I Flipping Love You

by Helena Hunting

  I also learn that Pierce can make a mean cinnamon roll French toast. He seems more than happy to have me in his kitchen, wearing his sister’s clothes while she regales me with her relationship history.

  Eventually my sister calls, giving me the out I don’t necessarily need, but want. I excuse myself to the deck to take the call.

  “Oh good, you’re alive.” Her voice full of sarcasm.

  “You sound so genuine in your concern,” I reply.

  Amalie sticks her head out the door. “Would you like another coffee, Rian?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I reply.

  “Who was that?”

  “Pierce’s sister.”

  “Say what now? You’re hanging with the family? What’s next, are the two of you moving in together?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re just dating,” I mutter, surprised how easy that was to say aloud.

  “Dating, huh? What happened to your ‘I won’t ever date a hot guy again’ insanity?”

  “He’s only here for the summer, so we’re having some fun together.”

  “Uh-huh. You coming back sometime today or should I meet you at home?”

  “I’m coming back. Don’t leave without me.” I don’t want Pierce to offer to drive me home. I’m not ready for him to see where I live. Besides, I like his sister, but this is a lot, very, very fast. I mean, brunch with family members is more than I’ve done in years.

  Pierce walks me down to the beach. My dress, shoes, and purse are tucked into a bag that says sweet in bold letters on the front. I adjust the strap on my shoulder and face him.

  “I’ll drop your sister’s clothes off before Marley and I go home this afternoon.”

  “If that works for you, sure.” He’s still wearing that ridiculous half smirk, as if he can tell I’m suddenly uncomfortable. We have the whole house-financing situation left to deal with and now that I’m dating him, separating business from pleasure seems a bit more challenging.

  “I should have all the necessary paperwork for you and Lawson tomorrow.”

  “Should we schedule a meeting to go over it?”

  “Well, Marley typically takes care of that.”

  His smile grows wider. “You can’t avoid me, now that we’re dating. You know that, right?”

  “I’m not trying to avoid you. I’m just telling you how it usually works. The house deal has nothing to do with us dating.” I’m not used to liking someone this much this quickly. I keep reminding myself that Pierce is only here temporarily, and he seems pretty tied to his job in New York even if he’d rather not be, so what we’re doing right now is as serious as it’s going to get.

  “Okay, well, house deal aside, I’m taking you out for dinner this week, so make sure you have some free time.” He cups the back of my neck and bends to kiss me. And not chastely. His tongue is in my mouth and our chests meet, his other arm snakes around my waist, keeping me locked against him. He comes back to nip at my bottom lip a couple more times before he finally releases me. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  * * *

  In the week that follows, Pierce makes good on his promise to keep business and pleasure separate. Sort of. Okay, not really. Typically Marley deals with the clients throughout the sale, but I’m cc’d into every email, and Pierce calls and messages me about all of the fine details.

  Every phone call—which come daily—begins with a question about financing, closing dates, wording in a contract. Once I’m finished patiently explaining something Pierce clearly already knows the answer to, he switches into flirt mode. Both of us have busy schedules this week, so he ends up tagging along with me to my pottery class on Wednesday. It’s something I’ve done since I was a kid, and I took it up again in the past year. It was more fun to have Pierce with me than I thought it would be, especially since I suck at it a lot and have no plans to get better at it. Sometimes practice doesn’t make perfect, but in this case I don’t mind. Pierce wanted to pretend to be Patrick Swayze in Ghost. All he succeeded in doing was making a colossal mess.

  After we finished our pottery projects, he gave me a very long, very drawn-out kiss on the middle of the sidewalk and asked me out for dinner the next night. I get what he’s doing—withholding sexual gratification in order to secure future dates. It works. I know how worth it those orgasms will be when I eventually get him alone.

  I’m meeting him for dinner tonight on the beach since I already have a potential client appointment set up there this afternoon. Marley and I spent all of last Sunday canvassing the older, less well-maintained homes, bringing by cookies and chatting up the owners, looking for potential homes to buy—or sell, depending on the price point and how much work it needs. I happened on Muriel Barber tending her beautiful gardens, and we got to talking about how much work it is to maintain, even with help.

  She’s a widow, and as much as she loves the place, she’s decided she’d like to relocate closer to her son who lives in Texas. Especially since she’s about to be a grandmother to twins and she’d like to be around to help.

  So today I’m spending a little time with her, making cookies. Which will give me a chance to check out the interior and see if it’s within our renovation budget. Marley’s doing the same thing at another house on the opposite end of the beach. We’re on the same mission: Seek out potential properties and decide whether we can afford to flip or sell, one batch of cookies at a time.

  I check my appearance in my compact. Hair pulled up in a neat ponytail. Check. Lip gloss. Check. Reasonably nice outfit good for baking. Check. Baking supplies. Check.

  I knock on the door with a big smile plastered on my face and wait. And wait some more. I check my watch. It’s after one. We planned this in advance. A lump forms in my throat. What if little old Ms. Barber had a heart attack in her sleep? What if she’s fallen and she can’t get up? Or maybe she’s napping. The last thought makes me feel marginally better.

  I knock again. Harder this time and wait a little bit longer, but still nothing. It’s a beautiful day. Maybe she’s out by the pool and can’t hear me. She loves her pool since getting down to the beach has become more difficult for her recently. She had a hip replacement last year.

  With a bowl of cookie dough tucked under my arm, I round the side of the house to the backyard patio that overlooks the beach. As suspected, Ms. Barber is lounging in one of the chairs, her wide brim hat perched on her head.

  “Ms. Barber!” I wave jovially and hold up the bowl. “Is it still okay for me to pop by?”

  “Oh! Ri-anne! Let yourself in, dearie!” I haven’t bothered to correct her on my name. She decided she didn’t like that it was so much like the boy name, so she made it into two distinct words instead.

  I flip the latch on the gate and step onto the patio. Updated stonework would make this the perfect oasis and the view is absolutely stunning. “How are you?” I bend to hug her.

  She fans herself with a magazine. “Just peachy, dear.”

  “I have cookie dough, the same kind as the ones I brought you last week. Remember?”

  “Oh yes! Is it already after one? I must’ve lost track of time. You should pull up a chair and have a seat for a while. The nice young gentleman from down the beach has stopped by to help clean the pool and he’s quite fantastic to watch. He just went to get me a fresh lemonade. Oh!” She grabs my wrist and pulls me closer. “I have an idea. Pluck a handful of leaves from the bush over there, will you? Hurry! Before he comes back out.”

  I set the bowl on the side table and gather up a few fallen leaves and petals from the garden lining the perimeter of the pool.

  “Hurry, hurry!” Ms. Barber motions me back over.

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “Toss them in the pool.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it. Trust me.”

  I give her a questioning smile, but sprinkle the leaves in the pool.

  “Now come sit next to me and pretend we’ve been talking.” As soon as I’m clo
se enough, she grabs my wrist again and pulls me into the lounger next to her. My skirt poofs up and I nearly flash my panties. At least they’re nice ones, since I plan to let Pierce take them off me—possibly with his teeth—after baking time is over and we’ve gone on our dinner date.

  “Oh, here he comes. Act natural.” Ms. Barber fans her face again with the magazine.

  I adjust my sunglasses and nearly choke on the mint I have stuffed in the corner of my mouth. Pierce walks across the patio, holding a pitcher of what looks like lemonade. In the other hand are a couple of glasses. But that’s not what almost has me choking to death on a mint.

  He’s wearing a Speedo. A lime-green Speedo.

  Ms. Barber gives my hand a squeeze. “Close your mouth, dear, and play it cool.”

  My jaw snaps closed. “Dear Lord,” I mutter.

  “Isn’t he magnificent?” she sighs.

  “He’s something else.” I take him in, and I’m rather shameless in my perusal. I’ve seen him naked, so it’s not like I don’t already know what he looks like in less clothing than the little he’s currently sporting. But he’s glistening, as if he’s oiled or something.

  “Is this the granddaughter you’re so fond of, Ms. Barber?” Pierce asks, his megawatt smile flashing at me as he sets the glasses on the table along with the pitcher.

  So that’s how we’re playing it. I’m sure he can see my arched brow.

  Ms. Barber giggles, much like a teenage girl, and waves her hand around before she allows it to settle on his forearm. “Now you stop it with the Ms. Barber business, you make me feel old. It’s just Muriel.”

  She’s never asked me to call her by her first name. But then, I haven’t offered to oil myself up and strut around her pool in the equivalent of underwear.

  “Of course, Muriel. My apologies.”

  Her hand flutters around in the air. “This Ri-anne. She’s stopped by to bake some cookies with me this afternoon.”

  “Is that right? I love cookies.” He extends a hand, which I have no choice but to take. His fingers slide along the center of my palm. “The sweeter the better. I’m actually really good with cookies. What kind of cookie do you have, Ri-anne, is it?”

  I’m pretty sure my face is on fire. “Rian, yes. I brought sugar cookies.”

  “Sugar cookies are my favorite.” He presses his lips to the back of my hand and grazes my knuckle with his teeth.

  “Well, isn’t it your lucky day?” Muriel claps her hands.

  “Seems that way.” He winks at her.

  “Do you mind pouring me a glass of that lemonade? Ri-anne, why don’t you relax a little and have one with me?”

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  I don’t have much to do this afternoon apart from cookies and Pierce, and since he’s already here and mostly naked, I might as well enjoy the view and the entertainment. I make a move to stand, but Ms. Barber stops me with a hand.

  “No, no, Pierce will get it for you, won’t you, darling?”

  “It would be my pleasure to serve you both.”

  I have to fight a laugh, because he’s seriously laying it on thick here. He poses as he pours the lemonade into the glass, every hard muscle tightening as he flexes. It’s hilarious and yet, I worry he’s giving Muriel a case of the vapors.

  I accept the lemonade.

  “Aren’t you going to pour yourself a glass?” Muriel asks.

  “I should finish cleaning the pool before I do that.” He motions to the leaves floating close to us.

  “You’re too good to me.” She pats his thigh.

  “Anything to make it easier for you.”

  I take a sip of my lemonade and nearly spit-spray it back into the glass. “Is there vodka in here?”

  Muriel pinches her fingers together. “Just a touch.”

  It tastes like a heck of a lot more than a touch. I’ll have to sip slowly if I’m going to bake cookies without passing out in the batter. Or getting my cookie eaten by the pool boy later.

  He swaggers—it’s definitely not a walk or a strut—around the pool, grabbing the net. He starts at the other side, giving me time to ask some pertinent questions. I have an idea as to why Pierce is here—likely for a similar reason I am. We both want the house. I want to sell it or flip it, and he wants to buy it and rent it. It could end up working in both of our favors, unless Marley thinks this is a better house to flip—then I really will be sleeping with the enemy.

  He’s definitely got a leg up, or at least another, more enticing appendage. And showing up in a Speedo is a new level of playing dirty. I can’t compete with his six-pack.

  “Does Pierce stop by often?”

  “Every few days or so. He helps me water the plants and take care of the gardens between the landscaping company visits. He usually brings his dog, Trip.”

  “Trip?” I feign a questioning look.

  She laughs and takes another long gulp of her drink. “Poor little broken mutt has three legs. You’d almost think they’re twins.” She nods in Pierce’s direction with a wink and nudge.

  I stifle a choke-snorting laugh.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking. And he wouldn’t be wearing that banana hammock if he wasn’t wanting us to look.” She takes another hefty sip of her drink and sighs. “That boy has all the best attributes. He makes me remember I’m still a woman, I can tell you that. I haven’t felt so much as a tingle below the waist since Herb passed away. Enjoy this body while you have it, and make sure you let someone enjoy it with you.” She pats my leg and winks again. “That boy is a fine, fine specimen. Takes good care of himself. My Herb was the same way when we were your age. Balls hung down to his knees by the end, but gravity is a bastard like that. If I didn’t have osteoporosis and my vagina wasn’t as dry as the desert in the middle of July, I’d take that out for a ride.”

  I want to laugh, but she actually looks quite serious.

  “You’re in your prime, dearie. I hope you’re not saving yourself for marriage or anything. You need to ride all the horses you can before you get tied to one of them.”

  “I’ll keep that under advisement.”

  I finish my vodka and lemonade a lot faster than I should. I’m blaming it on the combination of the heat and Pierce in his Speedo. My favorite part is when his sunglasses accidentally fall into the pool and he has to go in after them.

  His dive is virtually splashless, and when he comes up, he’s right in front of us. He slips his sunglasses back on and pulls himself out of the pool in slow motion, water sluicing down his chest. He sets one knee on the edge, highlighting his magic package.

  I decline another lemonade and decide I need to get to the cookie baking. I’m unsurprised when Muriel asks if I’m okay on my own.

  I head inside and turn on the oven, annoyed that my attempt to butter up Muriel has been thwarted by Pierce and his majestic peen. At least now I have an opportunity to check out the house. The interior is in much better shape than the exterior, the appliances new. The furnishings are reflective of the person who lives here, but that’s easy enough to change.

  I pull out the baking sheets and the parchment paper. It’s a nice oven, convection, so it’ll take less time to bake. I have to constantly rotate my cookie sheets at home so the bottoms don’t burn.

  The first batch is in the oven when Pierce appears in the kitchen. It suddenly feels like the temperature has shot up another ten degrees. “You’re pretty transparent, you know that?”

  He motions to the set up. “And you’re not?”

  He has a point. “But you’re playing dirty.”

  “I’d like to play dirty with you later.”

  I chuckle. “I walked right into that one.”

  Pierce leans against the counter. “She’s lonely.”

  “And horny. And you’re capitalizing on that. I can’t figure out if you’re doing this to get something out of it or to be nice.” I roll another ball of cookie dough and drop it on the pan, flattening it with a fork.

&nbs
p; “Why can’t it be both?”

  “I figured it couldn’t be out of the goodness of your big, huge … heart.” I glance down, making it clear that’s not what I’m referencing. “Unless you have a thing for older women.”

  He crosses his arms over his bare chest. “She lost her husband, Herbert, after forty-two years of marriage. They’d never spent more than a weekend away from each other in all that time. Very different from my parents, who’ve spent that last thirty plus years running away from each other. Half the time one of them is out of the country for some reason or other.” His expression darkens for a moment, and he rubs at his bottom lip. “Muriel has three children, all boys. The oldest is Christian, he’s forty and married to his high school sweetheart, Lizzy. They have three kids, Louis, Gabe, and Adele, and they live in South Carolina. The middle son is Mike. He’s thirty-six and recently divorced. He lives out in Tennessee with his girlfriend, Dana, who Muriel isn’t fond of. He has two kids and only partial custody.”

  I’m impressed that he knows all of this in great detail. I could’ve told him about the deceased husband and her three sons, but not the names or where they lived, or how many grandchildren they have. “The youngest son is about to have twins. I get it.”

  He cocks his head. “What do you get?”

  “You invest time.”

  “It’s more than that, Rian. It’s not just about investing time for personal gain. It’s about connecting with people. I’ve spent my life surrounded by people who are always looking for a way to get ahead or out of some shit they’ve stepped in. Being a lawyer means someone always wants something from you, or wants you to get them out of a mess. I love my parents, but they sure as hell didn’t give me a great basis for how relationships should work, or how to communicate. I had to figure that out all on my own. All Muriel wants is to talk to someone. She misses her family and her husband. She misses having someone to love.”

  I don’t know if he’s indirectly referencing me and the way I guard myself around him, especially with what he said about his family. These seemingly innocuous revelations give me so much more insight into who this man is. I wish I could be more like him, able to let people in, to give more of myself so I can have more of someone else in return.