The Inn at Laurel Creek by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

yes or a no?"
    I closed the door without letting him in, giving him my answer. I was in desperate need of a shower and had to pee so bad I thought I would burst—not something any woman wants to do in the early stages of romance.
    An hour later I was on the deck waiting for Ben. I'd dressed quickly, wearing just a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, my usual sleep attire. I wasn't sure if one of us would stay with the other, and I wasn't trying to be sexy—as if that was possible in a tank top and boxers. I just wanted to be comfy. I was equally tired and energized, and my body fought itself when I yawned and fidgeted at the same time. I was nervous but I couldn't quite figure out why. Being with Ben had been everything I'd imagined—more, really, and I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable, in fact, just the opposite. I wondered if my nervousness was because of that…because of how comfortable I felt with him…how easy it was to be with him…how much I wanted him. How was this even possible so soon? Did he feel the same? Of course earlier it was obvious he did, but I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made more out of the sex than was really there. I stopped myself from going down that road, and instead admired what Lou had done to the deck.
    She had dinner waiting, and she had lit dozens of small candles, placing them along the entire length of the deck railing. Soft music played in the background and tiny white lights entwined through the trellis were lit up like stars. It was incredibly sweet and romantic, maybe even magical, and I made a mental note to thank her with a special gift when I got back home.
    I sat in the rocking chair, breathing in the smells from the dinner she'd prepared. I snuck a peek under the tops of the trays and my mouth watered. Homemade fried chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, and corn casserole along with a massive piece of cheesecake made my stomach growl.
    "What's under there?" Ben asked.
    "The most amazing looking macaroni and cheese I've ever seen, for starters," I said. "Will you hurry up and sit so I can eat? I'm famished."
    "I have that effect on women."
    I couldn't argue with that.
    "So tell me about your tour," I said as we ate.
    And he did. He told me all of the different states and venues—all big and all sold out.
    "Are you playing in Atlanta?"
    He nodded. "Verizon in Alpharetta. It's my first stop. You'll come, right?"
    "Oh God, my friends are going to flip. What am I gonna tell them?"
    "Tell them you've got backstage passes to meet Bret Bennett and when they're there, we'll break it to them."
    "Do you know how much that will freak them out?" I loved the idea. "They'll pee themselves from the excitement. I'm pretty sure at least one of them will want to sleep with you."
    "Hopefully not the one that pees herself."
    I smacked him in the arm. "Funny."
    "Maybe have them bring a change of clothes along too, just in case." He winked at me.
    The thought of surprising my friends like that made me so excited—thinking about the expressions on their faces, how they'd react knowing Bret Bennett was mine. I wasn't sure I could keep the secret much longer than another twenty-four hours, let alone a few more weeks. "I'm not sure I can wait that long. I mean, girls talk, Ben. We tell our friends about our boyfriends, and even though you're Ben Reynolds to me, you're still Bret Bennett and that's a pretty big secret to keep."
    "I'm your boyfriend?"
    I blushed. "Oh, well you know what I mean."
    "No, I don't," he said, leaning toward me and kissing me. "Tell me."
    "You said you wanted this to continue after we got back to the city," I said. "So I thought that meant…" I was horribly embarrassed, heat rushing to my face. "I guess I just assumed…"
    "Right," he said. "You assumed right. I'm your boyfriend and you're my girlfriend. I like that. We're a couple, so that means you can't see anyone else, or think about anyone else."
    "Who would I think about?" I asked.
    "Matthew?"
    "I'm sorry,