4. Dutton

Dutton

S ix months.

Can I really handle six more months here? When Walker was talking about it, it seemed doable. Fun, actually. The way he described all the different seasons. I'd love to see these feet and feet of snow he talked about.

Always looks pretty in movies and on television.

Though I'm definitely going to have to get some appropriate clothing or I'm pretty sure I'll die. Not a good time.

But as I walk outside through the front door of my new house, and I'm hit with breath-stealing humidity as the sun beats down at nine in the morning, I'm already ready to pack my shit and get out of here.

It gets hot in California, obviously, but the humidity here is unreal. I'm already sweating as I walk down the steps to greet Walker—who, by the way, seems totally unbothered.

"Good morning." He's smiling big, and holy hell, he's a good-looking guy. He's wearing cargo shorts and a tight Oakley's Crew t-shirt today, and damn, does he make that look work.

"Morning. What's on the agenda today?"

He goes to the back of his work truck and opens the tailgate, showing me the massive amount of flowers he brought with him. "I thought I'd start off with the flowerbed in front. Next week, I'll need a bigger crew to start digging the hot tub, but they're booked up the rest of this week."

"Sounds good to me," I agree. "Do you need anything from me?"

I ask the question innocently, but his eyes meet mine, and I see the lust there, nearly stealing my breath faster than the humidity. Could he really want me that way? I mean, I'm not stupid. I know there are gay men in small towns, and I don't ever judge based on appearance, but I've never been that lucky.

He seemed concerned for me when I told him about my grandma, but that just means he's a decent human.

"Are you married?" I blurt out, surprising and horrifying myself. But thankfully, Walker doesn't seem anything but mildly amused as he starts to unload the flowers from the truck.

"No. Not married."

"Girlfriend?" Okay, not subtle. Not even a little bit. But thankfully, he doesn't call me on my shit.

He's grinning big now. His big muscles strain as he lifts a particularly heavy-looking stone flowerpot and brings it up the porch steps to put by the door. "Never." He walks down the stairs, a shit-eating, beautiful grin on his face. "Had a couple of boyfriends but nothing too serious, and right now, I'm blissfully single."

My heart feels like it could beat right out of my chest as I realize what he's telling me. Holy shit. He's gay. This is so not good for me. I mean, it was one thing when I thought he was probably straight, but now? How the hell am I supposed to remain professional?

It feels like a lifetime since I've been laid.

"What about you? Someone waiting for you back in California?"

"No," I say. "Also blissfully single." Though I wouldn't be opposed to a relationship. Thankfully, I keep enough of my wits about me that I don't say that part out loud. Not that I want a relationship with him. I don't know him.

But a sweaty hot summer fling?

No. That would wind up messy. It would have to. Even though I do plan to stay the whole six months he seems to think will be enough to decide, I'm pretty sure I won't be staying here long-term.

Although... I watch him continue to work, his muscles flexing and sweat forming on his brow.. . Could he want that too?

I clear my throat awkwardly. "Well, I um... I'm going to go get my camera and take some shots around the property. Don't want to get rusty."

"You have work here yet? I'm sure there are plenty of families who would love some family portraits. I can spread the word around."

As much as I hate the idea of taking cheesy family photos, I can't deny my picture-taking finger is getting itchy. In LA, I photographed glamorous models for a living, but around here, I'm pretty sure I'll have to make some changes.

"That would be great. Thank you," I say politely as I walk up the stairs and go back inside the air-conditioned house. I grab my camera equipment and set up for a walk-around shoot, but my eyes are drawn to the front window.

Phew , the guy is hot as hell. I swear I have to wipe drool off my chin when he lifts his shirt, showing off washboard abs as he wipes his brow with his t-shirt.

I try like hell to stop ogling him and walk out the backdoor, hoping to cool my libido a little as I snap some pictures of the scenery. Which I have to admit is kind of beautiful. The grass is fairly green, despite it being so hot. And there hasn't been much rain here lately, but there's been enough to keep it alive. The trees are still a little green, and the water in the pond is rippling with a gentle wind blowing over it.

There are some old wooden fences in dire need of fixing, but somehow, that only adds to the beauty. And then when I start walking to the front of the old white farmhouse, there's all-new beauty in the form of a gorgeous six-foot-something man as he digs in the dirt in front of the porch.

He seems to be fully in his element as he plants beautiful mums that are colorful and bright but look ready for fall to start. I snap a picture without thinking, and his head turns in my direction, but his smile is bright and beaming. I take another one.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

He winks at me. "Feel free to take my picture anytime." He goes back to his work, planting more flowers, and I'm honestly surprised by how comfortable I am with him being here.

Normally, I'm in my own world—a loner who likes to see the world through my camera lens, usually from afar. But with him, I'm content to stay close and snap pictures of the front of the land. I capture the winding gravel road that leads here and the two large oak trees at the front of the property.

Six months.

Maybe he's right and it really will grow on me. I'm certainly starting to see the beauty of this place.