# Her Naughty Holiday

Tiffany Reisz

A feast she wasn't expecting!Clover Greene would sooner crawl into her oven than host family for Thanksgiving dinner. Yet another annual ritual of too much food, served with a side of criticism over «Clover's Bad Life Choices.» This year, she needs to distract them all—with a handsome fake boyfriend. And she has the perfect guy in mind.Contractor Erick Fields is the poster boy for sexy single dads, and Clover has been secretly crushing on him for ages. She certainly wasn't expecting Erick to agree to her insane charade…or to add lots of hot, wicked sex to the deal. If they can pull it off, the worst Thanksgiving ever might give them something to be really thankful for!

A feast she wasn’t expecting!

Clover Greene would sooner crawl into her oven than host family for Thanksgiving dinner. Yet another annual ritual of too much food, served with a side of criticism over “Clover’s Bad Life Choices.” This year, she needs to distract them all—with a handsome fake boyfriend. And she has the perfect guy in mind.

Contractor Erick Fields is the poster boy for sexy single dads, and Clover has been secretly crushing on him for ages. She certainly wasn’t expecting Erick to agree to her insane charade...or to add lots of hot, wicked sex to the deal. If they can pull it off, the worst Thanksgiving ever might give them something to be really thankful for!

“You are naked in my bed...”

“I’m wearing a smile.” Erick lay flat on his back with his hands behind his head...waiting.

“That doesn’t count,” Clover said.

Without saying another word, he kissed her. It was a deep, long, sensual kiss, much deeper and harder than he’d kissed her before. With the lights off, everything seemed to mean more, to matter more. It didn’t feel like they were playing anymore.

And Erick was naked, completely, not even wearing that smile.

Tentatively she slid her hand down his chest to his stomach and stopped there while he kissed her neck under her ear.

“Take your time,” he whispered. “I have all night.”

Dear Reader,

When my husband and I moved out to Oregon, one of our first trips was up Mount Hood to check out the famous Timberline Lodge (as seen in The Shining), to Mount Hood National Forest and Lost Lake, which is the most photographed spot in the entire state. Upon arriving at Lost Lake on a fine October afternoon, we realized why. The view of the top of Mount Hood is glorious, and on a clear day you can see the snow-capped volcanic peak reflected in the deep dark blue waters of the lake. I’d never seen anything like it before. It was utterly romantic. And when a romance writer sees a place that beautiful and that romantic, she has to write a book about it. In fact, I wrote three books about it, and this is number two in the Men at Work trilogy of books set in and around Lost Lake and Mount Hood.

I hope you enjoy Her Naughty Holiday, featuring Clover Greene, who owns and operates a highly successful garden nursery, and Erick Fields, the father of Clover’s teenaged assistant, Ruthie, who is determined to play matchmaker. Clover needs a boyfriend to get her nagging family off her back about her personal life this Thanksgiving. Meanwhile Ruthie wants a cool stepmother and has decided Clover’s the woman for her. But is Clover the right woman for Erick? We’ll see...

Happy reading!

Tiffany Reisz

Unofficial Ambassador to Mount Hood, Oregon

Her Naughty Holiday

Tiffany Reisz


www.millsandboon.co.uk

TIFFANY REISZ is a multi-award-winning and bestselling author. She lives on Mount Hood in Oregon in her secret volcanic lair with her husband, author Andrew Shaffer, two cats and twenty sock monkeys named Gerald. Find her online at tiffanyreisz.com.

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Dedicated to...

My family, who loves me for me.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Extract

Copyright

[1]

IT WAS THE best of emails. It was the worst of emails. And Clover received them both within two minutes of each other.

Clover’s emotional pendulum swung from left to right so fast upon checking her computer she had to put her head down onto her desk and breathe through the light-headedness. It was in this unusually undignified position—arms on desk, head between arms, hoodie over her head—that Clover’s assistant found her.

“Um, Clo? You okay down there?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

“Are you sure you’re sure you’re sure?”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Clover sat up and looked across her desk where her seventeen-year-old assistant, Ruthie, stood looking at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Is your hair more purple than usual today?” Clover asked. “Or is it the light?”

“More purple. I recolored it last night.”

“Looks good.”

“Thanks.”

Clover put her head back down on her desk.

“Clover?”

“What?”

“Clove?”

“What?”

“Clo?”

“What is it, Ruthie?” Clover sat up again.

“You were moaning. Did you know that?”

“I was?”

“You were. And not the good kind of moaning.”

Clover narrowed her eyes at Ruthie.

“What would you know about the good kind of moaning?” Clover asked.

“Nothing. I know nothing about good moaning. That’s what we tell Pops, anyway. Right?”

“Right. Pops. Your father. Oh, God. My father...”

Once more her head hit her desk and this time it wasn’t coming back up until the world had ended, thus solving all of Clover’s problems.

“Clo, what’s wrong? Tell me or I’m not leaving.”

“You have to leave. You have a plane to catch.”

“The plane is taking me to LA. Trust me, I’m in no hurry to get there.”

Clover slowly rolled up and sat back in her office chair. The place was a mess, but a comfortable mess. She had ferns overflowing onto her worktable, orchids on her desk, potting soil in the wheelbarrow by the storm door and her lemon tree was getting so big it hung over her desk, making the whole office look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. She liked it here. She loved it here. Maybe she’d stay here. Forever.

“My parents’ house finally sold and my sister’s house has ants and has to be fumigated. And my brother’s house is still undergoing renovations that they were undergoing last Thanksgiving.”

“Good for your parents. Bad for your brother and sister.”

“Also, PNW Garden Supply upped their offer to five million.”

Ruthie’s blue eyes went as big as the lemons hanging off Clover’s tree.

“Five million dollars? For this place?”

“And the Portland location.”

“This is all... Wow. But I don’t get the connection between a house selling, ants, a buyout offer and...this.” Ruthie flopped over onto Clover’s desk before standing up again.

“The buyout offer is great, fantastic, fabulous,” Clover said. “And I have until Monday to decide to take it or not.”

“Tomorrow is Monday.”

“Next Monday, the Monday after Thanksgiving. And with Mom and Dad out of their house and Kelly’s house being fumigated, and Hunter’s house being renovated... We know what that means.”

“We do?”

“It means lucky me gets to host Thanksgiving. By the way, they didn’t ask me if I would host Thanksgiving. No, they told me to expect them on Thanksgiving. So the week I should be deciding if I’m going to sell the company I’ve spent the last five years of my life building is the week I’ll be hosting my family, and...oh, my God, kill me, Ruthie. Please.”

Head met desk once more and they decided to spend the rest of their lives together.

“Do you need a lavender-infused wipe?” Ruthie asked.

“Yes, please.”

Ruthie put the lavender-scented moist towelette into her hand, and Clover pressed it against her face and inhaled deeply and repeatedly.

“Is it working? Calmer yet?” Ruthie asked.

“Do you have anything stronger? Like chloroform?”

“I could light some incense, maybe?” Ruthie suggested. “Or we can go out and find a yew tree.”

“Yew trees are not native to this continent. Also, they’re highly toxic, so exactly what are we supposed to do with a yew tree?” Clover asked, narrowing her eyes behind the lavender towel. “You aren’t poisoning anyone, are you?”

“Trees are ancient sacred beings, and yew trees are symbols of renewal. We should stand in front of one and ask Mother Nature for Her wisdom.”

“I have this lemon tree right here.” Clover pointed at the tree hanging over her head. “Is that not good enough for the Mother?”

“Fruit trees are fertility symbols. If we pray under that one you might get pregnant. Or worse, I might get pregnant.”

“Okay, we’ll skip the lemon tree, then. Although if I got pregnant that would shut my family up.”

“Your family wants you to get pregnant?”

“They want me to be happy. It’s awful.”

“Yeah, sounds absolutely horrible,” Ruthie said in her glorious teenage deadpan. “Screw them.”

“No, it’s not that. Well, it is. My brother will come to Thanksgiving and he will bring his wife, Lisa, and their three kids. My sister will bring her handsome husband and their four kids. Mom and Dad will come to Thanksgiving and cry with joy because all their children and grandchildren are under the same roof. And I will be there. Alone. In the house. Thirty years old. No husband. No boyfriend. No kids. I haven’t even been on a date in years. And they will let me know over and over again, and in no uncertain terms, that I’m not getting any younger, and if I’m ever going to be happy that magical way they are happy with their beautiful spouses and their perfect children, I have to get a move on it. And I will sit there and I will listen to all of this. And...”

“And?”

“And I will smile and nod while I mentally stab them all with the carving knife.”

“Why only mentally?”

Clover looked up from the nest she’d made with her hoodie on the desk.

“You’re a creepy kid, Ruthie. Just a little creepy.” She held up her fingers an inch apart.

“Thank you.” Ruthie curtsied.

“I knew you’d like that. So...that’s what’s wrong. Nothing and everything.”

“Can’t you just tell your family to shut up and mind their own business? It’s your body, your womb.”

“Why don’t you just tell your dad to shut up and mind his own business when he asks you about your homework or your grades or your boyfriend?”

“I do.”

“Does it work?”

“All right, you got me there. Maybe next time your mom tells you to have kids you can say you’ve dedicated your womb to Mother Earth.”

“What does that entail exactly?”

“I don’t know, but I said it at school once and it got me out of PE that day so you should try it.”

“That would not go over very well with my Presbyterian mother.”

“You need a new family,” Ruthie said. “You can join my coven.”

Clover sat up for the last time, abandoning her desk nest for good. She was a grown-up, after all. She needed to be setting a better example for Ruthie. Adults face their problems. They do not hide from them inside hooded sweatshirts.

“I love my family. I just also, sort of, hate them. Listen to this email from my sister.”

Clover pulled it up and read in her best fake sweet voice.

Clo! OMG, thank you for letting us do Thanksgiving at your place. It must be so great not having kids so you have all that free time. It’s a good thing I love these kids because, I swear, they are the biggest handful on earth. It must be nice only having to deal with plants. If they die nobody cares, right? I have to keep these critters alive and that is a full-time job. Speaking of the kids, I posted about fifty new pics in the family photo album. Can’t wait to hear what you think of Gus’s class picture. He’s really the cutest kid in the class but I’m probably biased. Love you! See you Thursday!

Ruthie stared at her, wide-eyed with horror.

“I hate your family. Even Gus,” Ruthie said. “Goddess forgive me.”

“Fifty new pictures of the kids? She just put in two dozen last weekend! And I have to comment on every last one of them or she’ll bug me until I do.”

“Children are parasites,” Ruthie said.

“So I’m guessing you’re not planning on having kids when you’re older?”

“What do you have against parasites?” Ruthie rolled her eyes.

Clover wisely chose to ask no follow-up questions.

“Nobody cares if my plants die?” Clover said with a sigh. “Does she not understand that I sell plants and I can’t sell dead plants?”

“Has she met any of your customers? She should come answer the phone for a week here, and then she can say nobody cares if your plants die,” Ruthie said. “Does she not know if the plants die, your business dies?”

“Kelly means well.”

“You have to let me burn her house down. Please?”

“No burning anything. You’re still on probation.”

“Fine. But if she ever comes in here I’m going to put a Venus flytrap down her pants.”

“That doesn’t sound very Zen.”

“Zen is a teaching of Buddhism. Although I respect Buddhism, I’m technically a neo-pagan. And neo-pagans would totally put a Venus flytrap down your sister’s pants. At least this neo-pagan would.”

“You’re very...sweet? Okay, no, but it’s nice of you to defend me. My family wants the best for me, but it’s always their version of ‘the best,’ not my version. I know exactly what Mom will say when I tell her about the buyout offer. She’ll say, ‘Oh, Clo, honey, that’s wonderful. Now you can quit work and finally focus on your personal life.’ I’d bet money on those exact words.”

“Weird. I’d say, ‘Oh, Clo, that’s wonderful. Five million dollars buys, like, five years of male escort services.’”

“Only five years?”

“Those guys make bank, Clo. You should hire one. He could help you with your little problem...” Ruthie sang, fluttering her eyelashes, the very picture of feigned innocence.

“I don’t even feel comfortable getting manicures. Do you really think I could handle hiring a male escort? And what on earth are you doing looking up male escorts, anyway?”

“I admire them. They are the only men on the planet doing what the Goddess intends men to do, i.e., devoting themselves entirely to female pleasure.”

“If I didn’t let you hire a stripper for my birthday, do you really think I’m going to hire a male escort? For anything? Including my little problem or my big problem?”

“Okay, maybe not. But you could ask Pops.”

“What?”

“Ask Pops. You know, my father? Picks me up every day? The tall guy with the dirt under his nails who’s cute, I guess, for a dad.”

“Yes, I know who your father is. We’ve met a few hundred times.”

“Well, ask him, then. He has all his teeth and all his hair and he knows how to cook a turkey. What more could any woman want in a fake boyfriend?”

“He’s your dad.”

“I know. I’ve also met him,” Ruthie said.

“I can’t ask your dad to help me with my little problem.”

“Not your little problem. Your big problem. He can be your fake boyfriend this week.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? He’s not dating anybody. Plus, he likes you. And he’ll be alone this week while I’m with Mom.”

“Because he’s your dad. And you work for me. And I think that would be a little bit weird.” Clover paused. “Wait. What do you mean he likes me?”

“I mean he likes you. Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re nice and you’re a goddess.”

“I’m dirt-encrusted on a daily basis,” she said. She also lived in her jeans, fleece vests and turtlenecks, and any makeup she put on in the morning she’d sweated off by noon. Her blond hair never left its ponytail until night.

“So is Mother Nature.”

“Is your father attracted to Mother Nature?”

“If he’s smart he is. And he’s smart, but don’t tell him that. Come on, Clo, Pops thinks you’re awesome for giving me this job. He says you’re a good role model. He really does like you.”

“Liking me is not the same as liking me. And even if he did like me, he’s your father. I don’t want things to be weird with you and me.”

“You don’t think it’s already weird that you check him out every time he picks me up?”

Clover blushed crimson.

“I do not check your father out.”

“I have lived all my life under the curse of the Sexy Single Dad. My own friends check him out. It’s so gross. But it’s not gross when you do it. It’s adorable.”

Clover glared at Ruthie across the office.

“Suit yourself,” Ruthie said. “I didn’t want a badass stepmother, anyway. I’ll just write down the number for the male escort service. Do you like blond guys? Sven is half-off this week.”

“Which half?”

“You’ll have to call and find out...” Ruthie raised her head and glanced out the window behind Clover’s desk. “Speak of the devil. Pops is here. Time to fly.”

Clover turned around and looked out at the truck pulling into the parking lot of Clover’s Greenery, the finest plant nursery in the entire Mount Hood area according to PNW Garden Supply. That reputation was seemingly why they were ready to hand over a cool five million dollars to her for her two locations and the name. That was the sticking point. The name. It was her name. She kind of wanted to keep her name and use her name and sell plants with her name. Look at Erick, Ruthie’s dad. Painted right on the side of his white Dodge Ram were the words Erick Fields—Cedar Roofing, Siding and Decking. He was his business. His name was his work. His work was his name. She respected that. Giving up her right to do business under the name Clover Greene would hurt. But would it hurt so much that five million dollars couldn’t ease the pain?

Probably not.

She watched as Erick parked his truck and walked toward the office. He usually picked Ruthie up after work since Ruthie didn’t have a car of her own, but today he was taking her to the airport to visit her mother for the week. Whether Clover wanted to admit it or not, Erick was cute and Clover was checking him out. Actually, cute wasn’t the right word for Erick. He was handsome. Ruggedly handsome with his close-cropped brown-and-gray hair and his dark eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something. And tall? Definitely. And Erick was manly, with his buff-colored work coat, his steel-tipped work boots and his hands always stained with paint or deck stain. Manly without being macho, which she appreciated. She had no time for macho or swagger in a man. No posturing for her. Erick turned his head and looked through the window, raising his hand in a wave. Clover sat up straight. Oops. She got caught staring. She gave a quick casual wave back and spun around in her desk chair again, hoping Ruthie hadn’t seen.

Ruthie was back at her small desk, clearing up her stuff and throwing it all into her backpack. It would be dull around here with Ruthie gone for the week and the nursery closed for winter after today. Clover always felt lost when she didn’t have to come in to work at eight every morning and stay until eight every night. With the nursery taking up so much of her time, she didn’t have much of a life outside it. When the nursery closed down for the season, Clover didn’t know what to do with herself. Maybe her mother had a point. Maybe Clover should give her personal life more attention.

Or maybe that was her family talking, not her.

“You sure you don’t want me to pimp you out to Pops?” Ruthie asked as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“As God is my witness, I do not want you to pimp me out to your father. Or anyone. Ever.”

“Your loss. He can do magic with a Big Green Egg. That’s not a sex thing, by the way. That’s a grill.”

“I know what a Big Green Egg is. I know it is not a sex thing.”

“Although Mom does say Pops was good—”

“Stop right there, young lady. I have nothing but respect for your father. Especially since he puts up with you forty-five weeks out of the year. Now go. Have a great week with your mom. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m going to worry about you, Clo.”

“I’m your boss, I’m an adult and I’ll be fine.”

“You’re my friend. You’re a hot mess. You need help.”

“I need a hug. Come here.”

Ruthie groaned as Clover hugged her.

“No groaning. You’ll have a great time in LA.”

“Too much sun. I hate the sun,” Ruthie said. “Why would I live here if I liked the sun?”

“I know you hate the sun. I’m sure it hates you, too. Wear sunscreen and a hat. You’ll come back as ghastly pale and sickly looking as ever, I promise.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Good luck this week,” Ruthie said, taking Clover by the arms. “Let me know what you decide about the nursery. I’d hate to lose my job here, but I’d also love to be friends with a millionaire, so whatever you choose, I’m on your side.”

“Soon as I know, you’ll know. Be safe.”

“If I have to.” Ruthie grabbed her jacket just as her father stuck his head through the office door.

“Hey, girls.”

“Sexist,” Ruthie said. “Try again.”

“Hello, ladies?”

“Elitist.” Ruthie pulled her jacket on and zipped it up. “One more try.”

Erick dropped his chin to his chest, and Clover covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Greetings, my fellow Americans,” Erick said, his eyes rolled heavenward as if praying for patience.

“Better.” Ruthie nodded her approval. “But only because we are Americans. You can’t assume that about everyone.”

“Are you ready to go, Ruthless? Please say yes.”

“Ready,” she said. “Just let me refill my water bottle real quick.”

She walked out of the office with her water bottle in hand, a normal errand but for the little wink she gave Clover as she walked past.

“How are you, Erick?” Clover asked, hoping that question didn’t sound as awkward to his ears as it did to hers. Now that Ruthie had planted the idea in Clover’s head of asking Erick out, she was having trouble making eye contact with him. And that was too bad. She really liked his eyes.

“I’m good. Ready for a few days off this week. You?”

“I hate days off,” she said, sitting on top of her desk. “I’m about to get too many of them for my taste now that we’re closed for the winter.”

“Will you be climbing the walls by Tuesday?”

“No, but check on me again in late January when I’ve run out of busywork,” Clover said. “Takes me a couple months to remember how to be lazy.”

“It wouldn’t take me nearly that long. But hey, thanks for giving Ruthie the whole week off. I know you could use the help cleaning up and locking things down.”

“It’s fine. She needs to see her mom and everything we have to do can wait until Ruthie gets back. I won’t be in much this week, anyway. Gets too lonely around here when she’s gone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ll be going nuts this week, too. Clean bathroom? No dishes in the sink? No bras hanging off the shower door? God, why doesn’t my kid leave more often?”

“You know you’ll miss me,” Ruthie said from the doorway.

“I do?”

“You do,” she said, punching him in the arm. “Come on, I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You got everything?” Erick asked as he raised his hand to tick items off on his fingers. “Meds. Phone. Charger. Your homework. Sunscreen.”

“A Taser, a laser, a can of mace, an actual mace, a hunting knife, yes, yes, yes. I have everything I need for a week in LA. Let’s go, Pops, we’re going to be late.”

“Bye, dear,” Clover said. “Have fun or whatever it is that you do that’s like having fun.”

“Thanks, Clo. I left Sven’s number on your desk.”

“Sven?” Erick repeated as he grabbed Ruthie by her jacket collar and led her from the office. “Who’s Sven?”

“Nobody,” Ruthie said. “Just a male escort I hired for Clover.”

“Is that in your job description?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course. What do you think I do here all day?”

“Your daughter is weird, Erick,” Clover called after them, considering moving back into her desk nest.

“You don’t have to tell me that. Have a good Thanksgiving,” he said, gently force-marching Ruthie out to his truck.

“You, too,” she said. After Erick and Ruthie had gone, Clover forced herself to reply to her two emails.

To the first—the five-million-dollar buyout offer she’d received from PNW Garden Supply’s CFO—she replied with a simple I’ll let you know on Monday. Happy Thanksgiving.

To her sister’s email she replied with a smiley face emoji and a Great! Can’t wait to see everyone!

She made sure to fill the email with unnecessary exclamation points to mask her incredible sense of dread about the whole shebang. All her family—her parents, two siblings, their spouses and seven kids under one roof for an entire day? There was not enough punctuation in the world to fake how much she was not looking forward to that.

Kelly replied to the email almost immediately.

Mom wants to know if we’re going to be meeting anyone special on Thursday, Kelly wrote.

Clover picked up a trowel and considered stabbing her laptop with it so she wouldn’t have to reply.

Instead she simply ignored the email and got to work cleaning. Potting soil and wheelbarrow went into the storage shed. Ferns back into the greenhouse. It wasn’t the right time of year to trim a lemon tree so she moved it to the opposite corner of the office where it could spread out a little more until she could trim it down again to a more indoor-friendly size. And all the while she thought about what she would do with five million dollars and all the free time anybody could want.

Five million was a lot of money. Not enough to buy the world but plenty to go into her retirement account and leave enough to start a new company. But with the noncompete clause in the PNW Garden Supply offer, she wouldn’t be able to start another nursery in Oregon. She could move to Northern California and open a nursery there. Then again, that’s where her parents lived, which meant instead of hearing about how she needed to get married and have kids ASAP and STAT on major holidays, she’d hear it every single week.

Or she could stay in the Mount Hood area and open a landscaping business. Not quite as much fun as a nursery but it was still working with plants. Or she could take a few years off. Or she could move to Hawaii. Or Alaska. Or she could spend the money on male escorts for the next five years.

“You are not calling Sven,” Clover said to herself. “Even if he is half-off this week.”

Clover went to the sink and considered sticking her head under cold running water until she calmed down or drowned. Either would be preferable to her current confused, miserable and muddled state of mind. Instead she just washed all that potting soil off her hands with her lava soap and a nail brush. As she was drying her hands she saw headlights in the parking lot. After six already? She couldn’t believe so much time had passed that it had gotten dark. She needed to head home and get to work cleaning her house. The deck needed to be cleaned off, too, in case the weather was clear enough to grill outside or use her fire pit for s’mores. Her nieces and nephews would make s’mores over that fire pit in the middle of a snowstorm if their parents would let them. She better get someone to fix the loose boards by the pit.

So much to do, so little desire to do any of it.

“Knock, knock.”

Clover turned around and saw Erick sticking his head in through the workroom door.

“Oh, hey,” she said, tossing her hand towel on the counter. “What’s up?”

“My lovely brilliant wonderful daughter left her phone here. I have been commanded to fetch it and overnight it to her mom’s house.”

“Ruthie left her phone here? I thought she had that thing surgically attached to her hand.”

“Yeah, me, too. And didn’t I specifically ask her if she had her phone and her charger?”

“You did. Right after asking her if she had her meds.”

“Okay. Glad I have a witness for this so I know it’s one hundred percent her fault.”

“All her fault,” she said, trying not to laugh. Erick and Ruthie were hilarious together. Ruthie was comically sullen around her father, who was comically sullen around his daughter. They snarked at each other so well one would think sarcasm was the only language they both spoke. But it was impossible not to see how much Erick loved his girl and how much Ruthie adored her father, even if they did constantly harangue and harass each other. She called him “Pops,” which he hated, and he called her “Ruthless,” which she hated even more. Clover found it all endearing and entertaining. She wished she could tease her own parents like that.

“Ruthie said her phone’s in her desk but she might have locked it in there.”

“I’ll get my key,” Clover said. He followed her back into her office and Clover took the key off the wall hook. “You know, it is really not like her to leave her phone. She okay?”

“She’s fine. She probably has it. She’s probably pulling some kind of prank on me by sending me back here. There’s a real possibility there’s a snake in there,” Erick said. “I know my daughter and she knows I hate snakes.”

“I know her, too. So stand back. I’ll protect you. Ready?” She stuck her key in the desk drawer lock.

“I hate snakes,” Erick said.

“Set.”

“Really hate snakes.”

“Go.” She opened the drawer and saw... “It’s her phone.”

“No snakes?” Erick had his eyes shut so tight it looked like he was in pain.

“No snakes. She actually forgot her phone. Wow.”

“Maybe she is coming down with something. I hope she’s not sick. You think this is a sign of a brain tumor or something?”

“She seemed fine today.”

“Okay. I’ll get going, then. According to Ruthie, I have to find a twenty-four-hour UPS store and demand they ship this to her overnight and the driver has to be hot, not normal hot—UPS-driver hot.”

“That is a very specific request.”

“Is Sven UPS-driver hot?” Erick asked as he stuffed the phone into his coat pocket.

“I have no idea what Sven looks like. Your daughter is trying to get me to hire a male escort this week because my family is coming to my house for Thanksgiving.”

Erick lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

“You all do Thanksgiving a little differently than most people.”

Clover laughed. “Oh, no, we do it the traditional way. Too much food and tons of criticizing family members for their life choices.”

“Who’s the target?”

Clover pointed at herself. Erick barked a laugh.

“You? The target?”

“Me. The target.”

“I don’t buy it. Why you?”

“Why not me?” she asked.

“Because you own and operate your own business. You know more about plants than anyone in this entire state. You’re respected by your employees, even my daughter, who doesn’t respect anyone or anything, and you’re...you know.”

“What?”

“Easy on the eyes,” he said.

“I am?”

“My eyes aren’t complaining,” he said. “Just saying, my mom’s always trying to get me to shave. She hates beards. But Ruthie won’t let me shave it off.”

“Why not?”

“One of her friends made the mistake of telling Ruthie her dad was ‘hot.’ Ruthie said I either had to grow a beard or wear a bag over my head.”

“The beard was the right choice.”

“But you don’t have a beard from what I can tell.” He narrowed his eyes at her face and Clover turned left and right, giving him a good look at her nonexistent beard. “Nope. No beard. No reason to pick on you for anything.”

“They’ll find a reason. They always do.”

“I have a cousin in jail for bouncing checks, my grandfather’s favorite hobby is sitting on his porch shooting his rifle at crows, and my aunt raises pygmy goats inside her house so, you know, your family should count their blessings.”

“I’m thirty. I’m not married. I’m not dating anybody. I have no kids. I could have a billion dollars and be crowned Queen of the Mountain and that still wouldn’t be enough for my family.”

“Ah...that explains Sven.” He nodded sagely.

“I’m about ready to hire him to play boyfriend for a week if it’ll shut my family up about my biological clock for one day. Which reminds me—you free this week?”

“You asking me to be your Sven?”

Clover laughed. “No, I was actually asking you if you could fix my deck.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Sure. Big job?”

“Two loose boards and a broken slat.”

“What color stain?”

“Clear. Homewares brand.”

“I have some of that in my truck. I can come tomorrow morning, if it’s not pouring.”

“I’ll write down my address for you,” she said as she scribbled her home address on a note card and passed it to him. “I appreciate it. I have a fire pit and I know the kids will want to use it for marshmallows.”

“I can get it all done in an hour. My treat.”

“I pay people for the work they do. No freebies.”

“You gave my daughter a job when nobody else would. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me a thing. Ruthie’s great at this job.”

“I know she is, but she wouldn’t have been great at her job if you hadn’t taken a chance on her. Nobody wanted to give a sixteen-year-old girl with green hair, a horrible attitude and a criminal record a job except you. Not even McDonald’s. Please. Let me fix your deck as a thank-you for keeping my kid out of trouble.”

“Fine. Since it’s only an hour’s work. Then we’ll call it even.”

“Great. See you tomorrow morning around eight.”

“Thanks, Erick. Have a good night in your empty house.”

“You, too,” he said. He started for the door and it was then that Clover realized that Ruthie was sneakier and more evil than she’d ever given the girl credit for. She’d left her phone here on purpose so Erick would have to come back for it and they’d be alone together. Clover would be angry except for one thing—she did really like Erick. And for that reason alone she said what she said.

“Hey, Erick?”

He turned back around in the doorway, and he did it so quickly it was as if he’d been hoping she’d say something to stop him.

“Yes, Clover?” he said in a playfully husky voice.

“I have something weird to ask you.”

“You’ve met my child. You know I can handle weird. Ask it.”

“Do you...would you...maybe would you want to be my Sven this week?”

[2]

ERICK STARED, SLIGHTLY slack-jawed, at Clover, who stared back, slightly sheepishly, at him. She was blushing, which he’d never seen her do before. It looked good on her, that blush. A little color in her pale cheeks. He’d thought more than once about the various ways of making her flush, blush and redden, but he hadn’t considered this one. He should have.

“Are you offering to pay me to sleep with you?” he asked. “I hope so. That’s been a fantasy all my life. I can go to a bar and you can come in and pick me up. We don’t have to use real money. I’ll accept Monopoly—”

“That is not what I’m asking.”

“Bummer,” he said. It was. He’d been nursing a crush on his daughter’s boss for a good year now, ever since he met Clover the day Ruthie started working at the nursery. He hadn’t done or said anything about the crush. Ruthie needed a job and a steady female presence in her life much more than he needed a girlfriend. But that fact had only stopped him from asking Clover out. It hadn’t put a dent in his crush.

“Here’s the thing,” she said. “I could really use somebody to play boyfriend for Thanksgiving. That’s all. Somebody to deflect all those questions I get from my family about why I’m not married yet, when I’m getting married, when I’m having kids...”

“Can’t you tell them to mind their own damn business?”

“You sound like Ruthie. Does it work when she tells you to mind your own damn business?”

“Well...no.”

“See my problem? It would make everything so much easier if I had a date for Thanksgiving. I know you’re alone this week. Ruthie told me. It’s a free meal and you wouldn’t have to be alone on the day. Interested?”

“Hmm...”

“Hmm...?”

“I kind of like being alone,” he said. “Thanksgiving isn’t a huge deal in my family. My grandmother’s Coquille. She’s always called Thanksgiving ‘What exactly am I supposed to be thankful for?’ Day.”

“Yeah, can’t blame her for that. Do you like free food?”

“I don’t usually turn it down, but I don’t drive out of my way for it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Wait. You’re giving up on me already? That hurts.”

“I’m not going to try to convince you to do something you don’t want to do,” Clover said.

“Why not?”

“Because no means no.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“Then it’s a yes?”

“I didn’t say that, either. Come on. I’m a businessman. Let’s haggle.”

Clover laughed a nervous laugh, almost a giggle. She sat behind her desk and he sat on the desk next to her.

“You’re pretty when you laugh,” he said. “But you’re also pretty when you don’t laugh.”

“You’re sweet,” she said. “I feel like I shouldn’t have brought this up. I had a weak moment and your daughter set me up.”

“She left her phone here on purpose, didn’t she?” Erick asked.

“I am ninety-nine percent certain of it,” Clover said.

Goddamn, she was pretty when she blushed. No doubt about it. Blue eyes, blond hair and the natural beauty of a woman too busy to bother wearing much makeup. She always sported lip gloss, though. An icy pale pink that gave her a sixties mod look. A kissable color like bubble gum. He wondered what she tasted like.

“That girl will do me in someday, I swear.”

“She’s just worried about me,” Clover said. “It’s sweet.”

“I’m not used to my daughter being sweet. I’m more used to my daughter painting her bedroom walls and ceiling black, bribing an ex-con to give her a tattoo and flipping off the next door neighbor’s cat.”

“She flipped off the cat?”

“She said he was judging her.”

“I think she’s just trying to live up to her own reputation.”

“It’s working,” he said. “So do you really need someone to play boyfriend for the week? It’s that bad with your family?”

She sighed heavily and sat back.

“It’s hard,” she said. “They love me but that doesn’t make the stuff they say easier to hear. They think they’re saying, ‘We love you and we want you to be happy,’ but what I hear is, ‘You’re inadequate, you’re a disappointment and you haven’t done what you’re supposed to do to make us happy.’ They bug me so much about getting married that I’m scared to even date because I don’t know if I’m dating to make them happy or dating to make me happy. I’ve almost signed up for Tinder ten times in the last year and talked myself out of it.”

“I’d rather take a vow of celibacy than join Tinder. And I’m not even Catholic.”

“Don’t do that. That would be a waste.”

He grinned at her and shrugged. “You think I’m cute?” he asked.

“You’re hot,” she said. “Like UPS-driver hot.”

“That’s hot.”

“Smoking.”

“This is fun,” he said. “Why haven’t we ever flirted with each other before?”

“Because your daughter works for me, and I didn’t want to make it weird for her.”

“Oh, yeah. Her. Kids are such cock blocks. That’s the name of my parenting book if I ever write one, by the way.”

“That bad?”

“I love my kid, but damn, she makes things complicated. I don’t think I would have given asking you out a second thought if she was a normal kid. But this job was the miracle we needed. I didn’t think anybody would give her a chance after the barn incident.”

“Kids make stupid mistakes,” she said. “We all did.”

“At fifteen I snuck a couple beers from Dad’s stash, ‘borrowed’ the car without permission and ran over the neighbor’s bushes. I didn’t commit ecoterrorism to protest factory farming.”

“She’s got principles. I’ll give her that.”

“She’s got a criminal record for arson and destruction of private property is what she’s got.”

“That, too.”

“You’re good for her,” Erick said. “This job’s been good for her. I kept thinking about asking you out but then I thought Ruthie wouldn’t want to work for you if we were dating. Or if we broke up.”

“In this scenario we’ve already dated and broken up?” Clover asked.

“I’m a parent. We plan for all eventualities.”

“I’m not a parent and I had the same thoughts—don’t screw things up for Ruthie. But that’s me being selfish. She’s a great assistant. I’d hate to lose her.”

“She’s crazy about you. She needs a woman in her life. But her dad kind of does, too. Ask me what two hundred and sixty-eight means.”

“What does two hundred and sixty-eight mean?”

“That’s how many days until Ruthie starts college, and I have my house back. Not that I’m counting.”

“Are you counting?”

“I’m counting.”

“You know, my parents would probably be very impressed if they thought I were dating a single father. They’d think that was a ready-made family.”

“You really want me to be your Sven?” Erick asked. He already planned on doing it. This woman had taken his angry petulant pyromaniac daughter and turned her into a functioning member of society in under a year. He’d do anything for this woman, including but not limited to pretending to be her boyfriend for a couple days.

“I would appreciate it,” she said.

“We can have sex all week too, right?”

“Okay.”

“What?” Erick burst into laughter.

“What?” she repeated. “Why are you laughing?”

“I didn’t think you’d say yes. I was joking.”

“You were?” Her blue eyes went wide.

“Well...yeah. I mean, not that I don’t want to. I do want to. I swear to God, I thought you’d say no. I never guessed you’d say yes, not in a million years.”

“And why not?” she asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Oh, no, he’d put her on the defensive. Bad move.

“You’re a little reserved.”

“Reserved? Me?” She sat up straighter, prim as a schoolmarm.

“Your lowest cut shirt is a turtleneck.”

“Is there something wrong with having a warm neck?”

“Not a damn thing. Obviously I misjudged you. I’m sorry,” he said, not at all in the least sorry to discover Clover Greene wanted to sleep with him.

“Okay, I might be a little reserved,” she said. “But it’s not on purpose. When you own your own business and run it all by yourself, you tend to be all business.”

“That’s all I mean. I just never heard you talk much about a personal life. And Ruthie would have told me if you were dating anybody.”

“No time,” she said. “I guess that’s why I said yes when you said...what you said.”

“When I said I wanted to sleep with you?”

“Yes, that thing,” Clover said. “I actually have time this week to do that sort of...thing. It’s been a long time since I was involved with someone in a clothing optional type scenario.”

“How long? Wait, don’t answer that. That was a rude question.”

“We’re talking about sleeping together. It wasn’t rude. It was a fair question.”

“Okay, how long? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“You show me yours first.”

“Years,” he said. “A year and a half? About that. I was seeing someone right before Ruthie got arrested. Then my entire life turned into babysitting her every minute of the day. You?”

“I had a boyfriend for a few months about three years ago. We broke up when he moved to Seattle for work. My parents still ask about him.”

“Ouch.”

“I don’t even miss him. They miss him.”

Erick held out his hand and as soon as he did it, he wished he hadn’t. His hands were a wreck—covered in deck stain with old scars and calluses. But she didn’t seem to mind. She put her hand in his and he saw she, too, had scars and calluses on her hands.

“I need a manicure,” she said. “My last manicure was about the same time as my last boyfriend.”

“Never had a manicure,” Erick said. “Never had a boyfriend, either. Ruthie tried to talk me into being gay because one of her girlfriends had a crush on me. I had to politely decline.”

“This is nice. Holding hands. I’d forgotten how nice this was.” Clover sat back in her chair again but didn’t let his hand go.

“Very nice. I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to be your Sven for the week.”

“And if it’s just through Thanksgiving, no big deal, right? Fake boyfriend, not real boyfriend.”

“I could make you a very good fake boyfriend. I can be fake nice, fake sweet, fake romantic. I can really fake it.”

“I don’t know if you could fake anything. You seem very genuine to me,” she said.

“I’m good at faking being genuine. Have to be. Teenage girls see through bullshit like they have X-ray vision or something. Ruthie wouldn’t have left her phone here if she didn’t think you and I would actually like each other. She saw right through me. X-ray eyes.”

“She didn’t need X-ray eyes on me. Just normal eyes. I sort of kind of check you out occasionally when you come to pick her up.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“For how long?”

“Um...since the first day you and Ruthie came by?” She winced. Erick tried very hard not to laugh at her extreme discomfort. Clover was seriously adorable, and he seriously adored her.

He put his hand on his cheek and batted his eyelashes. “Oh, no, you’ve set me to blushing.”

“Stop it. I’m embarrassed enough as it is.”

“Why?” he asked, letting her hand go.

“Well... I did sort of just accidentally agree to sleep with you.”

“Nothing to blush over. I want to sleep with me, too. In fact, I do sleep with me every single night. I’m good in bed.”

“Are you?”

“I sleep like the dead, eight straight hours every night.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” She pointed at him through her hoodie pocket. “You are enjoying this.”

“I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. I would come from a foot rub, I swear. Yes, I’m enjoying flirting with you. I’m a little out of practice, though. How am I doing?”

“Not bad. I’m enjoying this, too, and that’s usually a good sign, right?”

“Definitely. Great sign.”

“So...” she said, standing up and facing him. Her hands were still stuffed deep in her pockets. He knew she was thirty but with her hair in the ponytail and wearing jeans and a hoodie, she looked younger, fresh-faced and innocent almost. Or maybe it was the nervousness and the embarrassment that made her look so young. It was endearing, whatever the cause. He wanted to kiss her very much.

“So. You want to do this?” he asked.

“Tell me what ‘this’ is and I’ll tell you if I want to do it.”

“You need a boyfriend to shut your family up on Thanksgiving. I’d be happy to play that part. But I’d like to get to know you better first so it doesn’t feel like we’re faking it. If I could choose, I’d go home with you tonight.”

“You want to sleep with me tonight? This night? Sunday night?”

“This very night,” he said. “I also agreed to fix your deck at 8:00 a.m. and if I’m already there I can sleep later.”

“Now I know why Ruthie punches you in the arm all the time.”

He braced himself for an arm punch. Instead Clover rested her forehead on his shoulder and laughed softly. After two seconds her head was still there. He put one arm around her waist and pulled her a little closer to him. She didn’t seem to mind that one bit so he wrapped his foot around her leg and pulled her even closer...

“Your shampoo smells good,” he said. “Lemons?”

“That’s not my hair. That’s my office,” she said, pointing up at the tree. “But you smell good.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“You smell like sweat and cedar. It’s nice.”

“We’re like a couple of dogs sniffing each other,” he said. “If this continues, my nose is going to end up in your crotch.”

He felt her shaking with laughter against him. He heard the laughter, too, but that was normal. Feeling a woman laughing against him...it had been a long time since he’d felt that.

“Clover?”

“Yes?” She lifted her head and met his eyes. Their faces were only inches apart.

“How about I kiss you? And after I kiss you, then you can tell me where you think I should sleep tonight. What do you think about that?”

“I... I think that’s a good idea,” she said.

“Great. I’m going to kiss you now. You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He leaned in and she raised her hand to stop him.

“What?” he asked, pulling back.

“I was trying to remember my breath situation. I had gum about an hour ago. I think I’m okay.”

“You’re okay, I promise. Now are you ready?”

“Ready now,” she said. “Go for it.”

“I’m going for it. Right now. This second.” Except he wasn’t because he remembered he hadn’t kissed a woman on the mouth in over a year and he wondered if he’d forgotten how. To stall for time, he put his hands on Clover’s waist and positioned her between his knees. She put her hands on his shoulders and he wished he’d taken his coat off so he could feel her body heat better.

“Did you do it?” Clover asked. “I might have blinked and missed it.”

“Hold your horses. I’m getting there. Just lining up my target. I want to make sure I don’t miss. That would be embarr—”

Clover put her lips on his. Thank God one of them finally did it, he thought. But that’s all she did, put her lips on his. She wasn’t actually kissing him. She was leaning her mouth against his. He would have laughed but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Nothing for it, he’d have to kiss her back.

He wrapped both arms around her and drew her against him. Slowly and softly he moved his mouth over her lips as he ran his hands up and down her back. Her lips were warm against his and full and tender and he wanted to bite them but decided to maybe wait on the biting until later. It wasn’t an electric kiss but he did feel something warm in the pit of his stomach and that warmth was getting warmer with every passing second. Clover opened her mouth.

Not warm.

Hot.

Very hot...

He slipped his tongue gently between her lips and Clover murmured a sweet sensual sound of pleasure and approval. He kissed her a little harder, pulled her a little closer. Her hands moved from his shoulders to the back of his neck. Good sign. She wanted to touch him. And he definitely wanted to touch her. What was with this damn hoodie? Was it made of wool? He couldn’t even feel her heat through it. Stupid sensible wardrobe. He wanted this woman naked or at least in a T-shirt. He gave a little sigh of frustration and Clover pulled back from the kiss.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You put on appropriate fall clothing this morning. Why did you do such a thing?”

“It’s fall.”

“No excuse.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re already trying to get me naked?” she asked.

“Not naked. Just less clothed. Can we get rid of this hoodie? I can’t even feel your bra strap through it.”

“You’re the one wearing the big coat.”

“I can take my coat off. I can take off anything you want if it’ll get you to kiss me again.”

“You liked it?” she asked.

He nodded. Vigorously.

She smiled, her skin pinking again. God, she was pretty.

“I liked it, too. A lot. A whole lot.”

“Enough to invite me home tonight?”

“If we do...does that mean you’ll expect, you know.”

“Sex?”

“That.”

“No. I’m not going to expect sex from a woman too nervous to say the word sex to me.”

“Sex. Sex, sex, sex. I’m not nervous. I’m just...”

“What?”

“Nervous. Yes. You got me. I am nervous. I feel like I know you really well because of Ruthie and everything she’s told me about you. But you and I don’t actually know each other that well because...”

“Of Ruthie. I know. I get it,” he said. “I would like to get to know you a lot better. Especially if it means more kissing. Et cetera.”

“Do you want to spend the night at my house? I won’t guarantee there’ll be more than kissing but there’ll definitely be kissing. And lots of it.”

“I’d like that,” he said. “I would like that very much.” He took her hand in his and squeezed it. Her hand trembled. She really was nervous. More reason to spend as much time together as possible. Nobody would believe they were a real couple if she was this nervous around him.

“Okay. You have my address in your pocket. I’ll head home and you come by whenever you’re ready. You know, after you find a twenty-four-hour UPS store.”

“Ruthless will have to wait for her phone until Tuesday. Serves her right for setting her old man up.”

“You’re not an old man. You’re only thirty-eight, right?”

“Yeah, but in parent-of-a-teenager years, I’m ninety-eight.”

“You look great for your age.”

“You look great, period.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. It was the only part of his hand soft enough to touch a soft part of her.

“You’re too good at making me blush,” she said. “I hate being so pale.”

“It’s fun. I can see when I’m getting to you. It’s like an indicator light.”

“I think my indicator light says, ‘Engine needs servicing.’”

“God, I’d love to service your engine.”

She groaned in horrified amusement.

“I don’t even know what that means,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure it was dirty.”

“I kind of hope it was,” she said.

“Can I sleep in your bed with you tonight?” he asked. “No sex necessary. Just sleep. I’d like to get comfortable with you.”

“I would...yeah. I would like that, too.”

“Great. I’ll be right over after I get some stuff at my house. An hour. No later.”

He hopped off the desk and walked to the door.

“Erick?” Clover said.

“Yeah?”

She walked over to him and put her hand on the back of his neck again. She was a good height, perfect height for kissing while standing, which he discovered when she kissed him once more.

“Okay,” he said when she stepped back.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I won’t be over in an hour. I’ll be over in half an hour.”

“Don’t rush,” she said. “I want to take a shower and change the sheets on the bed.”

“Take your time.” He kissed her on the cheek and went to leave again. But he stopped and looked back at her.

“Ruthie and I drive each other crazy but she’s my daughter and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. She doesn’t need to know all the dirty details about her father’s personal life, but I wouldn’t feel right keeping this a secret from her. It would really hurt her if I didn’t tell her something.”

“You’re absolutely right. She may act like she’s thirty-seven, but she is still seventeen. She should hear it from you.”

“I’ll call it a date. Can we call it a date?”

“Yes, you can call it a date.”

“I’m glad she forgot her phone,” he said, putting “forgot” into quotes.

“She’s a smart girl.”

“Sexist,” Erick said.

“She’s a smart fellow American,” Clover said, laughing. “Even if she can’t mind her own business.”

“Better me than Sven,” Erick said. “I’ll give your money back at the end of the week if you’re not satisfied.”

“Sounds like a very good deal especially since I’m not paying you.”

He zipped up his coat and patted his pocket to make sure Ruthie’s phone and Clover’s address were still there. “You need me to pick up anything before I come over?” he asked. “Food? Wine? Whips? Chains? Condoms?”

“I’m on the pill,” she said. “Heavy periods. Sorry. TMI.”

“I have a teenage daughter. You’re going to have to do better than heavy periods to TMI me. And I’m buying condoms, anyway. Not because we have to use them. Just because I want someone to know I might be getting laid this week.”

“I’m allergic to latex.”

“It’s okay. I’m so clean it’s depressing.”

“We’ll talk about it. Later. We’re just sleeping tonight. Right?”

“Right. Just sleeping. And kissing.”

“That, too.”

He started to leave.

“But maybe more than kissing,” she said.

He didn’t answer. He just walked out the door before he walked back to her and kissed her for a good three or four hours. Soon as he was in the cold night air on the way to his truck he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and sent a text message to Candace, his ex-wife.

Give your daughter a message for me, he wrote. Tell her she’s in trouble.

For what? Candace wrote back. She should know better by now than to ask that question.

She’ll know what I mean.

I’ll tell her. Anything else?

Yeah, Erick wrote. Tell her thank you.

[3]

DON’T PANIC, CLOVER told herself. Then she told herself that again. It wasn’t working. She was panicking.

She stood in the middle of her living room and glanced around at her house. No denying, she had a cute house. Not big. Perfect size for a woman who lived alone. Living room, office and kitchen downstairs. Master bedroom and guest bedroom upstairs. Half bath by the kitchen. Full bath by the master. Bamboo floors covered in woven rugs. Walls painted a rustic red downstairs and a pretty lake blue upstairs. Plants were everywhere, of course—ferns, ficus and flowers. She hoped Erick wasn’t allergic to flowers. This slumber party would be over before it started if he was. Ruthie had worked for her nearly a year and Erick picked his daughter up all the time. Had she ever seen him sneeze around the plants? Not that she recalled, but then again that would be a really bizarre thing to remember. She was freaking out and she knew it.

“Calm down, Clover,” she told herself.

“I am calm,” she said but she knew she wasn’t. She hadn’t been expecting company tonight. Certainly not tall, handsome, male company. She was torn between excitement and panic.

“Priorities, Clover. First things first. Man coming over...spending the night. What do I do? Clean stuff. What stuff? All the stuff.”

She’d fallen asleep on the sofa last night reading and the throw pillows and blankets were still a mess. She straightened the pillows and folded the blanket neatly. But it was a throw blanket and didn’t look right in a neat rectangle so she tossed it over the back instead. It ended up looking nearly identical to how it looked before but at least it was purposefully messy and not accidentally messy.

All the dishes in the kitchen sink she crammed into the dishwasher and started it running. She put the basket of her yet-to-be-folded socks and underwear in the laundry room, draping a clean towel over the piles of panties on top. She dug through the linen closet upstairs for clean sheets. Currently on her bed was red and blue flannel. She liked a cold house to sleep in at night with warm blankets piled high. Sometimes she even slept with the window cracked to let in the cold night air. She lived near Lost Lake and the air was as clean and fresh as anyone could ever want, and it seemed a shame to not have some of that crisp clean air in her house. If she remembered correctly, men tended to be warmer than women. Maybe no flannel sheets, then. She found her summer sheets, plain blue cotton, and stripped the white-and-blue-checkered quilt off her bed. She replaced the sheets and fluffed the pillows. Then she had to decide—did she want to remake the bed? Hadn’t she already told Erick she had to change the sheets? Would he think she was some kind of freak if she made the bed all of an hour before unmaking it to sleep? Was she overthinking this? Yes, she was overthinking this.

“You’re overthinking this, Clover. Stop it.”

She stopped it and just made the bed, anyway. She liked made beds. The room looked more inviting when the bed was made. On the bedside table was a little milk glass lamp that she switched on, flooding the room with low gentle light. Clover stepped back and took in the effect. Nice. Her small bedroom looked almost...romantic? Like a room at a cozy inn. Rustic but pretty.

What else? Bathroom. Oh, yeah, she better clean the bathroom. Erick had said with Ruthie gone he looked forward to using a clean bathroom all week. Clover wiped down the sink and the tile counter, wiped the toothpaste spots off the mirror, opened the drawer and slid into it everything from the counter. When that was done she heaved a sigh of relief. Then she saw herself in the mirror.

While frantically cleaning, she’d gotten a little sweaty and her hair was matted down on her forehead and what little of her makeup she’d still been wearing when she’d arrived home half an hour ago was now gone. She undressed fast and hopped into the shower. That morning she’d washed her hair so she didn’t do that again but she managed to soap up and shave her legs in a record time of seven minutes. Wearing only her towel, she brushed her hair again and pulled it into a neat ponytail. She put on a fresh coat of mascara and lip gloss and found her nicest pair of normal underwear—white cotton boy shorts—and put those on. The question was, what to wear over them. Put on her jeans again? She had some cute Christmas pajamas somewhere—shorts and a tank top—but it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. And those did show a lot of skin. She didn’t want Erick to think she was trying to seduce him. She wasn’t. Was she? No, of course not. They’d already talked about it. No sex tonight. Just a sleepover. Of course then he’d joked about buying condoms and she’d told him about her latex allergy, which sort of kind of maybe made it sound like she did want to have sex with him. Or maybe—

“Stop it, Clover. You’re thirty, not fifteen.” Truth. But she felt nervous as a teenager for some reason. She knew the reason. She hadn’t told Erick the reason but she would. Or maybe not. She’d simply tell him she was out of practice.

“Now you are acting like a kid,” she told herself. “Grow up.”

Clover pulled a nightgown from off a hanger in the back of her closet. This was what she wore on the coldest nights, ankle-length with full sleeves. A very pretty nightgown if somewhat old-fashioned. Maybe too old-fashioned? The doorbell rang. Too late to change. Clover threw on her pale yellow bathrobe and walked down the steps to the front door. Erick stood on her front porch with a black gym duffel bag over his shoulder and a smile on his face.

“Nice house,” he said as she let him in. “Didn’t know you lived on Lost Lake. You like it out here?

“Love it,” she said. “Did you have trouble finding it? The roads can be a little winding.”

“A little?” He dropped his duffel on the floor by the door and started untying the laces on his work boots. “I swear David Bowie wearing a giant codpiece gave me directions, that’s how winding they are.”

“Never figured you for a Labyrinth fan. Isn’t that kind of a girl movie?” she teased.

“It’s a Ruthie movie, which means I’ve seen it approximately...” He yanked one boot off. “One million...” He yanked the second boot off. “One hundred thousand...” He pulled his coat off. “Times.”

He hung his coat on the coatrack and turned to look her in the face. Not knowing what else to do she just stood there with her hands in her robe pockets trying to look casual when she felt anything but.

“Did you really get lost finding the house?” she asked, feeling bad she hadn’t given him better directions.

“Nah. I was just out here last month putting cedar siding on one of the new Lost Lake rental houses. I know these roads pretty well.”

“That cedar cabin down the road?” she asked.

“That’s the one. Chris Steffensen hired me to do the job. Although I think I did too good of a job. He and his girlfriend are living in it now. They were supposed to rent it out.”

“It did turn out great. I came this close to offering to buy it from him.”

“Why? This place is great.”

“Feels too big, I guess,” she said. “You know, since I live alone and...”

“Hold still,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m going to kiss you before we get weird and awkward around each other. You good with that?” he asked. She was already feeling both weird and awkward so she was glad he mentioned it.

“Oh. Okay. Good idea.”

“Also I’m going to kiss you because I want to kiss you.”

“Even better idea.”

He put his hands on her waist and she placed hers on his shoulders. She imagined they looked like models on a How to Kiss Like Reasonable Adults public service poster. This was easily the strangest fake relationship she’d ever been in.

But.

Strange as it was, as soon as Erick’s lips met hers and she relaxed enough to enjoy the kiss, well...she enjoyed the kiss. He tasted like toothpaste, which made her smile against his mouth. She’d brushed her teeth, too, in anticipation of more and deeper kissing. And the more and deeper he kissed, the more and deeper she wanted him to kiss her. Erick knew how to kiss. He could teach classes on it. She hoped she was making the grade. When he stepped closer and slid his hands from her waist to the back of her neck and the curve of her hip, she had a feeling she was at least passing this test.

“Well...” he said against her lips. “What do you think? Still weird and awkward?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But less weird and awkward now.”

“Hmm...a little kissing made it a little less weird. You think a lot of kissing will make it a lot less weird?”

“Stands to reason,” she said. “I mean, if you run the numbers, that adds up.”

“So we should probably kiss some more, right?”

“We should. Definitely.”

“Definitely, she says. I like a definite woman.” He reached for her again but she stepped back, suddenly awkward again. She couldn’t get over thinking that this was Ruthie’s dad. Ruthie’s insanely sexy dad. Why did Ruthie have such a sexy dad? Work was going to be weird as heck next week.

“Let me show you around the house first,” she said. “You know, since you’re supposed to be my boyfriend, you should probably know where the bathroom is.”

“For a lot of reasons.”

She showed him the living room and he admired the layout and the finish on her bamboo floors. In the kitchen he admired her box window. She would have showed him the deck but it was already pitch-black out and raining. That could wait until tomorrow. He liked the bathroom for the paint color and the nice fixtures. He actually said that—“nice fixtures.”

“No one has complimented my fixtures before,” she said. “This is new.”

“I like a lady who knows how to pick a faucet.”

“Chrome is so dated,” she said. “Copper is classic.”

“You are speaking my language. What’s upstairs?” he asked. His question sounded so innocent but something in his eyes looked quite devilish. She liked devilish.

“Oh, another bathroom. Guest room. My bedroom.”

“You have copper fixtures upstairs, too?” he asked.

“Of course. I designed the whole place myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the upstairs. You know, for the fixtures,” he said.

“Right. The fixtures.”

Clover took him up the steps—which he also admired for the fine grain of the cedar—and showed him her bathroom. He approved. She showed him the guest room. He also approved of that.

“And here’s my room,” she said. “Kind of a small bed. Hope that’s okay. I can sleep in the guest—”

Erick had walked to the bed while she was chatting away nervously and before she could get any more words out he’d turned around and fallen onto the bed on his back.

Her full-size bed suddenly looked like a twin with Erick on it. He wallowed a little on the quilt, rolled left and rolled right, bounced once or twice, then sat up on his elbows and looked at her. She liked the look he gave her.

“Comfy,” he said.

“Good. As I was saying...you’re sort of, you know, big—”

“Who have you been talking to?”

“Stop. You know what I mean. You are tall and this is a small bed.”

“I like small beds. You can’t hide from me in this bed.”

She tucked a strand of hair that didn’t actually exist behind her ear.

“What makes you think I want to hide from you?”

“You’re wearing a bathrobe over a nightgown that’s got so much material to it I could make a schooner sail out of it. And you’re doing that grandma thing where you’re holding the lapels of your robe together like you’re afraid I’ll see your neck or some other unmentionable part of your body. It’s very cute, this shyness.”

“I really want to be sexy and flirty with you, but if I ever knew how to do that, I’ve forgotten how.”

“You are sexy.”

“Not like you are.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“How am I sexy?” he asked. “And please, be specific.”

“You’re very comfortable with yourself. I like that. I’m not as comfortable with myself.”

“You’re comfortable with yourself at work.”

“I am, but this isn’t work. And I don’t know you very well. Even though I know you really well. That made more sense in my head, I promise.”

“You know me as Ruthie’s dad. That’s how you know me, and as dear old dad, you do know me well. Ruthie’s in LA right now and it’s just you and me. Now you get to know the other side of me that has absolutely nothing to do with my daughter even though it’s the reason she exists.”

“I want to get to know that side of you. I want to get to know that side of me, too. But you know how it is, running your own business.”

“Mine’s nothing like yours. I can pick my jobs, tell people no if they try to book me on a day I need to be at Ruthie’s school or something. Your place is open seven days a week, eight to eight, and I’ve never once gone there to drop off Ruthie or pick her up and not seen you there with your nose in a stack of invoices or with a trowel, a hose and a pair of hedge clippers in your hand. You work your ass off.”

“It’s still there. I think.” She patted her backside. “Yup. I don’t work that hard.”

“How long have you lived in this house?”

“Um, two years and six months,” she said.

“Where is everything?”

“What?”

“Where is everything? You have furniture and you have plants. I saw two books downstairs and those were on gardening. No art on the walls, no pets, no souvenirs from vacations anywhere. This place looks like a bed-and-breakfast. A nice bed-and-breakfast but not a home.”

“I’m not here very often.”

“Your office looks more like home than your home.”

“It is my home.”

“And that’s my point.” He sat up on the edge of the bed. “Your office is lived-in. It’s homey. You have pictures of your family on your desk and a stuffed puppy or something—”

“That is a sock monkey. A pink sock monkey and his name is Alejandro. Your daughter gave him to me.”

“Of course she did. You have a messy office. It looks like someone’s home. This house looks like you bought it yesterday turnkey and just brought a suitcase of clothes with you. Do you even have anything in your nightstand? A book? Chapstick? Vibrator?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He narrowed his eyes at her. Then he reached out and opened the nightstand drawer.

“I knew it,” he said. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing. There’s something in there, right?”

“Yeah. A packet of silica gel that the manufacturer put in here that you never took out. Oh, and this is the receipt for your lamp.”

She snatched both of them out of his hand and tossed them into the white wicker trash can.

“Okay, so I’m not home much,” she said. “Don’t you start in on me, too. I get this from my parents.”

“Whoa there.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I’m not telling you that you need to get married and have kids. I’ve been married. I’ve had a kid. Trust me, neither one is a requirement for happiness. I would die for my daughter. I’ve also come close to killing her a few times. Marriage and kids is another kind of work. What I’m saying is it looks to me like you need to work less, not more. At least for this week. Maybe be a homebody. Maybe be...my body?”

She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.

“You’re sexy when you glare at me like that,” he said.

“I am not. You just said I’m wearing a robe over a schooner sail.”

“You’re still sexy.”

“I don’t feel sexy,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest again.

“How do you feel?”

“Prudish. Uncomfortable.”

“Well, you aren’t prudish. You asked me to spend the night with you.”

“I think that was your idea.”

“Beside the point. You liked the idea.”

“I did. Kind of.” She smiled.

“But what about this uncomfortable thing? Are you uncomfortable with me? Or are you uncomfortable with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you liked that I’m comfortable with myself. Are you comfortable with yourself?”

“If I were, do you think I’d be wearing a schooner sail?”

“Good point. Maybe let’s lose that. Can we?”

“You’re trying to get me naked already? That was fast.”

“Not naked. Not yet, anyway. Here.” He stood up in front of her and unzipped his black fleece Columbia jacket. Under it he wore a white V-neck T-shirt. He tossed the Columbia jacket onto the back of her armchair and then pulled the T-shirt off over his head. “Take this.”

“What?” She looked at his naked chest in shock. Shock, surprise and pleasure.

“I want you to put on my T-shirt. If you would. If you wouldn’t mind. I’d appreciate it. You’re really doing me a favor here.”

“Doing you a favor by putting on your T-shirt,” she repeated.

“When a beautiful woman puts on my shirt, it makes me feel better about the state of the world. And if the only other thing she has on is her underwear, I’m downright optimistic for the future. And don’t we all need a little more optimism these days?”

“So I put on your T-shirt and traipse around in my underwear and you’ll feel better about world events?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t really know exactly what traipsing is. But I would like you to do it, yes. Whatever it is.”

“So you’ll feel better about the world?”

“Right,” he said, nodding. “I’m feeling perkier already.”

“Perky...that’s what we’re calling it now, are we?”

“Lose the sail and I’ll be downright cheerful.”

She sighed and took the T-shirt out of his hands. She tried not to stare at his chest as she did it, but she didn’t try very hard. He had a good chest, nice broad shoulders and the right amount of chest hair—more than a boy’s and less than a Sasquatch’s. Flat stomach, which was good. No washboard, which was better. She would feel really uncomfortable getting undressed in front of a man with a six-pack. She much preferred normal bodies over perfect bodies considering just how unperfect her body was.

“I’ll go change in the bathroom. If that’s okay,” she said.

“Your pony, your saddle. You change where you want. I’ll be right here.” He patted the bed.

She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She went to lay Erick’s T-shirt on the bathroom counter but she paused and lifted it to her nose. Cedar. Cedar and soap. She would happily smell that all night. Maybe she could, too, if she didn’t screw this up.

“Clover?” Erick called out, and she almost dropped the shirt on the floor.

“Yes?”

“You mind if I open the window a little? I like night air.”

She smiled and pressed the shirt to her chest.

“Me, too,” she said. “Go for it.”

“Plus if you’re cold you’ll have to come to me for body heat,” he said, and she quietly laughed to herself. This was flirting. Good flirting. The man could really flirt. So could she, couldn’t she?

“Or I could just get the extra blankets out of the closet,” she called back through the door. Her robe was gone and now the gown.

“Where’s the linen closet?” he replied as she pulled his T-shirt on over her head.

“In the hall. Why?”

“I’m just going to go throw all your blankets out in the backyard. Be right back.”

She didn’t believe him until she felt his footsteps on the floor and heard a door opening and closing.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom to find Erick nowhere near her linen closet. He was on her bed. No. Not on. In her bed. He was in her bed and his pants weren’t. She knew his pants weren’t in the bed because they were on the floor at her feet.

“Kidding,” he said.

“I knew you were.”

“Good. Very good. Great even.”

“That I knew you were kidding?”

“That you’re standing in the middle of the bedroom in your underwear,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” She looked down at bare legs, her bare feet and the T-shirt barely covering anything past her hips. “You feeling better about world events yet?”

“Life is good. Very good. Could be better.”

“How so?”

“If instead of there...” He pointed at her feet on the floor. “You were here.” He tapped the pillow next to him.

“Well... I wouldn’t want you to lose your sunny outlook on life,” she said. He looked so inviting in her bed, warm and strong and male and everything she’d wanted for a long time. She slipped in next to him and lay on her back, her head on the pillow.

“Comfortable?” he asked as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm.

“Very.” She turned her head to look at him and found his face only inches from hers.

“Are you?”

“I am,” she said. “Your shirt’s nice.”

“Cotton. Preshrunk. I go for the fancy shit.”

“I might keep it.”

“I’d like that.” He raised his hand to her face and traced her lips with his fingertips. “Although if you decided at some point tonight that you hated it and wanted to burn it, I wouldn’t complain about that, either.”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“No?”

“Why burn it? I’d use it for washing my car.”

He nodded, grinning his cocky half grin. “Good idea.”

“Harrison Ford.”

“What? Where?” Erick glanced around the room.

“No, you. I was trying to figure out earlier who you reminded me of. You look like a young Harrison Ford. But with a beard.”

He lowered his head so that their lips were barely an inch apart and whispered two words to her.

“I know.”