“No condiments, please,” he said—the knife drop hadn’t held his attention. He was back to clicking away on the laptop. “Thank you.”
I nodded to myself and made my own sandwich on the bread I’d already dressed. When his lunch was plated in front of him, I tore open a fresh bag of potato chips and set them between us as I grabbed the seat beside him, looking over his shoulder.
“You’d better not try to sneak and use your own money to pay for the parts,” I said as I took my first bite.
“I think I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to arguing with you,” he replied. His tone was playful, eyes still focused on the screen. He grabbed one of his sandwiches without even looking and took a bite the size of four of mine combined.
“Thank you again for lunch,” he said when he’d swallowed.
“No problem.”
A strange sense of pride washed over me then, because I’d done something for him finally, and he’d let me. I didn’t know why it was that he wanted to help me fix up the cabin, but I was thankful he was here.
Rev pranced in through the open front door, meowing his arrival not too long after we’d finished eating.
“Hey, Rev,” I cooed without thinking. As soon as I bent to scratch behind his ears I cringed, peeking up at Anderson to see if he’d heard.
He had, his hands paused over the keyboard and arms stiff and rigid.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
Anderson frowned, hands working again. “No, it’s fine. Really.”
He finished typing and closed my laptop, pushing it forward a little before he stood. As he towered over the kitchen island, his eyes were hard on Rev, who was purring under the scratch of my nails on his neck. When Anderson moved to round the kitchen island, I thought he was going to leave, but instead he knelt next to me, hand reaching out toward Rev.
My feline companion appraised Anderson’s hand at first, sniffing his fingers before nudging into them. Anderson ran his hand over Rev’s head and down his arching back, purring with approval.
I relaxed a little, thankful he hadn’t stormed off again.
“Do you have any pets?” I asked, reaching my own hand toward Rev to give him extra attention. He took turns butting his head into each of our hands, croaking a meow out every now and then.
“No.”
“Have you ever had any?”
He shook his head and I nodded, watching him pet Rev.
“Do you want one?”
Anderson chuckled. “I don’t really have time for one.”
“That makes sense,” I said, though I wasn’t really sure it did. I didn’t know much about Anderson or his schedule or when he was home. “So you work a lot then?”
“All day, every day.”
“Sounds exhausting. Do you ever take a day off?”
He paused at that, pulling his hand back to dust it against the other one. “Sometimes.”
Man of many words.
“I’m taking you away from other jobs,” I pointed out as he turned to face me, both of us still kneeling in the middle of the kitchen. We were close, his nose pointed down at my own, his fingers nearly touching my knee. “You should let me pay you, Anderson.”
“No,” he said simply, but this time he smirked, just a little, barely enough for me to notice.
Ass.
I scrunched my nose, eyes narrowed. “Fine.” I popped up from the floor and Rev rubbed against Anderson’s leg once more before sauntering off. “If you won’t take my money, I’ll just have to pay you in musical entertainment.”
His brows shot up his forehead and he braced his hand on his knee and stood. “Musical entertainment?”
I nodded, grinning mischievously as I backed up to the island and pressed the power button on my speaker. I wasted no time, turning on my music without seeing what song was next on shuffle. When Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” filled the cabin, I smiled wider, grabbing a wooden spoon from the canister next to the coffee pot.
I twirled, singing along to the background singers as the intro played, and as soon as Mariah’s voice came on, I swayed my hips and moved my feet along the kitchen floor, lip syncing with everything I had.
Anderson ran a hand over his jaw, smiling as his eyes trailed my body. That look lit my skin on fire, searing a trail that started at my ankles and raced up between my thighs. I ignored them as best I could and focused on my performance.
I pulled my hair free from the clip I’d thrown it in while sketching, swinging it around just as the chorus came on. Anderson crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging and jaw tight as he fought not to laugh. But I was on a mission to break him—I crooned louder and walked as seductively as I could toward him, free hand running the length of my tank top down to my leggings and back up, lifting it just enough to show the bottom of my stomach before I ran it back through my hair. His eyes were hungry, gaze intense, and I stopped when my chest was nearly touching his forearms where they sat over his.
Anderson swallowed, watching me, and when his eyes locked on mine I stopped singing as I tried to remember how to breathe. He was so hard, every inch of him—his muscles, his stare, the line of his jaw, the walls around his heart. But when I thrusted the spoon toward him, I saw them crack, even if just a tiny sliver.
Mariah kept singing, and I waggled my eyebrows, pushing the spoon a little closer.
Anderson laughed, shaking his head and taking one full step back. “I should have taken the money.”
He grabbed his toolbox off the counter and walked through the front door, turning back when he was on the porch to find me singing again. I winked and he shook his head again, descending the stairs with a trace of a smile that satisfied me more than him letting me pay him to work on the cabin would have.
Maybe having Anderson around every day wouldn’t be so bad after all.
And so became my new normal.
Anderson met me at my doorstep every morning at eight o’clock sharp. I wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to or because he was humoring me, but he’d start every day drinking a cup of coffee at my island. Most mornings we were quiet—him looking over his plans for the day while I read my book—and sometimes he would answer my questions with a few words instead of just grunts.
Those were the mornings I liked best.
He’d get to work as soon as his coffee was finished, and I wouldn’t speak to him again until lunch. Then, he’d work until sunset, or close to it, and would give me an update before heading back to his cabin. Some days he’d only stay for the morning before making his way down to old man Ron’s or check in on the other cabins he worked on regularly.
But most days, he was with me.
I’d become so frustrated watching Anderson make progress all around me while I stayed stuck on blank pages of my sketchbook that I’d decided to help around the cabin in my own ways. So I’d driven into town and raided the small vintage shops until I returned with fabric perfect for new curtains.
I’d been a little giddy as I dumped it all out on the kitchen island and began sorting through it, measuring and cutting, planning the final product in my head. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed sewing until I’d sat down with those first few pieces under my hands.
It’d all come back to me then, with the fabric stark and clean under my fingers, my foot gentle on the pedal as I guided each stitch. The joy that always blossomed when I created something had flourished to life again. To watch the amethyst fabric morph from just scraps to curtains that brightened up the cabin made me feel useful again.
So while Anderson worked on the outside, I worked on the inside.
Momma Von stopped by one afternoon near the end of the first week of our new arrangement. She’d wanted to invite me into town with her, but had stopped short in asking me when she saw Anderson working on the back porch.
“What’s he doing here?”
I had looked over my shoulder, shrugging as if nothing was out of the ordinary when I turned to face her again. “Just helping me f
ix up the cabin a little.”
“Oh,” she’d answered, but her eyes were still fixed on Anderson. “So you guys made up then, did you?”
I heard the wariness in her voice and I wrapped my hands around her wrist with a gentle squeeze. “I apologized, and he did too, and now he’s helping me fix up the cabin. That’s all.” I gave her a pointed look—her wheels were turning faster than old man Ron’s when he paraded his truck up and down the road on a nice day.
She’d nodded, and in the end I had gone into town with her, but after that day, there were more and more surprise visitors.
Yvette would bring little Benjamin by, her eyes searching for Anderson the entire time. Davie, too—though he would just walk right up to Anderson and say hello. Their conversations didn’t last long, and both Yvette and Davie would leave with perplexed faces, sometimes whispering to each other.
Tucker dropped by once to ask if I wanted any of the deer jerky he and his brother had made after their last hunting trip. We had talked in the kitchen for a while, but I felt Anderson’s gaze hot on my neck every second he was there, that is until he redirected his laser beams at the back of Tucker’s head as he walked down the drive and back out onto the road.
The rest of the town seemed to make a point to walk by my cabin, their stares lingering as they passed. Sarah was one of them. One day she stopped, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Anderson cut fresh firewood behind the garage. I’d caught her staring from where I was sketching on the porch and waved, but she just narrowed her eyes and flicked her ponytail off her shoulder, stalking away.
“We’ve become the talk of the town, you know,” I said to Anderson casually one night as he packed up his tools.
It’d been just over two weeks, and every day we became more of a sideshow. He looked up at me, and I nodded my chin toward the end of the drive where two residents I’d yet to meet were walking slowly by, eyes glued on my cabin.
Anderson glanced over his shoulder and frowned, dismissing them just as easily and shutting the lid on his box. “Not much else to do out here other than talk, I guess.”
I chuckled, watching as the last of the sun’s beams spread over my front yard through the trees. “You should come back for dinner tonight.”
I hadn’t really planned on saying the words, but they’d tumbled out anyway, so I didn’t feel the desire to take them back once they had. It’d been nice having him around, and though we’d talked a little, I was still curious about him. I wanted to know more. I wanted to spend time with him without his toolbox involved.
“I’m kind of tired,” he tried, but I rolled my eyes, grabbing his notebook off the counter and handing it to him.
“Too tired to eat?”
He opened his mouth, but closed it tight again, lips flat.
“Exactly. Go drop your stuff off and shower and let me attempt to cook for you,” I said. “I hope you like pancakes.”
This time, his brows folded. “It’s dinnertime.”
“And?” I pressed. “Don’t tell me you don’t like breakfast for dinner. That’s just un-American.”
Anderson chuffed, tucking his notebook under his arm. He looked out the window toward the mountains. “I don’t know.”
“Please,” I begged, dragging the word out. He looked at me again and I poked out my bottom lip.
“Fine,” he conceded, the edges of his lips fighting back a smile. “But I really am tired tonight. How about tomorrow?”
When I looked a little closer, I saw the slight bags under red eyes, and his lids were heavy. I smiled and nodded, happy with the compromise. “Tomorrow, then.”
He nodded, excusing himself without another word.
The moment he left the cabin, I realized what I’d asked, what I’d implied. He was coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I was going to have dinner with a man. A man who wasn’t my ex-husband.
My stomach dropped at the realization, nerves flittering to life.
I watched him walk down the front steps and kept my eyes on him until he’d cleared the drive, assuring myself everything would be fine. It was just dinner. Dinner with a friend. Dinner with a friend who’d been helping me out. It would be fun, and I needed a little bit of that in my life.
Something told me Anderson did, too.
AMELIORATE
ame·lio·rate
Verb
To make better or more tolerable
I looked stupid.
Huffing, I pulled at the cuff on my long-sleeved button up, rolling it up until it cuffed at my elbow before working on the other arm. My hair was combed, for the first time since I was eight probably, and I’d trimmed the short beard on my face, shaping it the best I could. There was a button missing on the bottom of my shirt, but it was the nicest thing I owned, so I tucked it into my jeans and fidgeted with it until I didn’t look like old man Ron. I stood straight, angling my head in the mirror before blowing out one long breath.
Stupid.
But that was as good as it was going to get. So I jogged downstairs and swiped my house keys off the counter. My hand froze on the front door knob. I felt Dani’s eyes looking up at me from the photo, and the weight of tomorrow swept in fast. Involuntarily, I winced, gripping the gold metal keys tighter.
But tomorrow could wait its turn.
Closing my eyes, I forced a shaky breath and opened the door, willing myself not to look at her picture as I slipped out and locked up behind me.
I took my time on the walk down to Wren’s, hands shoved deep in my pockets. It was chilly, even though we were well into June. That was how summer in Gold Bar was—pleasant days, cool nights. Tomorrow would be the first real “hot” day of the summer.
It always seemed to line up that way, as if the weather wanted to remind me of my mistakes as much as my memory.
The anniversary of Dani’s death had snuck up on me, especially after the distraction of spending my days at Wren’s cabin. It was easy to lose time with her. Most of the time we didn’t even talk—I’d work, and she’d do whatever it was that she felt like doing that day, but just being near her was enough to make the days fly.
I’d been working hard to look passably focused and determined while I fixed things around her place. The truth was my eyes skirted far too often to where she stretched out her long legs on the porch while she sketched in her book, especially when she decided to do so in a swimsuit to catch a few rays in the process. She asked me questions when we ate lunch and I pretended like I didn’t want to rip open my rib cage and show her everything inside me.
Sometimes I gave in, answering her questions or asking some of my own. I’d learned a little about her boutique, about her family, about her best friend in the city. I’d yet to ask what I wanted to most—who was she running from? I wondered if she’d answer, or if I was even ready to hear it if she did. A part of me knew I was playing with fire, but I told myself I could handle the burn. The truth of that statement was yet to be discovered.
It was kind of funny, how every day was the same again.
And yet everything was different.
Music spilled from Wren’s cabin, her front door wide open and letting in the evening breeze. I jogged up the first few stairs but slowed when I saw her, quieting my steps.
Her long, slender back was exposed in a dark green dress that clung wide on her shoulders, the fabric hugging her ribs and meeting again at the small of her back. It flowed from there, cut above her knees, the skirt of it swaying as she moved in time with No Diggity. I stopped at the door and crossed my arms, watching as she stirred the pancake batter with the wooden spoon she’d serenaded me with the first day I’d worked at her cabin. She knew every single word, and I chuckled.
What is it with this girl and 90’s music?
She spun when the chorus hit, eyes pinched shut, one arm still hooked around the big metal mixing bowl while the other stirred, and she slowly wound her body down to the ground and back up again. When she hit the top, her big green eyes popped wide at me st
anding in the door, and my breath caught.
I’d seen Wren every single day for the past two weeks, and every day she’d had her makeup done. But tonight? Tonight was different. Her eyes were smokey, lips bright red, and I suddenly felt severely underdressed. She was stunning, a sophisticated woman straight from the pages of a magazine.
And I was a lumberjack.
“Hi,” she breathed, using her elbow to wipe a fallen strand of hair out of her eyes. “Sorry—I can’t help myself when Blackstreet comes on.”
I smirked, crossing through the doorway and into the kitchen where she stood. “Hope the food is as good as the show.”
“Psh,” she puffed with a roll of her eyes. “It’s better. Have a seat.” She nodded toward the barstools on the other side of the kitchen island and went right back to work, giving the batter a few more stirs before setting the bowl on the counter.
Rev was curled up sleeping on one of the barstools, so I took the other one, rubbing his head once as I sat. He peered at me through one lazy eye before blowing out a loud breath and closing it again.
“Wine?” Wren asked, pulling two glasses from above the sink.
I cleared my throat, adjusting my shirt where the broken button had popped out when I sat. “You have beer, by chance?”
The corners of her lips curved up as she put one glass back and ducked into the fridge for a can from the local brewery in Gold Bar. I popped the top on it and took five full gulps. I’d forgotten what nerves felt like, and suddenly I was at war with them without a single weapon to fight with.
Wren cheersed her glass to the empty air between us.
“To you, Anderson Black.”
She took a sip and I relaxed, watching as she went back to cooking. Conversation was light as she manned the griddle, making pancake after pancake and whipping up a pound of bacon, too. I was happy to talk about the weather and tell her about nearby hiking trails, because if my brain had to work any harder, it would have failed. I’d never seen anything so distracting as Wren in a short dress and tall heels cooking bacon. By the time she sat a plate piled high with cakes in front of me, I’d already downed two beers just from nerves.
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