Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

the sliding glass door. “Hey. Is there a goat in my pool or something?”

Georgia ran inside and leaped onto a chair.

“Georgia, no.” Abby felt a blush spread up her neck and into her cheeks. “You weren’t invited.”

“It’s fine.” He stepped away from the door. “Come on in.”

Abby handed over the basket. “This is a housewarming/apology basket.” She couldn’t help but notice the hoof-shaped bruises on his lower back. “I’m sorry Elijah hurt you. I’m sure he didn’t mean to, but he can’t resist sweet-tasting treats.” Out of breath with anxiety, she powered through her prepared greeting. “I hope we can pretend this morning never happened and start over again.”

He set the basket on the coffee table and held out a hand. “Quinn Lockhart.”

She put her hand in his. “Abby Curtis, house-sitting for my aunt Reva. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thank you, Abby.” His fingers wrapped around hers, his grip strong but gentle, his palm callused but warm. Up close, blue eyes the color of new denim smiled into hers. His touch and his smile melted the crusty outer layer of her anxiety.

He let go of her hand. “Have a seat while I put on a shirt.”

Abby perched on the couch, crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. She inhaled and blew out a deep breath to release another layer of anxiety. The room smelled of fresh paint, newly dyed fabric, and recently milled wood.

Georgia’s restless gaze tracked something outside the glass door. She whined, a worried furrow between her brows.

Abby leaned forward. “You see something out there?”

Quinn came into the room wearing a plain white T-shirt that wasn’t too tight but still somehow clung to every muscle. He sat beside her on the couch and slid the basket closer. “Hmmm.” He held up the bottle of cider. “This looks interesting.”

Abby was more of a wine girl herself, but after twisting and turning over the decision of what to bring, she’d settled on cider, in case the new neighbor didn’t drink anything containing alcohol. “I hope you like it.”

He set the two glasses on the coffee table and opened the bottle. “Anything I share with you will be better than a lonely beer by myself.”

Smooth talker. The sort she’d already fallen for once too often. “Please don’t feel obligated to share. I meant it as a gift, not an intrusion.” Her nervousness lifted her like an overfilled helium balloon. She half stood, then sat again.

Since she’d moved in with her aunt this spring, she had learned to handle hundreds of school kids along with their adult teachers and chaperones. But social situations requiring small talk still made her palms sweat. “I only came to welcome you to the neighborhood and apologize for Elijah’s rude behavior this morning. I’m very sorry about the whole thing.”

He poured cider into the two glasses and handed one to her. “Apology accepted, incident forgotten, starting over. Remember?”

* * *

Quinn smiled into Abby’s hazel eyes and tried to figure her out. Jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Abby sat on the edge of the couch cushion. This morning, she’d been a stick-wielding force of nature. Tonight, she seemed sweet and genuine and endearingly nervous.

He lifted his glass. “To good neighbors.”

She clinked her glass to his. “To good neighbors.”

The cider was crisp and clean-tasting with a slight effervescent bite that lingered on his tongue.

“I hope you like the cider.” She turned the bottle toward him. “I picked it for the pretty label. I liked the wolf and dove looking so comfortable together under the tree. They should be enemies, but they’ve made the choice not to.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He lifted out the loaf wrapped in a dish towel. “What’s this?” He held it to his nose and sniffed. Vanilla and cinnamon, reminding him of his mom’s snickerdoodles. “It smells wonderful. Did you make it?”

“Yes. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, made with eggs from my aunt’s hens, honey from her bees, and butter from her cow. It’s great with coffee.”

“I’ll save it for the morning, then.” He set the loaf aside and unpacked the rest of the basket’s contents: several cheeses, a jar of olives, a box of fancy crackers. “I hadn’t thought about dinner yet, but this will be perfect.”

“You missed something.” She dug into the basket and handed over one last item—a granola bar.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have.” Suppressing the odd compulsion to kiss her shiny pink lips, he went into the kitchen and gathered clean plates and silverware. He set everything out on the coffee table and handed her a plate.

While they filled their plates, a small silence expanded.

He sat back and put his glass on the side table. “You said the dog’s name is Georgia, right?” The little mutt had been eyeing him, her expression intense and watchful. “What kind of dog is she?”

Abby sipped her cider. “I think she’s a cattle dog/Jack Russell terrier mix.”

“Maybe a little beagle, too.” She looked it, with the copper and white markings and the brown patches around her eyes and ears. And even if he hadn’t seen her, he’d heard enough of her piercing, yodel-like bark to make an informed opinion. “She’s cute.”

Georgia growled softly. Probably knew what he was really thinking.

“Aunt Reva says Georgia doesn’t like to be called cute,” Abby said. “She would prefer to be praised for her intelligence and athletic ability.” Abby turned her attention to Georgia. “Wouldn’t you, girl?”

Georgia wagged her white-tipped tail and grinned, her lips drawing back to show the top row of her teeth.

“See what I mean? She wants everyone to know she’s more than just a pretty face.”

“Is she your aunt’s only dog? It sounds like you have a lot of pets over there.”

“They’re not pets.” Abby sliced the smoked Gouda. “I know it sounds corny to most people, but to us, animals are family.”

“Big family.” He popped a chunk of aged Asiago into his mouth. “Good cheese. Don’t tell me you bought all these for the pretty packages.”

“No. I know about cheese.”

He was percolating on