Mark listened to the rustling in the kitchen after standing under the hot spray for what had seemed like forever. When he strode out in nothing more than a clean pair of jeans, barefoot and bare chested, his hair damp, he realized Billy Jo was outside at the barbecue, cooking another burger.
He took in the dried-up ones she must have pulled off the barbecue, sitting on a plate in the sink, then reached for the beer he hadn’t finished and walked to the door. He leaned against the doorframe, looking out to where his Jeep was parked beside her car.
Her gaze landed on his chest, then likely on the tattoo of a woman he couldn’t believe he still had to look at every day.
She didn’t smile. In fact, she held the spatula out to him and said, “You can finish this. Figured you were hungry.”
He re
