clean, close shave.”

He suffered through a full-body shudder. “You’re not playing fair, Roxie.”

No, I wasn’t. But he wasn’t either, picking me up and looking like the Wolf of Wall Street.

“What can I say? It’s been a long and lonely week,” I admitted, giving him a quick kiss while we were stopped at a red light.

He lifted my hand and kissed it gently, smiling and making my heart do a thundering flutter. “I missed you too.”

Bomb dropped, he stepped on the gas as the light turned green.

Meanwhile, I was a bundle of holy shit. Breathe in. Breathe out. He missed me. He missed me!

Summer lovin’, holy fucking shit . . .

Tonight felt like there was a lot riding on it. I wasn’t nervous, per se. More like confused, excited, and a little apprehensive—this was an official coming out of sorts. He’d been much more open, more touchy-feely, more all-out-grab when others were around lately. A brush across my cheek here, a pinch and a tickle there, drawing every eye to us.

I wondered if it would be more of the same tonight. Judging by the cinema-worthy kiss he delivered . . . I would wager that would be a yes.

As the car crunched over the gravel driveway, I barely felt a bump—a testament to the amazing craftsmanship of the Mercedes. Lines of cars were already here, and the driveway was lit up with solar lights that led the way to their newly painted bright red door.