“I was kind of grungy.” She fidgeted with a loose thread.
She’d debated on whether to change out of her T-shirt and shorts after shopping all day for supplies. With Skeeter there, she wasn’t worried about what Sailor might read into it.
“You look nice,” Sailor said lightly. “But then, you always do.”
That didn’t sound like anything more than a comment a friend might make. Maileah couldn’t read him.
She took in the midcentury modern bungalow with the wide front porch filled with greenery. Her grandmother would love this.
“Love the color of your house,” she said. “Did you choose it?”
“Sure did.” Sailor spread his arms wide. “I call this the Creamsicle house. Sherbet orange with white trim. I took an ice cream bar to the paint shop, and they mixed the color for me.”
“Let me guess,” Maileah said. “It’s vanilla on the inside?”
“More like dirty white, I’m afraid.” Sailor ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have much time for housework. Come in.”
Like her cottage, this house had hardwood floors and banks of windows. As far as men’s abodes went, this was alright. She could see a woman’s touch in all the plants. Skeeter’s doing, she supposed.
He led her into the kitchen and picked up a pitcher. “I needed a few more things to get started. Skeeter will be back in a few minutes.”
As Sailor poured a glass of juice for her, Maileah leaned against the counter, watching him. She tried not to notice how his T-shirt clung to his lean, muscled frame or how his hair fell across his forehead.
Friends, she reminded herself. Just friends.
Her gaze rested on a gleaming machine she’d seen in Italian coffee houses and in her old office. “Wow, I don’t see a machine like that in many homes. You must be serious about your coffee.”
“It works great,” he said, though he seemed a little embarrassed.
She would be, too, if she’d spent thousands on a machine that made every kind of coffee known to man. That was the last thing she would expect to find in the kitchen of a man who drove a rusty Jeep. But everyone had their weakness, she supposed. And he’d earned the right to indulge his.
Maileah tapped her glass against his, taking in his vivid ocean-blue eyes. “Congrats on your win in Hawaii. You’re incredibly talented.”
He held her gaze as if searching for the right words when footsteps echoed in the hall.
Maileah turned to see Skeeter bustling through the doorway with her blonde hair and a spray of freckles across her nose. She reigned in the tightness in her chest.
Sailor looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face. “And here she is.”
“Hi, Maileah,” Skeeter said, passing a bag of groceries to Sailor. “Good to see you again. Here’s everything you wanted, dude.”
“I owe you one, thanks,” Sailor said.
As the younger woman plopped into the chair near Sailor, Maileah noticed how comfortable they seemed together. She watched as Sailor casually squeezed Skeeter’s shoulder, the gesture so natural it made her heart ache.
Maileah felt awkward. The kitchen suddenly felt too small for the three of them.
Just then, her phone buzzed, saving her. It was a man from the dating app she’d spoken to a few weeks ago, but they’d never been able to connect. She pounced on the opportunity to slip out for a moment.
“Excuse me, I need to take this.”
She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. Wiggling her fingers in a little wave, she hurried to the front porch, trying to focus.
Her heart hammered as if she’d been running. She shouldn’t have come here if she was going to act weird. It was only Sailor, for Pete’s sake. And she’d talked to Skeeter before, so what was the big deal?
Sailor was free to date whoever he wanted. What was wrong with her?
She answered the phone.
