Falling in Vermont (Cozy Nights in Vermont #2)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

BLAKE

T he slam of the screen door probably echoed in the quiet, dark farmhouse.

Star’s nails on the old wooden floors probably click-clacked.

But all Blake Jameson could hear in the entryway of his kitchen was the blood rushing in his ears.

Holy fuck .

He panted, his head resting against the cool glass of his back door.

He barked out a laugh in surprise.

“Holy fuck,” he repeated, eyes squeezing together. “Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.”

His body had finally woken up after a three-year hiatus when he’d laid eyes on Sophia Bertone.

More than woken up.

I got a surprise boner at a fully clothed woman, for chrissakes.

He wiped a hand over his face, trying to shake it off.

He’d seen plenty of gorgeous women in his life—met them daily at the pumpkin patch, saw them in town, even saw scantily-clad women on the internet without much interest.

And yet he’d stood there in a cottage kitchen with a raging fucking hard-on for the first time in years, all because, why? Because she had the most luscious, curvy body he’d ever seen? Because he could write a sonnet about her tits?

Because her smile reached into his heart and punched it back awake?

He turned around to see Star waiting for him in the kitchen. She sneezed to indicate her displeasure at not being tucked into her living-room bed yet.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Go.”

She huffed and tip-tapped her way back to her big fluffy bed in the living room.

He just needed a fucking minute. He’d met Sophia’s sister last week. She was pretty, sure, but Jesus Christ, he hadn’t expected her sister to bring him back from the emotional dead with the shock paddles of her smile and hips swaying side to side.

He squeezed the hard length in his jeans for relief.

Good to have you back, buddy .

After Angie died, all the joy in his life had gone out. With it, his ability to sleep easily through the night, to stomach romantic movies, and unfortunately, to enjoy any form of self-pleasure.

He’d only taken his ring off a week ago. He’d been using a saw and took it off for safety, but decided to try a few days without wearing it.

He was just happy he was attracted to anyone. Wanting to fuck a telephone pole would be preferable to the void of nothingness he’d felt for the past three years. He’d tried to date, but he hadn’t been ready and hadn’t felt anything for the poor women his family had harangued into blind dates with him.

Sophia was an explosion of color back into his world. She was serene and beautiful when she wasn’t talking, but a bundle of life and light when she spoke. He still felt the glow of her touch on his arm, and he rubbed the spot, remembering how it had lit him up.

A flash of what she looked like bending over appeared in his brain. The curve and press of her tits against each other had made his mouth water, and he pumped his hand again over the outside of his jeans, his head on the back-door glass, his eyes closed.

“No, you’re better than this. She’s your renter,” he murmured, standing and turning so his back was against the wall, out of sight of the doorway.

Why couldn’t he catch his breath?

Heaving, ragged breaths tore at him as he pictured her full lips, the riotous, curly chestnut hair falling out of her loose ponytail. It had looked silky and smooth. His hand flexed thinking of what it would feel like in his palm.

He thought about how soft her skin had felt against his as she’d grabbed his hand, and how he’d managed to be a gentleman for two fucking seconds and stared at her face rather than at her nipples poking through her top.

His cock jumped again as he savored that mental picture.

He’d rattled on like an idiot explaining the cottage so he didn’t think about what her exposed soft stomach would taste like if he ran his tongue along it. How perfectly the jumpsuit would fall to the floor if he’d nudged the edges of it off of her shoulders. How her round curved ass would look in the thong she wore. It had jiggled as she walked, and he’d done everything he could think of not to stare at it as he showed her around the cottage.

He’d dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand to stay focused.

He’d never done anything like this—glance at a woman once for five minutes and have her imprint on every fantasy he’d ever had—but he couldn’t waste the opportunity.

Fuck, maybe I’m not better than this , he thought, unbuttoning his jeans.

No, you’re not going to objectify her.

Well, any further than you already have, he thought as he grasped his cock in his hand.

He huffed out a laugh in surprise. He thrust into his hand, amazed at how unfamiliar it felt.

Think of anybody else. Any other fantasy.

He stroked up and down as he arched his back off of the wall in pleasure. Just concentrate on how good it finally feels.

He reached into the small bathroom next to the back door for a pump of lotion. Warming it in his hands, he slid one hand down onto his cock and nearly doubled over at how good it felt.

Concentrate on the sensation. Smooth, slicking up and down, tighter and faster. Fuck, that feels so good.

Her hips swayed into his mind, but he pivoted to anonymous hips. The curve he wanted to bite. He loved women who had meaty, grabbable hips.

He pictured a woman bent over, her hips being grabbed from behind as she bounced back and forth. What it would feel like to squeeze her hips, then sink into her hot pussy. Moaning, taking his cock.

He stroked harder, pumping up into his fist. What if she was on her knees as he pumped into her mouth?

He pictured a generic gorgeous woman on her knees, but with each pump, she morphed into Sophia. Her red lips stretched around his cock, sucking hard. The curls of her hair falling along her face as she knelt below him, looking so fuckable.

Fuck . He leaned against the doorway for support, lost in his fantasy.

He tried picturing another scene, but his mind drifted back to those red lips. Sophia’s tits would bounce like they’d done briefly in the cottage.

And it felt too good.

Fuck, she was too hot.

He pumped hard, imagining the taste of her nipples in his mouth. How he’d want her riding him so he could stare at every bit of her. Hard, fast. Throwing her down onto my cock . Her tits would bounce and he’d catch one in his hand, squeezing it.

Flipping her over to bury his head between her thighs. Ripping panties off.

Fuck, she’d taste amazing. He knew it.

His balls ached and a curling in his spine ricocheted up at picturing her tits arching up as he ate her pussy, his face buried in her.

“Fuck me,” he groaned as he came, thrusting into his hand until cum spilled onto his stomach and he pumped and pumped, savoring his wicked fantasy for one final second.

He caught his breath, not even mad about the mess he’d made. Forehead leaning on the wall, he huffed out a happy, surprised laugh.

That…

God.

That cannot become a habit.

* * *

“It’s going to cost how much?” Blake scratched his head underneath his baseball cap as he stared at the tree specialist in front of him.

“About twenty-five hundred dollars. I gotta get a guy roped on a lift and chop off that yonder part of the tree.”

Inappropriate thoughts long gone, Blake was in the midst of yet another unexpected cost on the farm.

A tree between the cottage and the farmhouse had gotten a case of oak wilt, and had started to die. Half the tree was looking creaky and unsteady. That meant spending money he didn’t have on something he didn’t want to deal with.

Money was tight right now, with his pumpkin sales down even more than last year. But, it had to be done. “I guess pencil me in for your next appointment.” His sigh was bone-deep. The next available appointment was in two weeks, and Blake hoped he could make enough to pay for it by then. He saw the specialist off and then worked on raking the endless leaves under the maple trees.

He was still paying off Angie’s medical bills, and though his parents had done gangbusters with the pumpkin farm for decades, the business wasn’t what it used to be. There was more competition. Nobody just wanted a plain pumpkin patch anymore to pick up a few gourds or pie pumpkins.

The last thing he had more of was time to figure out how to fix it.

The farm had been in his family for generations, and he couldn’t let them down. He especially couldn’t tell them he was barely making ends meet. Luckily though, he now had a renter again after Barb, his last renter, had left suddenly to care for her aging mom.

A nutmeg and cinnamon smell wafted out from the open, top half-door of the cottage, fifteen feet away from the injured tree.

As he saw the shadow of Sophia moving to and fro in the kitchen, happy as a clam, he was filled with shame thinking of how he’d fantasized about her last night.

Not cool.

Maybe his raw attraction was just a one-time thing. Just something to clear the pipes.

So to speak.

Caught up in the daydreaming about what Sophia might be cooking or wearing, what she might taste like, the crunch of gravel drew his attention away.

Thank god. He welcomed the relief.

A familiar antique, mint-green Chevy truck rumbled behind the farmhouse. His Aunt Beverly made weekly stops to the farm to gather produce for her kitchen at the Clovely Inn in town. He threw out a hand in greeting as he ambled over to the truck.

“Have trouble getting through the crowd out there?” he said with a sardonic smile, pointing to the empty pumpkin patch.

“Oh I’m sure I’m just beating the rush,” she said kindly, hopping out of the truck and reaching into the back for her large basket. “You look like you have a spring in your step today.”

She dusted her hand over his ball cap, knocking off hay from his work earlier that morning.

“Do I?” he said with a surprised look. Star ran up at full speed, barreling into Beverly’s legs as she reached down to scratch Star’s ears.

The bottom door of the cottage creaked open as Sophia walked through. She had on an oversized sweater that came down to the tops of her thighs, tight yoga pants, and boots. Her hair was in a high pony and had a scarf wrapped around it that made her look like Rosie the Riveter. She had a large basket full of muffins in her arms and waved to him as she walked up.

Her smile still hit him straight in the gut.

Fuck. Nope. Control yourself this time.

“Morning,” he said, gruffly throwing a hand up in a hurried greeting.

“Just the man I wanted to see. Ooh, and my new bestie,” she said as Star barreled toward her, running a circle around her and then giving her a quick lick in the face.

She knelt down for a scruffle behind Star’s ears. “I wanted to say thank you for the warm welcome.” She handed him the basket of muffins covered with a tea towel. He smelled nutty notes of walnut mingled with sweet cinnamon and sugary, buttery scents.

His heart clenched. She’d made these just for him? He stared back at her, not sure what to say.

A soft cough to his right interrupted his thoughts.

Right, stop drooling over the goddess.

“Oh, uh, Aunt Beverly, meet my Soph?—”

FUCK .

“My—my renter Sophia.” He scratched his nose, hoping she didn’t notice his slip.

“Hi,” his aunt said, reaching out a hand and smiling warmly.

“Just got here last night.” Sophia threw a thumb over her shoulder at the cottage. “Your nephew took very good care of me last night.”

Blake choked on his own saliva, coughing out of thin air. “Sorry,” he said, his cheeks growing pink with embarrassment.

Just kill me. Right. Fucking. Now.

“I’m not really used to all this country living. I needed to get out of the city and try to find some place where I could just think and stare up at the stars. I slept like an absolute pile of lead last night, so I haven’t seen the stars yet. Then I woke up super early to bake something.”

“Are you moving to Clovely?” Beverly asked. She had a twinkle in her eye when she caught his gaze.

“Just visiting until mid-November. Decided to ‘fall’ in Vermont, you know?”

“Ah, like summering. Clever,” Beverly said with a chuckle.

“I had to get out of the heat and get inspiration for my cookbook; otherwise, it was going to be fifty recipes for standing in front of your freezer,” Sophia said with a laugh.

Beverly lifted her eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, a chef. Whatever’s in the basket smells absolutely amazing.”

Blake lifted the tea towel, offering her one.

“It’s one of my most popular recipes: Caramel Apple Streusel Muffins,” Sophia said.

“You guessed right for a thank you. Streusel on anything is my favorite,” Blake said, chancing a look directly at her bright, gorgeous face.

“Please, eat, eat.” She clapped, eager to see what they thought.

They both grabbed an oversized muffin, the top of it spilling over the sides, still warm from the oven.

Gooey, buttery warmth landed on his tongue, and he’d never tasted something so delicious. The salty tang of the caramel against the powdery goodness of the streusel was perfect.

“Good?” Sophia said with wide eyes.

Blake could only nod. He was going to do it—he was going to eat seventeen of these today.

“Amazing,” Beverly said, looking a little shocked.

“Oh, I’m so glad.” She jangled her keys in her hand, now back to business, unaware that she’d just introduced him to the eighth wonder of the world in his mouth. “Can you tell me where good Wi-Fi might be in town? I need to upload some videos. The upside of being a content creator is I can jet off to Vermont whenever I want. The downside is I am handcuffed to good upload speeds.”

“The inn in town has great Wi-Fi,” Beverly offered. “The dining room is open to anyone. You’re welcome to grab some lunch and do a little work on the side. People do it all the time.”

“Oh my gosh, amazing. I can go visit all the produce stands that I’ve been researching on the way. All right. Enjoy your muffins.” Sophia waved a hand, aiming a bright smile at both of them.

Blake waved back and stared as she practically skipped to her chic SUV. The curls in her ponytail bounced as she walked, and his eyes lingered on the curve of her ass and the tight leggings under her sweater.

His aunt cleared her throat. “So. When are you going to ask her out?” Beverly said, taking another bite, a knowing smile on her face.

“What are you talking about?” he said, scratching his ear. It was his tell, he’d been told.

“Come on, Blake,” she said, sighing. She’d been one of the unfortunate people to try to set him up on a blind date. “You know Angie wanted you to be happy. Get yourself a haircut, clean up that beard, and ask her out. She’s gorgeous.”

“I can’t do that,” he said, walking toward the barn, wanting to be done with this conversation. “She’s my renter. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.”

“You are clearly gobsmacked with that girl.” She popped the last bite into her mouth and dusted off her hands as she walked into the pumpkin patch. “Gobsmacking doesn’t come around every day, you know.” She winked and started picking veggies without another word.

Unfortunately, he’d only ever felt gobsmacked one other time in his life.

And he’d married that woman a long time ago.

He stared after Sophia’s SUV, torn. Angie had told him that she wanted him to date again when he was ready. She wanted him to be happy, and he knew that everybody deserved happiness again after grieving the loss of their loved ones.

But Sophia was only here for six weeks, and she’d leave to go back home soon. He didn’t think he was strong enough to lose someone so special again.