"What can I do?" I ask as the two men both strap tool belts around their hips.
Cade looks at me and scoffs.
"Nothing," he says.
I glare at him, planting my hands on my hips.
"What do you mean, nothing? You heard Grammie, she says now that she's at the rehabilitation center, I need to help you with the repairs."
"Yes, I know what she said," Cade says. "That doesn't mean I have anything for you to do. Why don't you just watch?"
"I'm perfectly capable of helping, Cade."
He shoots me an incredulous look and reaches for a piece of wood.
"Just stay out of the way, Fiona. I can't have you getting hurt, too. There isn't anyone we can call to come and take care of you." He picks up the piece and moves toward the steps leading down from the porch door. "Unless you want to call Esme and have her on deck. If you do," he positions the wood where I've just noticed the handrail is missing, "ask her to bring donuts again. I keep meaning to pick some up, but I never seem to remember."
I feel my hands balling up at my sides the way they used to when Cade teased me in our younger years.
"I can help," I insist. "Just tell me what to do."
"I already told you. Watch. This is precisely why I hired Jace."
"Which you didn't have to do," I point out. "I learned with Gramps, too."
"Having a professional is going to make the work much more efficient. And safer."
I stalk up the steps and reach to grab the hammer out of Cade's tool belt.
"I told you, I can help.”
Cade reaches for the hammer, causing the piece of wood to slip. He draws in a sharp breath and yanks his hand back.
"What did I say about it being safer if you just sit back and let Jace do his job? Shit, that hurt," he grumbles. Looking down at his hand, I notice a long splinter in his palm. "Fantastic." He glares at me. "I told you that there's nothing that you can do," he says. "Stop trying to help."
Snatching the hammer back from my hand, Cade stomps toward the house.
"There are a few things you could do for me," Jace says as soon as Cade is out of earshot.
I look at him and feel goosebumps rise on the backs of my arms. We've flirted back and forth some since he first showed up, and it had seemed innocent and harmless. That comment wasn’t. I suddenly want to get as far away from him as I possibly can. I start toward the door to the house.
"I'm going to go check on him," I say.
He takes two steps toward me, reaching out to grab my right wrist.
"He's a big boy," Jace says. "I'm sure he can take care of a splinter by himself. Why don't you come over here and check on me instead?"
I pull away, dipping into the house and rushing toward the bathroom on the first floor. I push through the door and behind Cade, who stares at me questioningly.
"Uh – what are you doing?"
The encounter with Jace left a tight ball of panic in the middle of my chest, but I don't want to tell Cade about it. I shake my head instead.
"I just wanted to check on you," I say. "I'm sorry you got hurt because of me."
He pulls his hand up to his face and examines the splinter. It looks like it’s lodged in there fairly deep and Cade mutters a few profanities.
"I'm going to have to dig this thing out."
"Let me help you," I say. "You don't need to do any digging to get a splinter."
I reach into the medicine cabinet and pull out the small plastic box I know will be sitting there. It has been since I was old enough to remember. Anytime I got a splinter or thorn, Grammie would walk me into this bathroom and pull the box down out of the medicine cabinet. Inside is an assortment of tools she would use to coax the foreign invader out of my skin. Considering how frequently I managed to hurt myself while learning alongside Gramps and Cade, and the two summers I was determined to build the world's most epic tree fort, this little kit got a lot of use. Opening it, I see it contains all the same items it used to, although they've been updated and replaced over the years.
"Sit down," I say.
"Really, I can do it myself," he says.
"And I can fix the house myself," I say. "Sit down."
He finally sits on the edge of the toilet seat, and I reach for his hand. He settles it into my palm, and it feels warm and comfortable in mine, the touch familiar even after all these years. Cade looks up at me, and from the starry expression in his eyes, know that he feels the same thing. I look away quickly, choosing that exact moment to intently focus on removing the needle from the box. The box contains a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol, and after checking the expiration date, I pour a small amount over the needle, and then repeat. Once I'm confident I've rid the needle of as many germs a few seconds of alcohol rinsing can achieve, I gently ease a thin layer of skin out of the way with its pointed edge. Setting the needle down, I pick up a pair of tweezers and grasp the splinter. With one pull, it slides out of his palm, and I drop it into the trash can.
"There," I say. "It's all over."
Without even thinking, I lift his hand and touch a gentle kiss to his palm where the splinter had been. When my lips make contact with his skin, Cade lets out a startled breath, and my heart stutters for a few beats. I remember the last time I held his hand like this. Letting go, I take a step back away from Cade.
"Thank you, Fiona.”
"Sure thing. There's a first aid box in the medicine cabinet. It has some antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids in it. You don't want anything to get in there and cause an infection."
I walk out of the bathroom and turn to head down the hallway. As soon as I do so, however, I see Jace standing inches away from me, and I gasp as I nearly run into him.
"Jace," I say, taking a step back. "I didn't hear you come inside."
He looks me up and down slowly, the sick smile on his face making my stomach twist fearfully.
"I was hoping that I could get some attention, too," he says. "I don't think I've hurt myself, but you can feel free to examine me."
I take another step back, and the door opens.
"Excuse me?" Cade says as he steps out of the bathroom into the hallway. "Were you saying something to her?"
He walks in front of me, and I see his shoulders are squared in anger. His broad chest faces Jace, completely blocking me from sight. I can see muscles twitching in agitation on one side of Cade's neck. There's a moment of tense silence before I hear a shuffle, meaning Jace is stepping back from Cade.
"No," he says. "I didn't say anything."
"I didn't think you did," Cade says. "It looks like a storm is coming in. That handrail needs to get finished, and then we'll start on the front stairs. That's where Grammie got hurt, and we need to make sure it's finished for whenever she gets back."
"Sure thing, boss."
Jace walks down the hallway, disappearing into the kitchen, and I feel my shoulders relax. Cade follows Jace, and I notice his palm has two bandages stretched across it. Rather than going after them, I make my way upstairs to Grammie's bedroom. I haven't stripped the bed since she left yesterday, and I figure now is as good a time as any. Even now that she's not in the house, I'm still running around and doing her laundry. Since I'm already doing Grammie's sheets, I go into my room to get my own bedding. I just replaced my sheets a couple days ago, but I have a weakness for the feeling of climbing into a bed with freshly washed sheets. Some people drink. Other people do drugs. Some sleep around. I lust for clean sheets.
I walk past Cade's bedroom, and then back up and stand at the partially open door, contemplating if I should go inside or not. After fully convincing myself that since the door isn't actually closed, I'm not invading his space, I step into the bedroom and walk up to the bed. If all the other sheets in the house are going into the wash, it only makes sense to include his, too. If I didn't, then the bedding would be...unbalanced. It's like rotating tires. You can't just replace sheets willy-nilly. There's a process to this that has to be followed.
I official
ly need to get out of this house. My brain has started justifying its ridiculousness to itself.
I grab the sheet and start pulling it off the bed. Some of it pulls away easily, but one corner refuses to budge. It seems to have been tucked in to within an inch of its life, and now won't let go. Putting down the laundry basket, I latch on with my other hand and pull even harder. Finally, the sheet pops free and I stumble back with it, bumping into the nightstand as I try to right myself. As I do, something falls down and skitters across the floor with a muted thump. I look down and see Cade's wallet. When it hit the floor, it opened, and several things fell out. I crouch down to pick them up, hoping that I’ll be able to put them away in an order that somewhat resembles how they originally were.
I shove a few cards back into place in the slots along one side, then tuck several bills into the pocket. A couple receipts go into a slot beneath the cards. There's only one thing left on the floor, what looks like a piece of white paper with a number scrawled on the back. It could be a year, but if it is, it's a decade ago. As soon as I feel the paper, I know it's a picture, and when I turn it around, I feel my breath catch in my chest. I sit down hard, my muscles seeming to give out on me as I look down at the image in my shaking hand.
Much younger versions of Cade and I smile back up at me. We hold each other tightly as we sit on the couch, our legs tangled together and our heads leaned to touch in the middle. Memories burst through my mind as I look at the picture. I remember when it was taken. It was only a few days before the very last time I saw him. He showed up at the house and we spent the afternoon together. Just before he left, Grammie came in and found us sitting on the couch that way, our bodies overlapping in as many ways as we could manage.
"Do you think the two of you could sit any closer?" she asked.
I'm sure we tried.
She had the picture printed and gave each of us a copy. I gave Cade’s to him the last time I saw him. Mine has long-since been torn to shreds and tossed into a river. Ever the drama queen.
I don't know what to think as I stare at the picture. The edges are worn, the corners rounded and bent, telling me he's carried it with him for a long time, probably since the night I first handed it to him. I don't understand. Why does he still have this? Why has he been carrying it for so long?
I glance at the wallet again, wondering if it is possible he tucked the picture away inside and then forgot about it. That thought quickly dissipates. This definitely isn't the wallet he carried when he was younger. The supple leather, hand-stitching, and tastefully embossed initials in the corner aren't characteristic of a twenty-year-old's wallet. This belongs to a grown man. That means Cade purposely took the picture out of his old wallet and transferred it into this one. I rush to shove the picture back into the wallet and scramble to my feet. Pushing his sheets into the basket with the others, I hurry out of the room and down the stairs, wanting to lose myself in meaningless chores instead of obsessing over that picture and what it means.
An hour later I'm in the parlor, trying to reclaim a seemingly forgotten curio cabinet from layers of dust. If I didn't know how quickly dust accumulates out here, I would think Grammie hadn't touched it since the last time I was at the house. In reality, it has probably only been a few months. Even still, the intricate scrolled carvings in the sides of the piece are holding on to their hordes of dust bunnies with determination, and I'm quickly losing hope in the rag and cleaner I brought as my only weapons. I've stuck my fingernail into the rag and am trying to use it to dig into the curves when I hear someone behind me.
"It looks good in here."
Reluctantly, I turn around and find Jace standing behind me. I throw him a quick smile before returning to the task at hand.
"Thanks," I say. "It's really old, beautiful furniture. I've always liked this room."
I hear him take a few steps toward me.
"It's not the furniture that's looking so good," he sneers.
Discomfort coils through me.
"Shouldn't you be helping Cade with something?" I ask.
"I'm sure he can handle it himself," Jace says. "That's what he does, right?"
"Yes, but you are being paid to help him, aren’t you?"
I feel Jace coming up close behind me, and I walk away from the curio cabinet, side-stepping him to start on another piece of furniture in the room. I hope the movement will dissuade him, but he follows me. Shit.
"Don't you think I deserve a break? It sure is hot and sticky out there. I could use some time to cool off and relax."
"Jace, I really think you should go and find Cade."
"Why would I want to do that when you’re in here? I think I'm just going to take off my shirt and cool down a bit. Care to join me?"
I feel him touch my back, and I whirl around to get away from his hand.
"Don't touch me," I hiss.
"Don't be like that, baby," he says, his voice still soft and gentle as if he's trying to lull me into cooperating with him. "I know you want me just as much as I want you."
"No, I really don't," I say.
I duck away from him and start across the room, but his hand wraps around my wrist and Jace pulls me back so I slam into his body.
"You don't have to play hard to get, baby," he says, rubbing himself against me. "I'm already interested. Cade's distracted for a while. We have plenty of time all to ourselves."
"I said don't touch me," I say, struggling to escape from his tight, vice-like grip.
"Let her go."
Cade's voice booms from the doorway and Jace's hand instantly falls away from my wrist. I take several steps back, not knowing where to go.
"It's no big deal," Jace says, trying to laugh the situation off. "Just a little misunderstanding. No harm done."
"She told you not to touch her," Cade says. "I don't see how you could misunderstand that."
"Look," Jace says, the friendly note from before now vanished from his voice. "She's been coming on to me since the minute I walked into this house. I'm just going after what she offered me."
Anger blazes through me. This little prick.
"I didn't offer you anything," I say.
"I think it’s time for you to leave now," Cade says.
Strength and dominance radiate from Cade, and it's obvious Jace is intimidated. Even without yelling, my childhood friend’s clear anger creates a foreboding presence, and I can see it is affecting Jace, even though he’s doing his best to act unbothered.
"I really didn't do anything," he argues. "It's not my fault she suddenly decided to play the innocent and chaste routine."
"I said, it's time for you to go now," Cade says, taking a step further into the room.
Jace looks between us and shakes his head. He starts toward the door.
"Fucking slut," he mutters under his breath.
"Let me give you a hand," Cade says.
Pulling the front door open, he takes two long strides toward Jace. Cade grabs him by the front of the shirt and drags him out of the parlor, through the entryway, and to the door. I watch from the doorway as he picks Jace up and tosses him off the front porch. Jace lets out an angry grunt as he hits the dirt, then scrambles to his feet. He turns to glare at Cade as if he's going to say something, but then thinks better of it and walks away. Cade steps back into the house and closes the front door.
"Thank you," I say.
He comes toward me, his eyes filled with concern as he looks me over.
"Are you alright?" he asks. "Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine," I say. "He didn't hurt me. Well, maybe my perception of myself."
"What do you mean?"
I feel heat creep across my cheeks.
"I did flirt with him," I point out. "Maybe I led him on without realizing it."
Cade steps closer, looking directly into my eyes.
"I don't care if you stripped down naked and ran through the house without a single piece of clothing on. He doesn't get to treat you like that."
My heart s
wells, warmth spreading through my chest as I laugh.
"That's an image that's going to stick with me."
"Me, too," Cade admits, a mischievous smile on his face.
Chapter Ten
Cade
"So, you're down a worker now," Fiona points out.
The fury I felt after facing off with Jace after his wannabe assault on Fiona has started to dissipate, but I can still feel it humming in my hands and pounding in my heart. Tossing him out of the house wasn't enough. I wanted to pound him into oblivion. But I held back, not wanting Fiona to see that side of me. Not wanting to give into those demons. Instead, I had to settle for just getting him out of my sight. I'll make sure his business never gets off the ground. He fucked with the wrong person.
"To be honest, that's probably for the best," I say. "He wasn't exactly the most dedicated of workers. He was already starting to piss me off with all his whining."
Fiona laughs again, and it reverberates through me, causing me to smile. I had forgotten how amazing that sound was, and now that I'm hearing it again, I feel like I’ll never get enough of it.
"I guess you're stuck with me helping you after all," she says, a smile forming on her lush lips.
"I could do worse," I say. I glance at the door. "As we've proven, I could do much worse."
She pretends like she's offended, but I notice the tension in her body has lessened, and she seems more at ease than before.
"I guess we should get started, then. It's not like I have anything else to do now that Grammie isn't here. Should we go outside?"
"No," I say. "I'm almost done with the outside and haven't gotten much accomplished inside. There's no telling how long Grammie is going to be away, so I want to make sure as much is done as possible for when she gets home. Besides, it's so freaking hot out there today. I'd much rather be inside with the cool AC for a little while."
"Then why have you been spending so much time outside?" she asks. "Why didn't you just start in here?"
I meet her eyes.
"I didn't want him near you," I admit.
Our eyes are locked for a few intense beats before she looks away, making a show of gazing around.
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