Butch appeared disappointed by that move, so Hayley sat and picked up a book after another minute of waiting. She was disappointed Butch didn’t touch herself in return but instead went back to the same book she’d seen before, something that looked old and that she handled carefully.

  “Maybe I’m not as alluring as I thought.” If Butch was reading after everything she’d done, her moves needed work. “I wonder if she’d be forced to make a move if I did all that naked?” They’d eventually find out. But she wanted Butch to make the first move and then so much more.

  Chapter Twenty

  Wyatt tried reading, wanting to know what Sam was keeping to himself, but all she could think about was the pounding between her legs. Jesus, the woman was driving her slowly mad, and Hayley was beyond sexy. Unlike Lydia and her frustration at Sam not trying anything, she knew exactly what she was missing. Hayley was showing her in vivid detail.

  The lights next door were out, so Hayley had probably gone to bed, and she wasn’t in the mood to read. To her surprise, she was in the mood to write again. To put words on a page that she’d like someone to read, at least eventually. She went downstairs and made a cup of coffee, which was always the start of her process. A hot cup of coffee was the only companion she had when she wrote, and there was no need to change the formula now.

  She’d picked a room on the other side of the house as an office, which she’d figured had been a parlor of some type when the house was built. Since she had no intention of hosting ladies for tea, it was perfect for her needs. Thankfully, she’d found a library desk in the hallway and had moved it in, along with a chair that wasn’t the best but would do. There was no point in buying new furnishings until all the renovations were done. She opened one of the notebooks her father had gotten for her and smiled at the crisp white page, a blank canvas she embraced with a pen in her hand. She tapped into the part of her herself where the stories lived and began a new chapter of her career.

  Four hours had passed when she glanced at the clock, and she wanted to cry from the joy at not having lost something so vital to her psyche. She started typing what she’d written, something she almost never did because God invented dictation programs. This time she did it to bleed some of the caffeine out of her system, so she could perhaps get a few hours of sleep.

  When she was done, she had more than her publisher was waiting on, but this manuscript wasn’t going anywhere until it was fully formed, fleshed out, and she was ready to let it go. Tomorrow she’d reread it and see if she’d lost her craft, or if that too had just been in hibernation.

  She walked to the kitchen to dump out the remaining coffee in the pot and wash her mug. It was strange to her that all Lydia’s dishes and pots were still in the cabinets around her, as were the furniture and other things that made a home for someone. The house was hers now, but nothing in it belonged to her, and she wandered around studying all the things that had been either Lydia’s or had belonged to someone in her extended family. All the clutter reminded her of the life she’d had.

  Writing wasn’t just a career but a way of life for her, and losing that, along with her parents, had stripped away a lot of her identity. Her fans knew her for the mysteries that wove tales that at times turned gruesome, but they were satisfying. A month ago, she would’ve bet that all that was lost to her, but it was back now, and yet different. This book in her head might not make a difference if the people who’d read her stuff from the very start weren’t in the mood for change.

  “If this is a test of my mental fortitude,” she said, staring at the ceiling in case there was someone in the universe listening, “you could’ve given me a sudden craving to start doing Sudoku.”

  It would be the ultimate joke if she became known for a string of romantic intrigue books instead of straight-up mystery. Wherever she ended up as far as her writing, the one thing she was sure of was that it would be different. “It’s too late to be this deep.” That was true, though, because she was different. Her body should be covered in scars to show all the crap she’d been through, but the worst scars were on her heart and in her head.

  “Good Lord, I really need to cut down on the coffee.”

  Hayley’s house was still dark, and considering the hour, she wasn’t surprised. This house was too quiet, something she’d have to get used to, but it did allow her to think. Silence had a way of laying you bare because there was nowhere to hide from yourself. It had also made it easy to hear her parents and all those conversations they’d shared. She was starting to find her footing and the urge to move forward.

  “Is that why you two dragged me out here?” She stripped for bed and punched her pillow a few times before lying down. “Did you figure I’d find my mojo in all this quiet?” She heard both her parents laughing at her.

  “You’re our kid, and we love you,” her mom said. “The secret to a life well-lived and free of regret is to live it every minute. I think you’re finally starting to understand that.”

  “I guess I am, so thanks for planting the idea of this place in my head. The hot neighbor is a happy bonus.” She laughed with them this time. If there was a way to send her a gift from the great beyond, with her parents’ sense of humor, it’d be a beautiful woman who seemed open to some sort of interesting relationship.

  “You’re welcome, kid, but it’s time to get a move on with the romance part of the equation,” her father said. “The lust part I think you both have down perfect. I’d like to think I raised you to respect women, especially the girl next door.”

  “Got it, Pop, and if you both don’t mind, get lost for this next part.” She had to do something about her hard clit, or she’d never get to sleep. It seemed it’d only taken a week for her to prove Pavlov’s theory since even just the act of looking at Hayley’s house got her hard.

  Hayley was her last coherent thought before oblivion carried her back to the old memories. There was also the future to dream of, and she planned to blow hers all to hell by making drastic changes. All she was keeping of her old life were the parts essential to who she was. The rest would have to adapt or disappear into the mist.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Sundays were usually Hayley’s catch-up day around the house. She did laundry, cleaned her bathrooms, and paid her bills. It was her penance before taking the rest of her day to either visit Lucy at the bar or walk the Quarter with no agenda in mind.

  Today, though, she couldn’t motivate herself to get out of bed. If she owned a magic wand, she’d use it to transport Butch to the empty spot next to her. Last night had been something, but she was ready for the real thing. Her orgasm had been intense, but how many more could Butch give her? She craved Butch like she did chocolate, but truthfully it was more than that.

  Her one blessing was that she’d slept late, so she wouldn’t be stewing for hours in her head about how to get Butch to come over and seduce her. To take her mind off that lovely thought, she made a list of all the things she needed to get done before Lucy came over. That might flip off the part of her brain fixated on sex. When Lucy did arrive, she hoped Butch stayed out of sight because she wasn’t ready to share her. Another crazy thought, but it didn’t make it any less true.

  A knock at her front door propelled her downstairs, thinking Butch had finally cracked. Instead, she opened the door to a very large man holding a bouquet of pink roses. Hayley blinked and stared so long that the guy studied the numbers of her address as if he might have the wrong place.

  “Hayley?” For a bear of a man, he had a gentle voice.

  “That’s me.” This was a first. She’d never received flowers in her life. She’d never really dated the flower-giving type of people.

  “Great. My name’s Daisy, and these are for you. If you don’t think it’s weird, can I come in and put them down and make sure they’re okay?” He held the flowers like he didn’t really want to give them to her, but if he had to, they needed a proper farewell.

  Her mother would be waving red flags and yelling she was crazy for even contemplating such a thing. Surely, there’d been some show on ID TV about a big burly florist using the excuse of delivering flowers as a way to gain entrance to a victim’s kitchen. Once he was in, he’d have the opportunity to use all the knives in the block to cut her into small pieces. She pointed to the center island in the kitchen and stood back while he did his thing. It took him a few minutes of fooling with his creation before he was satisfied it was indeed perfect.

  “Thanks for not thinking I was a serial killer. You’d be surprised how often I get that.” Daisy headed right for the door as if not wanting to outstay his welcome.

  “It’s not often I meet a man named Daisy, and you do beautiful work.” Her purse was upstairs, so she hoped he didn’t mind waiting on her porch. She wasn’t that trusting. “Can you hold on?” she asked when he stepped outside.

  “Don’t worry about a tip—the person who bought you the flowers took care of me. She was very generous. Very generous.”

  “Why pink?” She never really considered herself a flower kind of girl, but she was learning all kinds of things about herself. Turned out, getting flowers made her day.

  “Well, I don’t know why the person chose pink for you. But the friend who helped me open my shop sent the girl she was interested in pink roses as a way of letting her know how special she thought she was.” He smiled as he started his story.

  “So it’s a sign of Hi, I think you’re special?” That seemed a little disappointing.

  He shook his head. “Let me finish. It took a little more than flowers because her girl had a long list of interesting things she made my pal do, but she’d started to fall in love with her from that very first bouquet.”

  “Hopefully if you get to come back, you’ll tell me about the long list. That sounds interesting.” She could’ve spent a while talking to Daisy. The guy had a soothing voice like a relaxation app.

  “I’d like to think the reason my friend’s relationship worked out is because of the flowers I still deliver every week.” He smiled and stroked his beard. “It’s been a few years and a few kids now, but she still smiles when I show up. I hope things work out for you too. After a few deliveries you’ll see I can be trusted in every room of the house, so I can put them wherever you want them without you having to jostle them later.”

  “Thank you for that explanation. Did you happen to tell that story to whoever sent the flowers?”

  “I sure did, and I have one more thing for you.” The envelope he took out of the chest pocket of his overalls resembled the one she’d received with the cookies. Seeing it made her want to push Daisy off her porch so she could read it.

  “Have a great day.” He waved over his shoulder and headed for a yellow van with a daisy painted on the side.

  Her name was written on the outside, and it seemed Butch had taken her time with it, unlike the first one. Hayley slid her fingers along the underside of the flap and tore it open. She took a breath and closed her eyes for a moment before she pulled the card out.

  Hayley,

  Please do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening. It’ll give me a chance to apologize for not offering sooner.

  Your neighbor,

  Joe

  Joe? Butch’s name was Joe? That’s the last name she would’ve picked, but she’d have to adapt. She’d do that right after she freaked out. She looked at the note again and saw the phone number at the top, which was better than having to build a fire and respond with smoke signals.

  She stood in the kitchen window, phone in hand. The nerves she was experiencing made her hands shake when she entered the number that was a New York area code. So Joe was a New Yorker, and they’d ended up in the same place. The romantic in her screamed fate, while the pragmatist in her declared she might be crazy—in a calm voice, of course.

  “Hello.” Joe’s voice was deep and rich. Thank God for that.

  “Hey, it’s Hayley.” She, on the other hand, sounded like a dork. “Thank you for the flowers. I didn’t think florists delivered on Sundays.”

  “Daisy strikes me as a guy who understands that sometimes nothing but flowers will do.”

  Surely she’d conjured up Joe and had willed her to life. Like the guy who brought Pinocchio to life. What was his name? Good God, Hayley, concentrate, she yelled in her head.

  “I’m glad you liked them, and I hope you don’t have plans tonight. Or would you rather do lunch? If you need a crowded place to start, I don’t mind that at all.”

  “I’m free whenever.” Oh yes, that didn’t sound desperate.

  “Great. Do you want to choose the place? All I’ve tried is the diner, and I’d rather order another bouquet of flowers and eat them than go there on a date.”

  The way Joe said it made her laugh. It was a well-known fact that it took Maybelle about four months to ditch her suspicions of anyone not born in this neighborhood. Even then she still kept an eye on you like you might go bad like week-old fish if she wasn’t vigilant.

  “I’d rather eat the roses on my couch too than have Maybelle join us for the entire meal. She’s not someone who understands boundaries.” She smiled when Joe joined her at her kitchen window.

  “What do you suggest that doesn’t include Maybelle?” Joe stopped to lift a mug to her mouth.

  “I’ll go wherever you lead.” She heated at the comment, but it was the only way to broach the subject of what had transpired between them. “You haven’t let me down yet, neighbor.”

  “You’re the best thing about this city, and I’ll do my best to lead you only to places that make you feel good. I’d invite you over so we can talk about it, but this place is a mess.”

  “I have coffee and muffins. We can talk here.” So, of course, she’d have to be wearing the rattiest thing she owned. In all the erotica people wrote there was sexy lingerie because underwear sounded sexier when it was called lingerie. She owned some—it was just in her underwear drawer filed under date wear.

  “Let me get dressed.”

  “No need,” she said and loved the laugh Joe gave her. “I’m still in my pajamas.” It was amazing how quickly her hormones made her channel a desperately horny woman. “If you own a robe, that’d be fine.”

  “I don’t own a robe or pajamas, but I promise not to take long.” Joe smiled and hung up, then disappeared from the window.

  Hayley couldn’t breathe and turned to go change, but Joe must’ve raced up for her jeans because there was a knock about a minute later. “Hi,” she said, opening the door slowly, trying to sound seductive.

  “Hello to you.” Lucy stared at her as if she was trying to decide if a call to the mental hospital was in order. “Are you feeling okay? You look flushed.”

  Would Lucy break up with her if she flung her out the back door? She sighed, not wanting to be that friend. “I’m fine, just surprised. I got flowers.”

  “You got flowers on a Sunday? Who put out that kind of cash to get into your pants?” Lucy threw her backpack on the sofa and wandered in as if in search of flowers.

  The knock that followed was the answer to that question. This time she opened the door to Joe who was wearing jeans and the shirt she’d seen over the boxers the night before. “Good morning,” she said, stepping out on the porch and shutting the door behind her.

  “That it is.” Joe put her hands in her pockets as if she was trying to keep them to herself. That was the last thing Hayley wanted. “Are we swinging?” She jutted her chin toward the porch swing. “I promise I’m house trained if you let me in.”

  “Please don’t hate me right off, but my friend Lucy just got here. I’d invited her and totally lost my mind this morning when I received flowers. You didn’t give me a chance to call her and cancel. I don’t want to be that friend and blow her off. I mean, I do want to blow her off, but that would be sucky. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Joe nodded and laughed. “I’d made plans to go out to lunch with her, but you have a way of short-circuiting my brain.”

  “We can reschedule. I’m slightly patient.” Joe smiled when Hayley tentatively placed her hands on her stomach. “You have my number. Why don’t you call me when you’re free?”

  “You can come in.” Movement in the front window meant Lucy was watching. “I did promise you coffee.”

  “And a muffin, if I remember right,” Joe said and winked.

  Okay, now she slightly got the cute name for vagina, but it still wouldn’t work in erotica.

  “You’re going to have to settle for an actual muffin right now, big guy—I have a guest.” She winked back, angry at herself for not doing this sooner. Joe was as charming as she was good-looking. They stepped inside, and Lucy was leaning against her sofa trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably. “Joe, this is my friend Lucy.”

  “Hi,” Joe said, and Hayley thought for a minute Lucy was mentally orchestrating her plan to steal Joe away before she got a chance to find out anything about her. Not that she could blame her. Joe had the same effect on her.

  They sat in the kitchen and engaged in small talk, something she was convinced no one liked doing, and all they covered were the basics. That was great, but not how she wanted to spend her time.

  “So…what’s your story?” Lucy asked with her I’m a bull in the china shop of life bluntness.

  “Trying my hand at restoring an old house. It’s nothing more exciting than that.” Joe smiled and sipped her coffee like it was fine wine. “When I bought the place, I never guessed it’d come with all these interesting people.”

  “It’s an added bonus,” Hayley said and smiled. “At least that’s what George keeps telling me. You’re a New Yorker?”