“It’s fine,” he clipped, tossing one tool into the old red box I’d seen him carrying the week before with a clunk before picking up another one.
“No, it’s not.”
He dipped back under the hood and my eyes flicked to where his fern green t-shirt edged up, revealing an inch of tanned skin just above his waistline.
I took one deep breath, closed my eyes, and started talking. “Rev is my cat’s name. Well, not really my cat, but the neighborhood cat who found me the first night I got here. He has this dreadfully loud and croaky purr, sounds like an old motor, so I named him Rev.” I shook my head. “Not that you need the whole backstory. What I’m trying to say is that I know now why that upset you, that it wasn’t my question but the name. And I don’t know everything,” I assured him, because his hands had stopped moving, and one of them gripped the new tool in his hand too tight for comfort. “I promise, I’m not trying to butt into your business.”
The muscle in his jaw popped, his breath loud as he started working again. He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t tell me to go away, so naturally, I kept talking.
“I just really am sorry. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was so messed up. I’d never tried marijuana before and Tucker had this joint and—”
“You’re right,” Anderson snapped, standing straight and facing me for the first time. His chest was streaked with grease, and it heaved, his breath hard and steady. “It’s not an excuse. You think I don’t see girls like you come through here all the time? Trying to find themselves?” He scoffed, bright blue eyes as cold as the icy words he spewed. “You get wasted every night, try a few drugs, go naked in the hot tub like it’s the most original thing in the world. Well, I don’t care what you do, Wren, but whatever it is, for however long you’re here for, just leave me out of it.”
He growled, throwing the tool in his hand against the back of his toolbox. It rebounded and fell inside with a clank and I flinched, nose flaring, eyes on the ground. For a moment I just stood there, him staring at me, willing me to fight back. And when I lifted my eyes to his and saw the challenge in them, I almost did.
But I was done wasting my time fighting boys who wanted to be treated like men.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I whispered, sniffing back the tears that threatened to break and tucking my arms tighter around my middle. “And I take back my apology. You are an asshole.”
With that, I turned on my heels, held my head high, and took one step closer to the woman I wanted to be.
My blood boiled higher in temperature with every step she took away from Ron’s cabin. I watched, too—because apparently self-punishment is on my very short list of hobbies.
It was like her strappy sandals were tied to my heart beat. She stomped, my heart thumped—over and over. And every pump sent a fresh wave of heat through me, so when she rounded the trees at the edge of Ron’s drive and disappeared, I roared, slamming my fists on the old wooden table where my toolbox sat before grabbing the wrench I’d just thrown in there and getting back to work.
Every crank was exaggerated and I grunted, teeth clenched together so hard my jaw ached. It was stupid, because I wasn’t even mad at her—not at all, not anymore. Once she explained why she’d said my old nickname, I’d lost the reason to be angry—until she breathed Tucker’s name, that is.
I didn’t know why I let him get to me, or why the thought of him getting her high made me want to murder him. I’d been high plenty of times and I had absolutely nothing against her smoking a little weed, but I didn’t want him touching her, and the fact that she’d let him get her high pissed me off almost as much as the fact that he offered.
But why?
Nothing made sense, which only added to my frustration, so I took it out on the rusted old truck I’d been treating with nothing but TLC for months.
The garage door creaked and I glanced up to see Ron walk in. His long gray hair was tucked under his Navy hat and he lifted it off his head and readjusted it before nodding at me and climbing back under.
Usually working with my hands kept my mind busy, too—but not today. Not after I made a complete fool of myself. Wren didn’t deserve what I’d dumped on her, and I knew that even in the moment I did it. Nothing I said was anything I actually believed about her. If I did, I wouldn’t want to talk to her. I wouldn’t have gone to a bonfire for the first time in years just so I’d run into her. I wouldn’t be overanalyzing every word, wondering how to make it right, realizing I shouldn’t even try.
Because the truth had been buried under my newfound curiosity, but I’d been reminded of its existence last night. I had nothing to give a woman, least of all a woman like Wren, so I did what I do best.
I pushed her away.
She called me an asshole and she was right, so I proved it. I solidified her assumptions. And now she would live out the rest of her summer here without any regard for me and when she left, I’d still be here, and everything would go back to normal.
Every day would be the same.
A foreign feeling rolled through my stomach at that thought, but I didn’t have time to dissect it, because a high-pitched scream carried through the trees and into the garage.
Ron jumped and scrambled out from under the truck as I ripped around, eyes searching for the source of the noise. I knew that scream, and before I could talk myself out of it, my feet were moving, carrying me full speed ahead toward Wren’s cabin.
My heart thumped loud in my ear as I ran, boots crunching first on the gravel of Ron’s driveway before hitting the road. I didn’t stop to think about what I’d just said to her or that I’d probably be the last one she wanted helping her, not until I rounded the trees at the end of her drive and saw her standing there.
She was soaking wet.
I paused for just a second, chest heaving, and watched as she tried very unsuccessfully to stop the water spout on the side her house from spraying everywhere. It had split open under where the garden hose connected and was dousing everything—the firewood, the yard, her car.
Her.
“Shit,” I murmured, kicking back into action and sprinting toward her. She was fighting the water, cranking the knob that was connected to the piece now split off from the rest of the spout.
“It won’t stop!” she screamed when I was next to her, water spraying me as I shielded it with my hands and searched for the source.
My eyes followed the piping up and over her cabin and into the garage, and I took off again, bursting through the garage door and sprinting into the back room where the washer and dryer unit sat. I cut the water and ran back out to Wren just in time to see the last of the water spray out before it shrank in power and eventually stopped.
Wren was breathing heavy, chest strained against the now see-through fabric of her white dress. Her nipples were cold and hard, the dress sticking to them along with her ribs, her slim waist, her thighs. She batted at her hair, still dripping water, and shivered a bit as she looked up at me, mascara running, eyes wide. I watched as they skimmed my body the way mine had just devoured hers, and it was as if only then did she realize who it was who’d helped her. Her cheeks tinged pink and she scowled, and that’s all it took for me to lose it.
I laughed.
The sound was just as foreign as the feeling I’d had before I heard her scream. It almost hurt, laughing after so many years. My throat burned and my ribs cracked, shaking the rust off as I threw my head back and let the feeling consume me.
Wren’s scowl morphed, brows pinching together like she thought I was crazy.
Maybe I was.
And her standing there soaked and shivering and sexy as hell just made me laugh harder.
I bent at the waist, one hand gripping my stomach, and Wren kept on scowling. She swung at me, her tiny fists connecting with a pit and pat against my wet chest, and then she lost her balance, gripping onto my biceps to steady herself. I grabbed her, too, hands wrapping around her small elbows until she was standing agai
n, her chest pressed against the bottom of my rib cage.
I wasn’t laughing anymore.
She peered up at me through long, dark, wet lashes and swallowed, her body reacting to the proximity of mine. I could have stepped back, let her go, ushered her inside so she could get out of her soaked clothes and into the shower, but instead I just held her there. Something came over me in that moment as the sun peeking through the tops of the trees caught her green eyes, highlighting the gold that spiraled out from her pupils. Maybe I wasn’t good for her, maybe she would tear through me that summer and then leave at the end of it all, and maybe none of that even mattered because she had her own shit to deal with and wouldn’t be fazed by me, anyway.
But I was wrong about one thing.
I did have something to give her.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice low, eyes still watching hers.
“Me, too,” she whispered back.
I broke our stare long enough to look around at the damage the water had done, remembering the assessment I’d made of her cabin the day before. “Let me help you fix this place up.”
Wren sighed, breaking our contact and stepping back. She was still shivering and she crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s okay, I—”
“Please,” I interrupted.
I could have gone on, could have explained that none of that firewood would light now that it was drenched or that she was burning too much of it in the first place with her broken stove. I could have mentioned that it wasn’t just one or two floorboards inside or on the deck that needed to be replaced, but all of them. I could have pointed out the water leaks or the damaged flue pipes on the chimney or the clogged gutters or the odor most likely coming from a broken garbage disposal under her sink. But that one word was all I said, all I asked.
She swallowed, seemingly debating the risk associated with my request. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she glanced around at the mess before squinting back up at me. Then she smiled on a sigh, and all the tension between us melted away.
“Okay.”
MAYHAP
may·hap
Adverb
Possibly but not certainly: perhaps
I woke the next morning unsure of the decision I’d made.
Even after Anderson’s apology, part of me was still hurt by what he’d said to me at Ron’s, but a bigger part of me knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. I had fled to the cabin for the summer to get space and clarity, and hearing him point out the unoriginality of that made me want to prove him wrong.
I’d spent my first couple of weeks in the cabin not doing much of anything, and now it was time to start asking myself the questions I’d been avoiding, to start figuring out what it was I needed to take from my first summer alone.
Still, I worried about Anderson being around the house every day. Not just because he clearly had his own issues to deal with, but because his broken eyes called to me, stirring up emotions I almost forgot existed. Momma Von was right in that sense—I was a fixer, a doer, and the thought of helping him sort through his own demons was so appealing. The problem was that I found myself certain he wouldn’t want that help, and he’d be one more thing to derail my focus from where it needed to be—on myself.
Unsure as I was about all of it, I couldn’t deny the fact that I needed help around the cabin. It didn’t matter that I was only staying for the summer. I still needed firewood, water that worked, and a sturdy floor, among other things, and I’d made the agreement with Abdiel to handle it on my own while he was away. And that was that.
Just like Anderson promised when he left the day before, he showed up at my door at eight o’clock on the dot, toolbox in hand.
I greeted him with a cup of hot coffee, and he sat with me at the kitchen island, the two of us sipping from our mugs as he ran over some of the things that needed to be done. He’d slipped back into the straight-faced man I’d seen at the end of my driveway the first day I met him, and I wondered if the laughter I’d witnessed yesterday would ever make another appearance. I could still hear the baritone of it as I watched the dip in his forearm tighten and relax with every sweep of his hand over the list he’d made.
“There’s more than I thought,” I finally said, glancing around the cabin. “How do I... How much do I owe you for all this?”
Anderson cleared his throat, folding the list and tucking it into his pocket as he stood. “I still need to walk the property and assess everything. There might be more,” he said, nodding to my empty mug as he grabbed his. I handed mine over, and as he turned for the sink, he threw over his shoulder, “Payment isn’t necessary.”
I blanched. “It absolutely is.”
He dumped our mugs in the sink, rinsing each of them and laying them on the rack to dry. “I offered to help. Besides, this isn’t even your place,” he added, turning to face me. “What exactly did you and Abdiel work out, again?”
“Nothing, really. He was selling it, and I misread the ad, thought he was just renting it. When I found out he was selling, I thanked him for his time and tried to leave but he stopped me, said if I gave him all three month’s rent ahead of time that I could have it for the summer and he’d check in at the end to see if I wanted to buy then.”
Anderson raised his eyebrows. “So you are interested in possibly buying, then?”
“No,” I said on a laugh. “But he said either way, he’ll sell it in the fall.” I shrugged. “I guess he just saw that I... needed it.”
He nodded, and I tucked my hair behind my ears, both of us silent.
“Well, I’m going to get started,” Anderson said after a moment, pushing off where he’d been leaning against the counter.
“Wait, I’m coming.” I used the microwave as a mirror to tie my hair back, turning to catch Anderson staring at me with a quirked brow.
“You’re going to watch me this whole time?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m going to help.” I gestured to my overalls, the ones I’d worn only once before my trip out to Gold Bar for the summer. They’d been a cute trend last summer, now they were turning out quite useful. “Look. Ready to work.”
He rolled his lips together and bit down, fighting off a smile.
“Oh, come on! Look at how useful these things are.” I snagged the screwdriver I’d used the other day off the kitchen counter and tucked it into one of the front pockets. “See?”
Anderson gave in and chuckled. “I don’t even know what I’m working on just yet, so maybe you should hang tight. I know you said you have some sketching to do, too. Don’t let me being here keep you from what you need to do.”
My shoulders slumped and I stuck out my bottom lip in an over-exaggerated pout. “Well, you’re no fun.”
“Just holler if you need anything, okay?” At that, he smirked a little. “Not that I have to tell you that.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved him as he grabbed his toolbox, though he barely budged at all. I had offered to help mostly because though I had plenty to do, I didn’t particularly feel like doing any of it. But I knew, in reality, I would have been more in his way than of any assistance, so I grabbed my sketchbook with a sigh as he headed down to the busted water spout.
I learned quickly that having Anderson around the cabin was a distraction. I couldn’t not glance out the window at him as I washed and put away dishes, nor could I ignore him when I tried to sit on the front porch with my sketchbook. The way he worked was mesmerizing, his face and concentration both hard as stone.
Maybe it was because I’d grown up with parents who called a professional anytime anything broke, and then I married a man who had hands softer than my own, but I was impressed by Anderson. He was so comfortable, so confident as he moved around the cabin, his hands working as if they were made for that purpose—to fix things. He didn’t need a manual or a tutorial. He just knew exactly what to do.
After over an hour of sketching—only to rip several pages from my book and crumple them up—I gave in, retreating inside to ca
ll Adrian. It was nice to just catch up—he told me all about Naomi’s crawling adventures, and I made him laugh with the tale of the pipe burst, another in a series of awkward moments. We ended the call with him updating me on the boutique just as Anderson walked back inside, a light sheen of sweat covering his neck and forearms.
“I was just about to make lunch, want some?” I asked, tossing my cell phone on the counter.
“I’ll just take some water.” He was breathing heavy, scribbling notes on the same paper he’d shown me that morning. “Can I use your laptop, too? Need to order some parts.”
“Of course.” I filled a glass with ice and water from the tap and handed it to him. “You sure you don’t want to eat? It’s already past one.”
Anderson paused at that, looking up at the clock above the stove with a frown. “I didn’t realize it was so late already.”
“I’ll make us some sandwiches. My laptop is over on the couch if you want to bring it over. And my credit card is in my purse here on the counter. You’re not paying for any of the parts,” I added, pulling the turkey and cheese from the fridge before he could argue. He made a face, but when I dropped the ingredients on the counter and crossed my arms with a pointed look, he seemed to think better of fighting. He disappeared into the living room and returned with my computer, taking a seat at the bar and drinking half of his water in one gulp.
I went to work on our sandwiches, toasting six slices of the whole wheat bread I’d pulled out. I figured Anderson would be hungry enough to eat two based on his size alone. Add in the fact that he’d been working all morning and I was sure of it.
He worked silently at the counter while I spread mayonnaise on the first slice when suddenly I stopped, hand frozen mid-spread.
I hadn’t even asked Anderson what he liked on his sandwich. I’d just started making it, and I realized then that I was making it the way I used to make Keith’s. My hands faltered, and I dropped the butter knife still thick with mayo. It clanked against the plate, startling Anderson and me both.
Summer Romance Box Set: 3 Bestselling Stand-Alone Romances: Weightless, Revelry, and On the Way to You Page 38