One Little Thing by Kimberly Lang Page B

fixings into an eight-room bed-and-breakfast.
    He’d never moved so much stuff around in his life.
    Sophie was sprawled, arms and legs wide, on the carpet in the main room under a fan going full blast. He was sore, sweaty, and tired—and a little jealous there wasn’t room under that fan for him. He consoled himself by standing over one of the air-conditioning vents as it worked overtime to cool down the house. He was reassessing his earlier, ridiculously naiveplans about getting done early and taking Sophie out tonight. “I just want a beer and a shower,” he muttered.
    â€œThere are nine bathrooms. Take your pick,” Sophie said, not even opening her eyes. “And there’s beer in the small fridge in the kitchen.” She turned her head in his general direction and cracked one eyelid open. “If you go, bring me one, too, please.”
    Climbing those stairs again was out of the damn question, but he could drag his carcass to the kitchen.
Just.
Sophie pushed herself up to a sitting position and accepted the bottle with a tired smile. “Thanks. And thanks for your help today. We’d still be at if you hadn’t been here.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    â€œWhat about poor Scoop? Do you need to go check on her?”
    He leaned back on his hands. “Scoop’s at my mom’s. She demands weekly visitation with her granddog.”
    She nodded, then drank deep from the bottle. Out of nowhere, she laughed. “
Oh. Now
I get it.
Scoop.
You’re a journalist. I hadn’t put it together until now.” The complete non-sequitur had him blinking at her in confusion. That caused her to laugh again. “Sorry. I’m tired and my brain is everywhere at the moment.”
    He nodded. “She was a stray that wandered up to the paper’s office. The intern we had at the time thought it was appropriate.”
    â€œIt’s cute.” She took another long drink of her beer and then stretched. “Mercy. I feel gross.” Cutting her eyes over to the staircase, she shook her head. “But if I have to climb those steps one more time today, I’ll kill myself.”
    â€œI had a similar thought.” He pushed to his feet and held out a hand. “Come on.”
    â€œWhat?” she asked, but she took hold of his hand anyway and let him pull her to her feet.
    â€œI have an idea.” He led her out the French doors and down the steps to the beach, stopping only long enough to step out of his shoes.
    â€œI do not have the energy for a walk on the beach,” Sophie protested, but she removed her shoes as well, sighing happily as she wiggled her toes in the sand.
    â€œNeither do I.” Taking her hand again, he led her straight to the water line and kept walking.
    â€œAre you insane?” she said, when the water was about knee height, and she’d figured out he wasn’t going to stop.
    â€œIt’ll feel good.” He released her hand and walked backward until the water was mid-thigh. Then, arms wide, he lethimself fall into the water. The shallow water wasn’t cold, but it was refreshing, and when he surfaced, he felt somewhat human again.
    Sophie’s look told him she thought he was barking mad. “Do you feel better?”
    â€œMuch,” he answered and went under again. This time, when he came back up, Sophie was under water, and she bobbed to the surface next to him a moment later, pushing her wet hair back from her face. “See?”
    â€œYou were right, I feel better already.”
    The water was only waist-deep here, and when Sophie stood, her T-shirt plastered itself to her skin, outlining every curve as the breeze caused her nipples to harden. He felt Sophie’s eyes on him and forced himself to look up, a little ashamed of himself to be caught ogling her like that.
    But there was no censure in her eyes. If anything, that was interest—and maybe even permission. Under the water, he