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his eyes closed. He knew that Mary Lou Sansbury was tiptoeing across the grass toward him in the sandals with the French name that sounded like a flower. Espri-somethings.
    And he smelled cookies. Homemade chocolate chip cookies.
    A pretty woman bearing cookies should make him smile, but a frown pulled at his mouth instead.
Goodbye, peace and quiet, hello, interruption
.
    “ ’Lo, M.L.,” he said, his eyes still closed. He wanted to hold on to that peace for just a few seconds longer.
One, two …
    “How’d you know it was me?” The pout in her voice was clear.
    He cracked an eye. Yep, she was wearing the sandals with the basket weaving on the heels, along with tight flowery capris and a white tank top. “Trying to sneak up on me?”
    “I wanted to plant one right on that luscious mouth of yours.” Her pout transformed to a smile that was so red and glossy, a sliver of sun reflected off her lips and nearly blinded him. She tilted her head. “I suppose I should be happy that you didn’t say someone else’s name, what with all those man-hungry floozies traipsing over here bearing food.”
    His gaze slid to the tray of cookies she was balancing, along with two tall insulated cups. “And shame on every one of ’em.” He sat up and took one of the cups and a cookie.
    She gave him the perfect Southern indignant look while her apple cheeks burned as red as her lips. “It’s just not like that at all. I baked a batch of pecan chocolate chip cookies for the church sale and remembered how you used to love them. Your mama made me bring out the lemonades.”
    “ ’Course she did.” And bless her heart. He took a long draw of the family’s signature lemonade, feeing that nice burn of Gentleman Jack whiskey slide down histhroat. He patted the hammock.
    She eyed it dubiously, no doubt remembering the last time he’d offered her a seat and she’d gotten dumped right off. She wiggled her flower-covered ass right in front of him as she prepared to touch down.
    “Whew,” she said when she got settled, her thigh pressed against his. “I can’t believe you even suggested making out in this thing years ago. I can barely sit here without tipping.”
    He’d made a point to master the danged thing when he was in his teens, and that balance had come in handy many a time. Both for hammock sex and combat. “It’s tricky, no doubt about it, but it can be done.”
    She frowned, and he realized he’d admitted to getting freaky in the hammock with someone else. Well, he’d never made her any promises.
    She turned away and fanned her dewy face. “It’s already humid, and it’s only the first week of June. And in the morning yet. Summer’s going to be a bitch.”
    “Smooth change of subject, darlin’.”
    “Coming from you, that’s a compliment. You’re a master, at least when I bring up certain subjects. Like making plans for the future.”
    He took a bite of the cookie, the chocolate melting in his mouth. “You’ll raise a fortune with these.”
    “Touché.” She gave him a contrite smile. “I must confess, I did bake them just for you. Not to woo you or anything, to be clear. I have other assets to offer ’sides my baking abilities.”
    “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Saxby could never understand “pretty white lies,” as the girls liked to call them, or the head games some people played when it came to courtship.
    She patted his shoulder. “I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
    He furrowed his eyebrows. “When have you ever embarrassed
me
?”
    “Let’s see. Remember back in high school when we were at the diner and I was teasing you under the table?”
    He searched for the memory and finally found it. “Well, darlin’, that didn’t embarrass me.”
    “What about after I accidentally knocked my iced tea in your lap, when you jumped up and your hard-on was apparent to everyone in the place?”
    Oh yeah, he’d forgotten about that part. He shrugged. “A teenage boy with a hard-on