Chapter 1: "Sweat and Stares"

The air conditioning hummed weakly through the vents, but it didn't stand a chance against the mid-July heat. Sarah stood in front of the open fridge, letting the cool air wash over her bare thighs. Her light cotton dress clung to her body in all the wrong—or right—places. Thin straps slipped over tanned shoulders, and the hem barely grazed the tops of her knees.

She heard the creak of boots at the back door. A smile touched her lips. Right on time.

John knocked once before stepping inside, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His white shirt clung to him, damp and translucent at the chest, revealing the outline of hard muscle and the curve of his collarbone.

"You okay working out there in that heat?" she asked, her voice smoother than the lemonade she poured.

"Can't lie, it's brutal today," he said, taking the glass from her. His fingers brushed hers. He held her gaze a second longer than necessary.

Sarah leaned against the counter, the soft fabric of her dress pressing against her breasts. She knew what it did to men. She'd spent her twenties mastering that art, and now in her forties, she found it had only sharpened with age.

"You can cool off inside for a bit," she offered. "The fan's on in the living room."

He hesitated. That same flicker crossed his face—the one that had been showing up more and more. The one that said, I see you. I want you.

He followed her in.

---

The fan blew her dress lightly against her skin, making the shape of her curves impossible to ignore. John sat on the edge of the couch, eyes focused ahead but twitching toward her now and then.

"You always dress like that in the heat?" he asked, his tone casual but his voice roughened slightly.

She smiled, slow and deliberate. "Only when I want to feel something against my skin."

There it was again. That tension. That stretch between bold and polite. It danced like lightning in the silence.

John leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch. Sarah walked past him to adjust the fan, letting the sway of her hips and the bounce beneath her dress do the talking. She felt his gaze slide down her back and lower.

When she turned, he was still looking. This time, he didn't pretend otherwise.

"You need anything else fixed?" he asked, standing. He towered over her. She had to tilt her chin up slightly to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure I could find a few things," she murmured. "Lots of tight spots in this old place."

His chest rose and fell just a little faster. The air between them thickened.

"Mind showing me?"

Sarah turned and walked slowly down the hallway, her bare feet whispering against the hardwood. She heard his steps follow. Measured. Intentional.

When she reached the small laundry room, she paused. Her back still turned to him.

"Door gets stuck sometimes," she said, pushing her weight against it.

John reached past her. His body brushed lightly against hers. His hand covered hers on the doorknob. For a moment, neither of them moved.

He opened the door with ease. It clicked open with a low creak.

"Sometimes you just have to know how to handle it," he said.

Her breath hitched. She turned. Inches separated them.

"Good with your hands, huh?" she asked.

His gaze dropped to her lips, then lower.

"I try to be."

The tension flared. Her heart pounded. He didn't touch her. Not yet. But she leaned forward just enough to test the air. And he didn't move away.

Then the sound of a car door slamming outside broke the moment.

They both stepped back, blinking.

John cleared his throat. "I'll go finish the back deck."

Sarah nodded, her voice failing her.

But as he passed her, his hand brushed her lower back. A simple touch.

And her whole body lit up.