“Is it some kind of training?” she asked. “Do you ride in marathons?”
He shook his head. “My job challenges me all day long,” he told her. “I ride at night to unwind, not to bring on more challenge.”
“I get it,” she said, and when he glanced over, she was smiling.
And he had the sudden urge to kiss her.
* * *
They’d ridden through the entire neighborhood. Amelia felt kind of disappointed as she recognized that they were approaching the corner where they’d started. She found it a little odd that she hadn’t seen another soul outside during the entire ride, but with all the trees and the properties stretching behind the homes, she figured anyone who might be out that Sunday afternoon wouldn’t be visible from the road.
“You good to go around again, or are you ready to get back?” Craig asked, slowing down as he rode close enough that they could have normal conversation.
“I’m fine to go again,” she told him, glad that he’d offered her the chance to enjoy a bit more of the day’s beauty, the exhilarating feeling of pure, healthy enjoyment. Though she had a lot of work waiting for her and, more importantly, designs she was excited to work on, she wasn’t ready to be home alone for the rest of the evening.
She could always call Angie. Their friends in LA were a bit far for an impromptu Sunday evening rendezvous, but she and her sister could have dinner together. She knew her sister had been planning to spend the afternoon and evening getting caught up at the office.
Pulling her cell phone out from where she’d tucked it in the waistband of her pants, she dialed her sister and got her voicemail. Probably meant Angie was on an important call. Although Amelia was the one who would be getting any emergency contacts from the factory. And she wouldn’t be on with accounts on a Sunday afternoon.
“You need to get back?” Craig asked, glancing at her phone.
“No.” With one hand steering, she attempted to shove her phone back into the waistband that, as it turned out, had been much easier to pull from one-handed than push into. Feeling like an uncoordinated nut, she quickly shoved her hand beneath the neckline of her shirt and deposited the phone in the top of her sport bra.
And noticed the flower beds around the trees at the house they were passing. The birdbath on the lawn. Was it Craig’s house?
She didn’t see him as a flower bed kind of guy. But then, he probably had a landscaper who took care of his yard for him. The next house was more exposed than most—its yard almost bare, other than the massive fountain that was in the center of a circular drive. The house was blue.
Didn’t seem like Craig, either. He wasn’t an opulent, fountain-in-the-front-yard kind of guy.
Of course, Tricia could have been that kind of woman. The house had originally been hers.
He was living in a house that had been purchased by his ex-lover. The thought gave her a stumble. And she straightened up inside.
“Okay,” she said as they turned a corner. “This is kind of stupid. I appreciate that you respect the fact that we aren’t going to make this personal. And you’re right, I wouldn’t have accepted if you’d suggested I come to your home.” She was riding too close to him as she spoke. Thought she caught a whiff of the slightly musky scent that had lingered in her home after he’d left the night before. “But there’s no harm in you pointing out which is yours.”
So she could quit obsessing over something so insignificant.
If he didn’t want her to know, he shouldn’t have brought her to his neighborhood. While it was the perfect Sunday ride, it wasn?
??t the only quiet area in a city known to be a haven for some of Hollywood’s elite. The fact that Marie Cove had very little public beach area, and was out in the middle of virtually nowhere, also helped to preserve its small-town aura.
“I’m happy to show you,” Craig said. “We can stop in if you need to use the facilities or anything, get more water.”
She’d sipped a few times, but still had half a bottle. “No, I’m good,” she told him. There was no reason for her to see his home. Wasn’t a good idea. Curiosity killed the cat.
Where that cliché had popped up from, she didn’t know, but figured it apropos.
And because she wasn’t in line for becoming a cat, dead or alive, she purposely didn’t stare when, a few minutes later, Craig pointed to a storybook-looking place, white with black shutters, at least two stories, set within trees and far enough back from the road that you wouldn’t hear traffic. “That’s it,” he said.
The lawn was a perfect green, freshly cut. “All of these places have the same circular drive,” was all she said.
His house was perfect. If you were a person who believed what you read in storybooks. Who believed you got married and happily loved someone for the rest of your life.
“You don’t like it,” he said, coming closer as they rolled past his property.
“No, I do,” she told him, glancing his way without quite as much trouble now that she saw where that great bod lived. “It’s perfectly lovely.”
“But?”