by Tia Louise
“Hold it right there.” I’m on a ladder, blowtorch in hand.
JR is down below, bracing two tall metal rods as I weld them.
“Hurry up,” he grunts. “I can’t hold it much longer.”
Dark glasses are over my eyes, and a cascade of golden sparks flies around us as the pieces melt into one. My high-waisted jeans protect my legs from the fire, and my hair is piled on my head in a bun, covered with a handkerchief tied on top.
I’m Rosie the Riveter, and I applied red lipstick and tied my shirt in a knot at my waist to complete the look. I told myself it has nothing to do with Spencer calling me a vintage pinup.
It’s a total lie.
After several seconds of firing, the two beams are finally secure, and I climb down. JR leans to the side wincing, and I take a break to massage his mid-back.
“That feels good,” he grunts.
“Why isn’t Scout here? You can’t help me with that old injury. It’s only going to get worse.”
“The Quarterback Princess has a daddy-daughter tea.” He wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, and a nostalgic smile curls my lips.
I had the biggest crush on John Roth Dunne in high school. He’s only a year older than us, but it was enough for him only ever to think of me as a skinned-kneed little kid. I finally grew out of being hopelessly devoted to him when he went away to college and later married, but he’s still one of the best-looking guys in town. He’s not even taller than me.
“You’ll be the same way in a few years, once Sunny is big enough to run and play.” I elbow him in the ribs, and it gets me a rare chuckle.
“Yeah.”
John has always been quiet, serious, way too old for his age, and now he’s happily married with a family of his own. Maybe one day I’ll have that, even if it’s nowhere in sight. I thought I was getting there, but life sure likes to jerk the rug out from under me.
“Joselyn, would you mind… a moment?” Spencer’s deep voice pulls me from my pity party.
Straightening fast, I touch my hair, taking the protective glasses off my head, and smoothing my hands over my knotted blouse. I stand a little taller, subtly arching my back so my breasts lift. I still get slippery inside when I remember how eager he was to touch them. It was so hot.
“What’s going on here?” He nods towards JR, who’s polishing off a water bottle.
“We’re assembling the framework for the sculptures. I need someone to hold the metal beams so I can create a skeleton, then I’ll cover it with floral wire and thread the flowers through—”
“Isn’t he married?” Spencer’s voice is sharp, and my chin pulls back.
“Yes, with two kids. Why do you ask?”
“You were flirting with him.”
“I was not!” My voice goes too loud, and I look around fast, lowering it quickly. “I was not flirting with him.”
Spencer takes a moment, studying my hot face with a scowl. “I’ll help you assemble the frames. He can do something else. Or better yet, send him home.”
My jaw drops, and Spencer turns on his heel and walks to where my cousin is sticking star labels on nametags. I watch as he points to where I’m working and hands her a brown manila envelope.
Closing my mouth, I go to where John is chatting with Bruce, who handles security and graduated from Fireside High a few years before us.
“Hey, Sly.” Bruce gives me a hug. “It’s been a while since you made one of these things. I thought you’d given it up.”
“Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back.” I do my best Michael Corleone imitation, and the guys chuckle.
“Can’t wait to see the finished product. You always knock my socks off.” He does a little wave and strolls to the other side of the large space, leaving me with JR.
“Hey, you’re off the hook. You should head home and put a heating pad on your back.”
Ice blue eyes blink up to mine. “I can help you a little longer.”
“And I really appreciate it, but I don’t want to be in the doghouse for breaking your back. You’ve got babies to carry now. Spencer will help me.”
That deep dimple appears, and I sigh, wondering if it’s a sin to acknowledge how handsome he is.
“You’re still a badass with a blowtorch.” He holds up a hand, and I high-five it feeling proud.
“Thanks, babe.” He gives Daisy a wave before heading out the door, and I turn to see Spencer watching me with his dark brow lowered. Such a deep frown for someone who has no interest in me anymore.
Stalking back to the beginnings of my sculpture, I pull my glasses over my eyes again. “I don’t know why you’re frowning. I did what you said.”
“Good girl. Now, what do you need me to hold?” I’m annoyed at him speaking to me like a child. At the same time, his possessive tone tingles my stomach.
I have two things he can hold… and fondle… and nuzzle…
“Aunt Sly! Aunt Sly!” Ollie charges into the empty ballroom waving a plastic cup over his head. “Look at all the crickets I found!”
Spencer exhales impatiently. “How do you get anything done?”
“Magic.” I do a little starburst with my fingers, and he shakes his head, turning away.
Pretty sure I see the smallest hint of a grin trying to break that ice, and it reminds me of the time I heard him laugh—another dirty memory of his dick at my lips.
“Chartreuse is going to be so fat!” Oliver turns the cup side to side. “Just look at them.”
“That is really gross, Olls. Let me check that thing.”
The lid has tiny holes punched in it, but they’re not too big for anything to escape. I double-check it’s sealed tight, shuddering at the pile of crickets inside climbing over each other to get to the top.
“Don’t let those get loose in the house.” I hug his little shoulders. “Mom will have a cow, and I’ll have to sleep in my van.”
“Ms. Regina said she likes Chartreuse. She held her and let her climb onto her shoulder and everything! We almost lost her in her hair!”
He’s talking loud because he’s excited. I have a full-body shiver at the thought of that slimy thing in my mom’s hair. “You should be a props master for Indiana Jones movies when you get big.”
“What’s a props master?” Ollie’s face scrunches. “It sounds cool!”
“It’s right up your alley, froggy boy. Tons of bugs and snakes and alligators. Have you finished your homework?”
“Yes, Aunt Sly,” he grouses, and I goose his side, making him shout with a laugh.
When I told Courtney I had to be here until Sunday, she asked if I’d bring Ollie with me just in case his dad showed up again. Naturally, I said yes. I didn’t like leaving her in Columbia alone, but she said she couldn’t ditch out on her clients. Still, I call her every night, and she’s joining us this weekend.
“What if you traded in your frog for a dog?”
“Mom said we can’t afford a dog.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the vivid green frog with enormous, red-orange eyes.
My throat knots. I’m a little less creeped out by her now, but not much. “I can’t look at those eyes. They’re too big.”
“They help her eat.” Ollie smooths a finger down her slippery head. “She pulls them in to swallow, and they shove the food down her neck.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Did you know the males ride on the females’ backs during mating season? That way they can fertilize the eggs as soon as they’re laid.”
“That sounds about right.” I look up at my sculpture and then over to Spencer, who’s sliding his phone into the pocket of his dark brown pants—no jeans for him. Still, his ass looks so fine in those pants.
“I need to get back to work. Stay out of trouble, okay?”
“I’m going to feed Chartreuse.”
“Don’t lose her. Or her eyes.” I point sternly before walking to where Spencer is standing with his hands on his hips. “Sorry. Feeding time at the zoo. Did you know
that species of tree frog has been around ten million years?”
“Fascinating.” He follows me to the pile of scrap metal sounding the exact opposite of fascinated. “Why isn’t he in school?”
“That’s not really your business, is it?” I separate out a few smaller pieces I can use for the arms and joined hands.
His expression darkens at my sass. “You’re my business as long as you work for me.”
Chewing my lip, I wonder why that statement is perversely thrilling.
Either way, I swallow my snappy comeback. “His dad’s kind of a rough guy. He’s been threatening to take Ollie from his mother, so I told her I’d keep him with me—in case he shows up again. She’ll be here Friday night.”
“That sounds dangerous. Is she okay?”
“I think so. I call her every day to be sure. She said she’s got it under control.”
“I hope so.”
His sudden concern surprises me, but I’m glad for it. I didn’t make arrangements for Ollie while I’m here working, and I don’t want to let Courtney down.
We carry the pieces back to the half-finished structure, and I pass the spare set of safety goggles to him.
“I like this look you’re doing here.” He motions towards my outfit, and I scrub my forehead to keep from beaming like I’ve never gotten a compliment before.
“Thanks. I was feeling playful this morning.”
“It’s cute, Rosie.”
“Puppies are cute.”
My quip almost gets me a grin, but at the last minute, he turns away as if he’s sorry he complimented me. I’m not sure what to make of it. One moment he’s trying to rebuild our friendship, then just as fast he’s back to angry and distant.
Shaking my head, I pull on my gloves and position the small pieces of metal, sparking the blowtorch. Muscle memory takes over, and it doesn’t take long to finish this assembly.
Spencer holds the pieces with gloved hands, looking down as burning sparks fly around us. The joints glow white-orange for a second before fading to gray metal as they quickly cool. Since I’m covering them with mesh and flowers, I don’t have to worry about making them pretty.
We’re back and forth, selecting the pieces and attaching them, and less than an hour later, we’re done.
“This gives new meaning to the phrase ‘fiery redhead.’” He almost sounds impressed as he helps me clean up the scraps. “Who taught you to do all of this?”
“Shop teacher at school. I’m the only girl who took welding.”
“You’re a welder. Daisy’s daughter plays football.” He places the metal pieces in the box I’m filling to take to the recycling plant. “I take it your family enjoys busting stereotypes.”
“We’re descended from a long line of witches. Don’t piss me off or I’ll turn you into a frog and give you to Ollie.”
“I was wondering where he got his little pet.” He straightens, and we’re so close, I can feel the warmth of his body. “Must be nice to dispose of your enemies so cleanly.”
“It has its moments.” I lift my chin, and he takes a step back, lifting the floral mesh off the pile of supplies.
“Up next is this stuff?”
“Yep. I’ll drape it over the frames and fasten it with the clear zip ties. Then I’ll smooth the flower food and dirt and moss paste on the outside. Once that’s done, I’ll thread the flowers through the netting. I’ll wait until Friday morning so it’ll be as fresh as possible on Saturday night.”
“How long does it last?”
“As long as they water it. The paste keeps the flowers hydrated, and I try to select ones that hold up well after cutting. Roses are the worst, but we have to have roses for Beauty and the Beast.”
“Why is that?”
“The rose is Beast’s countdown clock. As each petal falls, the time runs out for him to learn to love Belle and earn her love in return. If he doesn’t before the last one falls, he’ll be a beast forever.”
Hazel eyes meet mine, and the pull between us is real. I’m the magnet and he’s the steel. I’m fire to his ice.
I want to thread my fingers in the back of his hair and kiss him. I want to slide my nose along his jaw and inhale his rich scent of sandalwood and leather. I want to see the energy swirl around us like the cascades from my torch. We had something…
“Does he make it?”
Blinking quickly, I shake my head. “In the movie he does. Just barely, though. Belle shows up in time to save him.”
His full lips press together, and he frowns up at the sculpture. “What about the non-Disney version?”
“I don’t know. I like the Disney version of the story.”
“Probably best to get the whole truth before believing in fairy tales.” He lowers the netting, dusting his hands together. “I think you’ve got it from here. Let me know if you need any more help.”
“Scout’s coming to help me tomorrow. Thanks, though.” The muscle in his jaw moves, and he seems annoyed by my answer.
I want to ask why. I want to ask what his true story is, but if he said it’s not my business, he’d be right. No more going down that road, no matter how orgasmic it promises to be. We’re keeping this professional.
Chapter 10
Spencer
“Three love boat platters and two pitchers of Natty Light.” Daisy’s high voice rings out over the live reggae band.
It’s Thursday night, and we’re treating the crew to dinner at the Tuna Tiki before our guests roll in tomorrow evening. I lean to the side, speaking in Joselyn’s ear.
“I’m going to the bar. Want a martini?”
Her blue eyes widen, and she grips my arm. “Please. I can’t drink Natural Light.”
Working with Joselyn these last few days has been unexpectedly challenging. Wednesday, she showed up looking like my every pinup fantasy come to life.
Tight jeans cinched her narrow waist, and her red blouse was knotted right under those amazing tits. Every time she moved, I got a teasing glimpse of creamy white skin. Her lips were red velvet, and perched on that ladder, wielding a blowtorch, I almost had to toss her over my shoulder.
Standing beneath a cascade of sparks raining all around us, it was like I’d been snatched into some ancient Greek myth where the gods had decided to have their fun with my resolve.
Today was a different kind of test with Daisy’s husband in the mix.
Unlike his quiet, irascible brother, Scout Dunne is the classic, all-American football golden boy. He oozes charm, which is irritating in its own way, and he and Joselyn spent the day pranking each other and laughing.
From ice down her shirt and his pants—one after the other, I was ready to punch that guy in the nuts, and when I offhandedly noted our guests would be arriving tomorrow afternoon, I’m pretty sure, Joselyn mimicked me behind my back.
If she thinks she’s getting under my skin with these antics…
My confidence in Daisy’s marriage kept me from suggesting he was too much of a distraction. They claimed to be working, and by 6 p.m., the sculptures were ready to be flowered.
At least it’s over now.
Standing at the bar, I study the group as the bartender mixes two pretty decent martinis. Scout says something, Joselyn seconds it, and Daisy shakes her head, laughing. Then he puts his muscled arm around his wife and kisses her head.
It’s unsettling in a way I don’t expect, like a glimpse of something I’ve never had and never particularly worried about not having.
This is why I don’t spend time in the country. All this quiet starts messing with my priorities.
I’m walking to the table with two martinis at the same time the servers deliver three large platters of raw fish.
“Sly, remember when we were shearing that topiary back in high school, and you sliced the top layer off your finger?” Scout points to a strip of Ahi tuna. “There it is.”
“Stop it!” Joselyn cries, throwing a balled-up napkin at him. “You’re ruining my tuna nigiri!”
“Who knew there was so much blood in the old girl?” He misquotes Macbeth in a pretty decent Shakespearean accent, and I realize he’s not as dumb as a box of rocks like I’d originally assumed.
Asshole.
“No blood talk at the table.” Daisy pushes his shoulder, and he gives her a wink.
I turn away from their easy familiarity placing one of the martinis in front of Joselyn.
Her eyes light. “Yes!” She lifts it, taking a delicate sip before putting it down again. “It’s delicious. I’m going to savor it.”
She gives me a deferential smile, and fuck, if my dick doesn’t twitch.
Clearing my throat, I pick up the thread. “What’s this about your finger?” I figure gore is a good boner-killer.
She tilts her hand to the side, studying her digit before extending it to me. “This one. Almost sliced it right off with my pruning shears. It must’ve bled for an hour. I thought I was going to pass out. Ten stitches later…”
I hold her hand, turning it so I can see the silver scar running along the inside of her slim finger. “So these sculptures have always been hazardous to your health?”
She shakes her head, lifting a piece of fish to her mouth. “I knew I stopped doing this for a reason.”
After watching her work, I’m not sure I agree with that decision. “Brushes with death and dismemberment aside, you’re an artist.”
Her cheeks pink attractively, and she covers her mouth blinking away from my eyes. “Thank you, Spencer.”
“Where’s your little charge this evening? No sushi for him?”
“He’s actually hanging out with JR’s son this evening. They played on a little football team together one summer, and they’ve been friends ever since.”
“And his mother?”
“Courtney should be here tomorrow afternoon. She said it’s been a pretty quiet week, so that’s good news. It’s really nice of you to ask… and a little surprising. Most people don’t want to talk about that kind of thing.”
I don’t say I’m aware. I push those dark memories away and give her a tight smile. “I try to know my employees’ situations. Especially if it might impact your performance.”