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“Picky isn’t such a bad quality,” I assure him. “Better than diving in with both feet only to discover you’re wading in a swamp.”
“Anything is better than nothing when you’re getting up there in age and there aren’t many prospects on the horizon,” he tells me, and I suddenly envision a middle-aged female version of Jasper.
What do I say to that? “I hope that works out,” I improvise, leaning against the mailbox.
“Me too.” Jasper sighs, raising his hands in mock horror. “But she’s game to try a slower pace of life, and I could use the company. Finding her a man is low on the agenda.”
Jasper gives me a mock salute before retreating inside with Winston at his heels. The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone with the warm, evening autumn breeze, and my thoughts about this mysterious niece who’s about to shake up our neighborhood scene.
As I walk back up my driveway, I feel a sense of anticipation for the weekend. Maybe this party will be more than just a gathering. You never know, it could be the start of something a lot more interesting around here.
Exhaustion cuts through me as I cruise down the tree-lined road leading to my house. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves casts shadows on the asphalt. I’m just trying to make it home for lunch when something further down the road catches my eye. A woman is walking down the street, blonde hair blowing slightly in the gentle breeze, the kind of hair that seems to shimmer in the sunlight like it’s been filtered through a magazine. What surprises the hell out of me is she’s walking Winston.
The notoriously yappy and hyper little dog usually races around like he’s just downed a gallon of coffee, so seeing him behaving like a perfect little gentleman at the end of a leash raises my eyebrows. My curiosity piqued, I figure I should stop and see why a stranger is walking my elderly neighbor’s dog.
So, I pull over, the tires crunching on the gravel of the shoulder, and roll down the window. “Excuse me,” I call out, trying to sound friendly, but I’m not sure if I nail it. The exhaustion weighing me down causes the words to come out more like I’m asking someone to account for their life choices. “Who are you?”
The gorgeous blonde turns, arching an eyebrow at me as Winston gives me a warning little growl. “What?”
“Who are you?” I repeat, pointing at the little poodle dancing around her feet. “That’s my neighbor’s dog. Why are you walking Winston?”
“Because he needed a walk,” she snaps back, not missing a beat, and my heart shudders in my chest while my cock turns to stone in my pants. Fuck. She’s too goddamn young for me, but that doesn’t seem to matter to my fucking heart or body. She explains, rolling her eyes, “I’m Remi Mora. Jasper is my uncle.”
Fucking hell. The world tilts on its axis. There’s no way in hell this gorgeous goddess can be Jasper’s spinster niece.
I blink several times, trying to get my brain circuits to fire. “Well, I didn’t know Winston had a social life,” I shoot back, hoping to lighten the tension swirling in the air around us. “He’s a lucky little furball to have such a beautiful woman walking him.”
She huffs out a breath, and I catch a glimpse of amusement mixed with shyness flickering behind her initial annoyance. “He’s very popular,” she says, crouching down to give Winston a scratch behind the ears. The little rascal takes the opportunity to tilt his head back, looking positively smug as he gives her hand a little lick.
“I can see that,” I reply, swallowing down the confusion flowing through me. “I’m Piers Pratt, by the way.”
She stands back up, brushing off her jeans as if my presence is annoying her more than the dust. “Nice to meet you.” But the words falling from her lips don’t match the expression on her stunning face. She’s short, definitely not more than five feet tall. There’s something about that heart-shaped face with its adorable sprinkling of freckles across her nose that makes my chest tighten. It’s like she just walked off a Hollywood set and right into the center of my world. Fuck, now I sound like a goddamn greeting card.
