Somebody Like You: A Darling, VT Novel

by Donna Alward

  “Hey, Laurel,” he called out, and that erased any hope of avoiding him.

  She turned off the hose and faced him. “Aiden. What brings you by? Looking for a shrub or tree or something?” Keep it businesslike, she reminded herself. The last thing she needed was for him to know that he had the ability to fluster her.

  “I heard about what happened.”

  Of course he had.

  “Don’t even. I’m still pissed.”

  “I know it’s not what you needed. Did Crystal tell you that you weren’t the only one hit?”

  Crystal must be the officer from this morning. “She did.”

  “Well, that must make you feel better.”

  She stared at him. “Better? Seriously? Since I opened a month ago, I’ve had to have the driveway re-graded, I’ve had to replace shrubs that were stolen from out front, deal with a break-in and vandalism, and now tagging. Trust me, Aiden, the only thing that would feel better is if you actually did your job and found out who was doing this.”

  She turned the hose back on.

  He waited. He waited a long time. Several seconds, maybe thirty. Which was really not that long at all but definitely felt that way. She was watering the third tree when he sighed. “You’re upset.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  He met her gaze, and his eyes were soft, even though she’d basically just accused him of not doing his job. The understanding she saw there made her stomach churn. She didn’t want to lash out, but that was what she did when she was hurt. Angry.

  Stopping by was kind and thoughtful. She kept trying to make him out to be a bad guy, and he kept being nice. It definitely made it difficult for her to hate him. Particularly since her biochemistry betrayed her at every turn. Even now, when she was utterly preoccupied with the day’s events, she seemed to notice everything. His hair, his eyes, the breadth of his chest, the armband tattoo that looked like some sort of Celtic braid, peeking just below the hem of his T-shirt sleeve. The shape of his lips …

  He muttered something that was as creative a curse as she’d ever heard, and sounded suspiciously Irish. She couldn’t help but laugh, and tried to clamp her lips shut again. But not before he saw and heard, and his eyes took on an impish gleam.

  “You’re not fine. You’re tired and upset and rightfully so. You’re also just as stubborn as you always were.” He put his hands on his hips. “I take it you’re not adverse to help, just help from me in particular.”

  Her face heated. Dammit.

  “Maybe this could be my penance,” he suggested, giving her a quick grin. And she wished she could take him seriously, but he always seemed to be teasing. It was one of the things she’d really liked about him and hated at the same time. Particularly now, when she wanted to be, if not mad, completely unaffected. And she wasn’t. He was trying to cajole her out of her mood and it was working.

  “It’s Saturday night. Don’t you have a hot date or something?” She turned on the hose again. Focused on the large plastic pot holding a cherry tree.

  “Nope. Free as a bird.”

  Dammit again.

  “Come on, Laurel. Peace offering. Manual labor for you to stop hating me.”

  She glanced over at him. “Why do you care so much?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and to her surprise the teasing expression left his face. After a while he answered, his voice a little lower. “I don’t know why I care what people think so much. I always have. I don’t like anyone to be mad at me. Maybe it has something with being one of the younger siblings in the family. I don’t know. I just know that I don’t like it that you’re still so angry.” His intense blue gaze locked with hers. “It’s starting to become a personal mission to win you over. To atone for past sins.”

  “Good luck,” she said dryly, more touched than she wanted to admit.

  His boyish grin was back. “Come on, Laurel. You know you can’t hold out forever. You think I’m hot.” He had the audacity to wink at her.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You do. You have a thing for gingers. And you have to admit, I grew up kinda good.” His hands were still on his hips and he tensed his muscles so that his shoulders and chest tightened beneath the thin T-shirt.

  “I think you’re a bit taken with yourself, to be honest,” she replied. And tried not to smile. She didn’t want to be charmed, but he was incorrigible.

  “Laurel.”

  Damn, his voice was all silky-smooth now. “Yes, Mr. Narcissist?”

  “You know damn well you want to hate me and you can’t. Besides, I saw your face just now. Maybe if I took off my shirt…”

  “Would you like to go somewhere private to be with yourself?” she asked, biting the inside of her lip. She shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. And she wouldn’t be, if she thought he was serious. But he was teasing her. Like he used to do when they were friends. And today … she swallowed against a ball of emotion. Today she needed a friend, and all she’d had were well-meaning customers.

  She looked over at him. “Jeez, Aiden. You’re looking a little flushed. I think you could stand to cool off.” And before he could reply, she flicked her wrist and aimed the spray of the hose right at the center of his chest.

  The abrupt shock on his face was gratification enough, but then he grinned and reached to take away the hose. She danced away, still spraying him, admiring how the shirt now clung to his skin and the little droplets lit up his face and hair. A laugh bubbled up through her chest and out her mouth as she darted around the trees, dragging the hose with her. But there were too many pots and not enough room to maneuver and within seconds he caught her, wrapped one strong arm around her and wrenched the hose away with the other, spraying her in the process.

  Cold water dripped from her nose, down her neck, over her bare arms. Aiden held her close against his body, close enough she could feel the hardness of his muscles, and thrilled at it. Their breaths came fast, their chests rising and falling with both laughter and the exertion of the struggle over the hose. But it was the way he was looking down at her right now that made her feel as if the lack of air was strangling her lungs. All it would take was the tiniest move and he’d be kissing her. Her gaze dropped to his lips—he’d always had fine lips—and she swallowed, nervous and scared at her reaction and turned on as hell.

  She looked up, which was a mistake. Because he was staring at her lips. And his arm tightened just a little bit at the hollow of her back. Oh God …

  A car horn honked and Laurel jumped back. He let her go, but the gravity of the moment remained.

  “I’ve got to put this hose away.”

  “Don’t you want to finish watering first?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  He’d stepped back, too, but that didn’t do Laurel any good because now she could see how much she’d soaked his shirt and despite backing off, he still looked damned delicious.

  She picked up the hose.

  “You’re painting after close, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He grinned then. “Because you’re not the type to let it go. And if you do it after close, your customers won’t have to see.”

  It was disconcerting to know she was such an open book.

  “Okay, yes. My dad dropped off a gallon of paint and a couple of rollers earlier today. It won’t take me long at all.”

  And if she had to do it in the semi-darkness, she would.

  “Let me give you a hand. It’ll get done twice as fast and you’ll get home that much sooner. How long have you been here, anyway?”

  It was after seven now. Eleven hours. And she was damned hungry.

  “Oh, long enough. Let me finish this and I’ll get you the stuff.”

  “Good. And I’m going to change my shirt.”

  “You have clothes?”

  “I always keep my gym bag in the truck.”

  Of course. Those muscles didn’t just appear on their own, did they? She started watering the trees again
, surreptitiously watching through the branches as he strode to the truck and reached in the back for his bag. She was pretty sure her mouth dropped open a little as he stripped off his wet tee and threw it inside. His Irish roots kept him pale and dotted with a few freckles, but there was no denying the physique. Holy hell, was that an actual six-pack?

  She imagined running her fingers down over those taut ridges and gave her head a shake. Granted, she and Dan hadn’t had sex during the last eight months of their marriage and there hadn’t been anyone since. But to get this distracted by Aiden flipping Gallagher? She needed her head examined!

  Watching him put on the dry shirt was nearly as entertaining as watching him take the other one off.

  Once he’d locked the truck again, she shut off the hose and used the reel to wind it up. Then she went behind the counter and fetched the paint, stir stick, rollers, and trays that her dad had left behind while her remaining employee, Jordan, covered the store. Before she went outside, though, she grabbed a crappy windbreaker from the tiny storage closet. The water from the hose had chilled her now, and the spring evening was cooling. She also wouldn’t care if she got a little paint on it.

  “Okay, let’s see the damage,” Aiden said, taking the gallon pail from her as they walked to the front sign and accompanying fence sections.

  She pulled off the first tarp and knew it was stupid to blush and feel embarrassed, but she did all the same. Two perfectly shaped breasts with round nipples stared back at them.

  Aiden laughed and his eyebrows went up. “Well.”

  “The other side is better.”

  She peeled that tarp off too. When she glanced over at Aiden, he wore a contemplative expression. “I might be wrong, but I think the proportions are off.”

  She couldn’t help it. She finally laughed. Really laughed, right from her belly and up through her chest until it echoed on the air. It really was funny. Annoying, but funny. And looking at it now she could see he was right. The size of the genitals was disproportionate. “They do say size matters,” she gasped, giggling some more.

  “I wonder if we could use the depiction to profile the perpetrator,” Aiden mused, and it only sent her into more giggles. “Maybe he’s got … delusions of grandeur.”

  “Stop,” she begged, grabbing at the tarp, preparing to fold it, still chuckling.

  “So you do know how to laugh,” he said, grabbing the other corners of the tarp and meeting her hands in the middle.

  “Of course I do. I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

  “I thought you were pissed at me, the way you left Town Hall the other day.”

  “Not mad. Just unsettled.” It was only a half-truth, but then it was only a half-lie too.

  “You looked good, all dressed up.” He picked up the other tarp and they folded it together. His fingers brushed hers as they met in the middle again, but she quickly let go so he could finish folding it into a square.

  “Thanks. Chamber of Commerce breakfast.”

  He looked down at the gallon of stain. “Uh-oh. You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver around, would you? Or a paint-can opener?”

  “Hang on. There’s a screwdriver inside.”

  When she came back, he’d unwrapped the paint trays and rollers and had the stir stick ready to go. She popped the lid off the can and he gave it a stir, then scraped the stick off on the lip of the can and poured a generous amount in each tray. “You take one side, I’ll take the other?”

  “Sure.”

  “Dick or boobs?”

  She burst out laughing again. “Oh, I’ll let you choose.”

  “I’ve always been more of a breast man.” He grinned at her, then picked up the roller and began covering it with stain. She did the same, but her smile faded as she focused on the job. Yes, Aiden was a boob man. Her former husband hadn’t been. And she didn’t hate Dan; she didn’t. Still, she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t been difficult, dealing with the shock and subsequent divorce. It was like the world had shifted beneath her feet, plunging her into an alternate reality. Just because she didn’t hate him didn’t mean she hadn’t felt angry and betrayed. To make matters worse, they’d all worked in the same office. The unorthodox love triangle made things just too awkward for everyone.

  Leaving had been the best choice. And she was glad she’d moved back to Darling. But as she looked over at Aiden, she realized that it wasn’t just his past behavior that had caused her to put up barriers. It was a very real fear of not trusting appearances. She’d been burned too many times thinking things were one way when they were really another.

  Aiden looked completely relaxed as he rolled paint over the black markings. Maybe he was just here as a Good Samaritan. A good neighbor. An old friend. It was a weird headspace to be in: one part of her didn’t trust him or appearances, and the other part didn’t trust her own perspective, knowing it was skewed from experience. Which was right?

  She went to work on her section of fence, content to work in the silence. Laurel could hear the peepers in the ditches, chirping restfully. Bit by bit she began to relax, working the muscles in her arm and shoulder up and down as she painted. Aiden refilled her paint tray without speaking; she murmured a thanks as eight o’clock rolled around. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, and went to tell Jordan to go home and to shut the door but to leave it unlocked as she’d secure everything when she left.

  And then it was just Laurel and Aiden, finishing up the painting, listening to the odd car go by, the wind in the new leaves, the fading call of birds.

  “I think that’s it,” he said quietly, putting down his roller. “You might need another coat, but it’s too hard to tell right now with the light.”

  She swiped another few stripes and finished her side as well. “I’d still have half of it to do if you hadn’t stopped by. Thank you, Aiden.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She felt marginally guilty for how she’d treated him the last few weeks. “No, I mean it. I’ve been short with you, and you haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

  He busied himself pouring stain from the tray back into the pail. “If you really want to say thanks, I haven’t had dinner yet.”

  She wanted to, if having dinner together was what he was suggesting. And that wasn’t something she was happy about. “Um, it’s been a long day and I’m dirty and tired.”

  “How about a pizza? I’ll even stop and pick it up. You can go home, have a shower or whatever, and I’ll bring pizza over and there’s no muss, no fuss.”

  It sounded so damned good. She was starving. And pizza was her absolute favorite, not that she’d let him in on that tidbit. “Just pizza.”

  “Of course.” He put that innocent look on again. The one she didn’t quite trust.

  “This is not, and in no way can be construed of, as a date.”

  He stacked the dirty trays. “Of course not. Do you have a sink or set tub where we can clean these?”

  Maybe she was building things up in her mind.

  “Yes, inside at the back.”

  “Let’s do that first.”

  So they went inside in the quiet, and washed out paint trays and rollers and left everything to dry and then locked up the store—after Laurel had taken the deposit out of the new safe—and went to their respective vehicles.

  “See you in twenty or so,” he called to her, one foot in the cab of his truck.

  Not a date, my ass, she thought, sliding in behind the wheel. Everything about it felt like a date. Everything. And she had no idea what to do about it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Papa Luigi’s Pizza was the best pizza in town. There were a few other chains that had set up shop, but Papa’s was independently owned, made their own crust and sauce, and had that little extra something. Never mind that “Papa” was one of Aiden’s oldest baseball buddies. Luigi was really Lewis. And he’d gone to culinary school after graduating.

  Aiden ordered a large works with extra cheese. If he remembered rig
ht, Laurel wasn’t a picky eater and pizza was a particular fondness of hers. While he was waiting, he popped over to the market and picked up a bottle of wine—after the other night he assumed she preferred red—and went back for the food. He passed the time chatting with Lewis, then snagged the box and headed to her house.

  For the second time in about a week. Hmmm. Maybe she didn’t consider this a date, but he’d bet twenty bucks that if he asked his sisters if pizza and wine at a woman’s house constituted a date, they’d say yes.

  A date with Laurel Stone. Damn. They’d gone on a date before that had ended with him perilously close to losing his head and his virginity.

  Tonight, when he’d grabbed the hose from her, he’d felt the same excitement and uncertainty. Good thing that car had honked, or he might have kissed her. She really would have given him hell then.

  The porch light was on at her house. He held the pizza and wine and rang the bell, hoping he’d given her enough time to shower. The house wasn’t big, but not small either, a cozy two-story with gray siding and faux brick accents. The railing was painted white and there were new shrubs and some sort of leafy plant along the front of the house and along the walk. As he rang a second time, he wondered how she’d managed to move, take over a business, and put her own personal stamp on each location. It had to have meant some extraordinary long days, and his respect for her went up another few notches.

  She opened the door. Her scent hit him first, something light and floral and feminine that reached in and twined its way around his senses.

  “I’m starving,” she announced. “Come in.”

  Her hair was wet, the shoulder-length strands more of a walnut brown than her regular, ordinary shade. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she definitely wasn’t in date night clothing. She had on a pair of pink plaid pajama pants and a pink T-shirt.

  She looked perfect. Comfortable, relaxed, approachable … soft. He toed off his sneakers, left them on her front mat, and followed her into the kitchen.

  “What kind did you get?” Laurel took the pizza box from his hands and plopped it down on the table. When she peeled back the lid she gave a blissful sigh. “Oh my God. That’s an everything pizza from Luigi’s.”