I take a fortifying swig of coffee and ask, “What time should I get here?”
“Six AM,” she replies.
I gulp.
She cocks her head to one side. “Do you know how to make coffee?”
“Does making it in a Keurig count?”
She throws back her head and laughs. I only hope she knows I was being serious.
Closing the distance between us, she stretches out her hand. “I'm Dana. If you're anything like your mom, you’ll fit right in.”
I shake her hand and don't tell her I'm nothing like my mom. “I'm Paige.”
Her eyes drop to my leather ankle boots. “You’ll want to wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty and comfortable shoes.”
Lovely.
“I can do that,” I say.
She leaves me to finish my coffee in peace. I open a social media app and freeze. Right there, the very first picture on my timeline is my former best friend Starla all cuddled up to my former boyfriend Gregor. That life-stealing twat, while I busted my ass building my business she snuck in behind me to not only steal my money but my ex as well.
Not that he was much of a prize anyway; he had a small dick and took longer to get ready to go out than I did. What he did have was a summerhouse in the Hampton’s and a condo overlooking Central Park. Outside of the bedroom he was perfect.
Biting back a frustrated growl at how far I've fallen, I shove my tablet back into my purse and down the rest of my coffee. There's only one good thing about this town, it's so small and out of the way none of my old friends even know it exists. So, luckily I'm the only witness to my humiliation here.
I'm one step out of the door when I plow into something tall and solid.
“Whoa there,” Asher says, grabbing my forearms to stop me from falling back onto my ass.
Did he just say whoa there like he was talking to a horse? I so do not need this right now.
I shake off his grip and sidestep him.
He steps in front of me so I glare up at him. “What?”
“Millie wants you to ride out with me to my house so you can drive her Explorer back.”
This is just great. First accepting a crap job slinging coffee to now being forced to spend time with Mr. Lumberjack. I doubt my day could get any worse.
Three
Asher
It's not like I want to be stuck in a car with a spoiled brat either. I haven't known her long, but I still can't get over how different she is from her mother. Millie is sweet and kind. Paige has done nothing but pout or glare since I've met her.
Losing her business had to have been rough, but that's no reason to take it out on everyone around her, especially Millie.
“Can't I pick it up later?”
“No,” I reply, turning without another word and stalk to my Cherokee.
I parked next to the Cadillac Millie said she'd be driving. Paige stomps after me. It should be funny, someone her size making that much noise, and it probably would be if her attitude wasn't pissing me off.
My house is twenty minutes from here. Twenty minutes I am not looking forward to being trapped in my Jeep with her. I've known and successfully avoided women like her for years. If there was a chance I'd meet someone like Noah's fiancée Finley, I'd go out more. Too bad the women I seem to meet are all like Paige, superficial and lazy.
It's not like I need her help, but the way her lip curled in disgust when Millie suggested it, made me certain Paige wasn't the type to lift her finger if she could avoid it.
I'm still mulling over her reaction on my drive back to Millie’s. I let everything Millie has shared about her daughter come to the forefront of my mind. She planned parties for a living, how much more materialistic could she get?
My gaze flicks to the rearview mirror and I'm relieved to see the Cadillac trailing me. I only need to deal with her for twenty minutes, then I'll be happy to never lay eyes on Paige Sullivan again.
I park in a visitor spot close to the reserved spot Mr. Olsen parks his caddie in. She glides into it moments later. I can't resist looking over at her. As much as I dislike her, there's no denying she's attractive. Too bad what's inside is lacking.
Oblivious to my focus, she doesn't immediately get out of the car. No, she sits there and seems to have an animated conversation with herself, hands waving in the air with her words.
She closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the rest, her chin tipping up. Both of her hands that were gesturing wildly before settle on her chest as she slowly inhales and then exhales.
She looks like she's meditating or maybe counting to ten. My chest tightens. This is what I can only guess is typical Paige crap. She’s pitching a fit because she has to do something for someone other than herself for once.
If I was anywhere else, I’d beep the horn. I’m waiting for her so she can get her mom’s car to help her out. There's no reason she needs to act this put out by it.
I'm frowning by the time she climbs into the passenger seat, and reversing out of the parking spot before she has her seat belt latched. As I drive, I ignore her presence even as I feel the weight of her stare. If she's waiting for me to start talking, she’ll be waiting forever.
“Why can't you get your own mail and groceries?” She breaks the silence by asking.
Out of my admiration for Millie, I don't ignore her question.
I pull in a breath. “I don't like to leave my land.”
“Well I don't like getting out of bed in the morning but I pull on my big girl pants and do it anyway.”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I don't need to explain myself to her. She knows nothing about me.
“Good thing I'm fresh out of big girl pants,” I reply.
She huffs and folds her arms across her chest. I'm learning she does that when she's annoyed. What she doesn't do is argue.
For some reason, this makes me smile. The closer I get to home, the harder it is for her presence to unnerve me. When I turn onto the long drive that leads to my home and my lake, it's like she isn't even here. Familiar woods pass by me.
She inhales when my home comes into view, reminding me she’s still here at all. I don't ask what her reaction meant. Her opinion and the opinions of people like her mean nothing to me.
I park and get out. Millie gave me her keys this morning. Figuring Paige is watching me, I walk to her mom’s Explorer, open the door and drop the keys onto the driver’s seat. Then I turn and head into my house without looking back at her.
“You're a real fucking prince,” she mutters behind me before slamming the door to my Jeep.
For some reason, that also makes me smile. That smile disappears when she knocks on my door.
“What now?” I ask, pulling it open.
“I need to pee,” she replies, then shoves past me. “Where's your bathroom?”
With a grunt, I point across the main room. She rolls her eyes before gracefully spinning and moving that way. Halfway across the room she rocks to a halt, her focus on the big picture window.
“The bathroom is through that door,” I say, not wanting her in my space, and not wanting her looking at my lake. “Do your business and go.”
I turn toward my kitchen and to the breezeway to my workshop. She can let herself out.
“My mom told me it was beautiful here.”
Her words stop me.
It means nothing, her seeing the beauty of this place. When she doesn't say anything else, I keep moving.
Once I'm in my workshop I lean against one of my counters and wait. A few minutes later I hear the engine of Millie’s Explorer come to life followed by its growl as Paige pulls away. Pushing off of the counter, I open the back entrance.
Slowly, I make my way down to the water's edge. It's been ages since someone aggravated me as much as Paige did. When I reach the end of my dock, I lower myself to sit at its edge. This is the one place it’s impossible to stay aggravated.
A week later, I'm getting dressed when the crunch of gr
avel on my drive has me lifting my head. I don't get unexpected visitors, ever. Not bothering to pull on a shirt, I make my way to my front door.
Millie’s Explorer pulls to a stop in front of me. My brow furrows as I watch Paige step down from the driver’s side.
“I'm not doing any of this for free,” she says by way of greeting.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my words clipped.
She waves me off as she moves to the back of her mom’s SUV and tugs open the back door. “Mail, groceries and some cleaning. I don't care if my mom did them, I am not cleaning your toilets.”
“I don't want you here,” I reply.
She shrugs, grocery bags in her hands. “I don't want to be here. I suppose we’ll both have to get over it.”
Her gaze moves over my chest as she approaches. She does little more than frown. That is not a reaction I'm familiar with. It unnerves me, but normally women ogle me. It's made me so uncomfortable in the past it's part of the reason I rarely leave this place. She slips past me as my hands curl into fists.
I follow her into my kitchen, furious at her nonchalance. “You can drop off the groceries then go.”
She hefts the bags onto my island. “Not before you reimburse me for these and pay me for my precious time.”
“Precious time? What, did sitting on your ass all day get boring?”
She keeps her eyes on the bags in front of her as she slowly pulls each item from them. “You don't know one thing about me.”
“I know enough.”
She nods, but doesn't reply.
Since my glaring at her appears to have no effect, I storm out to the Explorer and collect more bags. It's the least I can do to help her get a move on.
She doesn't say a word as I lug the rest of the bags in. Typical, no thanks even though I'm doing her job. A job I didn’t even want her doing for me in the first place. Wanting her out of my house, I don't remark on the fact that she's putting everything in the wrong places. As soon as she's gone I'll need to fix all of it.
“Where's the receipt?” I ask, setting the last bag in front of her.
“What? You won't believe me without it?”
“Where is the receipt?” I repeat.
She mutters what sounds like something about a giant stick up my ass as she shoves her hand into her pocket and produces the receipt. I pluck it out of her hand.
My checkbook is in the other room. Ignoring the sounds of her clanging around in my kitchen, I write out the check, adding forty dollars to the amount on the receipt for her troubles. Not certain whose money footed the bill, I leave the pay to line blank.
As much as I dislike her, I can't see her stealing from her mom. Check in hand, I walk back into the kitchen. Problem is, she's gone.
I call out her name as I move from room to room looking for her. Movement catches my eye through the window.
She's walking down my dock. What the hell is she doing out there? This is my place, mine. She has no right coming here uninvited and acting like she owns the place.
I storm after her, check still in hand.
“Here's your money, now go.”
She stuns me by shaking her head.
“It sucks but you're going to have to put up with me or argue it out with my mom.”
She plucks the check from my hand. “Look, I want to be here about as much as you want me here.”
“What do you mean argue it out with her?” I ask.
She folds the check and slides it into her pocket before planting her hand on her hip. “You know exactly what I mean. I need to live with her and she won't rest until she's sure you have help.”
“I'll call her,” I reply.
The brat tips her face back and laughs.
“You think that's funny?”
She bends forward, still laughing only this time doing it with her hands braced on her knees. I've never wanted to strangle anyone this much in my life.
Slowly she straightens and gives me a cocky grin. “Can I listen in when you try to convince her you don't need my help?”
“I don't want you here,” I growl.
She shrugs. “Not my problem.”
“Out of respect to your mom, I'll accept you getting my groceries and mail, which you've done. Going forward there's no reason for you to stay any longer than it takes to unload them.”
She turns away from me, her gaze moving across my lake. “We’ll see what she says about that.”
“Do you have some burning desire to clean my house?” I ask.
She raises a brow. “Oh yeah, nothing turns me on more than laundry and dusting.”
If she wasn't such a pain in my ass, she'd be pretty funny. “No, that isn't what I meant.”
She smiles. “I know what you meant and my reason is none of your business.”
Without another word, she moves past me and off the dock. When she reaches the path that leads back to the house, she turns to look back at the lake.
Her wistful expression unnerves me. She turns and leaves before I have a chance to figure out why.
I'm still standing there when I hear the Explorer crank on and pull away. I shift my attention back out across the water and wonder what Paige was thinking as she looked at it.
Deciding she's invaded not only my space, but too much of my thoughts, I walk toward my workshop.
Some people pray, others do yoga or meditate. I build things to clear my mind. I have both commissioned and for my own pleasure projects to build. Right now, after that scene and the annoyance she brought out of me, I need something to clear my head more than ever.
On my commissioned builds, the material is normally, unless they leave it up to me, selected by the buyer. When I'm making something for my own personal use or reasons, I tend to use reclaimed lumber.
Folks who live around here know that. If an old barn or shack is coming down, they'll either give it to me, or sell it to me for next to nothing.
Noah also saves me stuff from his jobs. My mom has been on me to build her a cabinet to store and display all her mugs and a few tea sets she's picked up over the years. It's the perfect project to clear my mind because, while I have the basic dimensions of where she wants to put it, she trusts me with the rest of the design.
I have some nice reclaimed pieces that will work for the outer frame. Smaller pieces will work for the shelves.
My drafting board overlooks a window with a view of the lake. Once I start working, that view melts away entirely. The window serves one purpose after that, for me to track the time of day by how light it is outside. My timing gets thrown off on rainy days but for the most part, the amount of sunlight streaming in is my only reminder to eat, and once it's dark out, call it quits for the day.
Without setting limits, I've worked through the night and paid for it the next day. I've never liked schedules but keeping my work during daylight hours is always better for me.
Once I have picked through my pile of wood and selected the pieces I want to use, I get to work.
As the view outside my window melts away, I'm relieved to find my thoughts of Paige have as well.
Four
Paige
“Have you ever thought about expanding?”
Dana, looks up from the box of coffee cups she was unpacking. “Expanding?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “This place gets packed and since there are only a few places to sit, they leave as soon as their coffee is ready. If you had room for more chairs people would stay longer.”
Dana smirks. “Maybe it's a good thing they get their cup of Joe and go. Why would I ever want them to stick around?”
“The longer they stay, the more coffee they’ll drink.”
She lowers her gaze back down to the box. “I sell enough coffee right now.”
“What would be bad about selling more and growing your business?”
She flips the cardboard flaps to the box shut with a huff. “Maybe I don't wanna grow my business. Maybe I'm perfectly happy with how it is right now.”
“You've never even considered it?” I ask, my eyes roaming around the little coffee shop.
“I knew you'd be a pain in my ass the second I hired you,” she replies.
“What's that supposed to mean?” I snap.
She rests a hip against the counter and gestures toward me, starting at my feet and moving upward until she reaches my face. “Fancy hair and clothes, I knew it'd be a matter of time before I'd have to deal with fancy ideas coming out of your mouth as well.”
Deciding against responding to her comments on my appearance, I focus on what she said about my idea. “I'd hardly call having room for some more tables fancy.”
“There's nothing wrong with things the way they are.”
I don't need to look around the shop again to point out the out-dated wood paneling, chipped Formica counter, and lack of supply storage space in addition to the woeful seating area. Dana is too much like my mother, unable to consider change even if it would improve her situation.
“Fine, forget I said anything,” I reply, untying the back strings of my apron.
“Any plans for the rest of your afternoon?”
For the first time this week I can say something other than, go see to mom. “I need to run to the post office and grocery store for Asher Thompson. I'm going to swing by and check on mom first.”
Where Dana would normally say tell your mom I hope her leg is feeling better, she instead sighs. “Oh, if I was thirty years younger I'd make a fool of myself over that man or one of his brothers.”
“What?” I laugh, caught completely off guard by her words. Then, somewhat collecting myself, I hone in on something she said. “He has brothers?”
She chuckles, pulling the last sleeve of takeaway cups from the box and shoving them onto a shelf. “Three of them.”
Before I can help myself I inquire, “Do they all look as good as him?”
As I hook my apron on the door that leads to her back office and more supplies, she breaks down the box. “Yes.”
I pause to brace myself at the thought but say nothing in response. If I ever saw Asher Thompson with a clean-shaven face wearing a tailored suit, I'd probably melt into a puddle where I stood. It's a good thing he's so not my type. But, one of his brothers might be.
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