by Noelle Adams
“You and that hunk of a mountain man in there.” Estelle nodded toward the door to Heather’s unit. “Do you and him have one of those modern arrangements, where sexual relations are had without a wedding ring?”
Heather was so confused and startled that she looked between the old lady and her front door. “No,” she managed to say. “No. There are no sexual relations being had.” Ridiculously, she felt her cheeks flushing.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Estelle pulled her head back into her own apartment and closed the door in Heather’s face.
Heather stood there for a full minute, trying to figure out what was going on. She finally realized something that she should have put together much earlier.
There was a “hunk of a mountain man” in her apartment.
Chris wasn’t supposed to arrive today.
She walked slowly down the rest of the hall toward her unit. When she tried the doorknob, it was opened.
Her father had done a great job with this building. All of the apartments were lovely, and this one most of all. The ceilings were tall, and the beautiful dark hardwood floors were original. One wall was exposed brick, and another was full of tall windows. The sleek modern kitchen opened to the main room, separated by the dark granite of the island.
Heather loved this place, but she felt a sinking of her stomach when she saw a pile of boxes and an ugly orange recliner stuck in the middle of the living area.
What the hell was Chris doing here already?
She was staring at his recliner—right where she’d been planning to put her pretty red slipper chair—when he emerged from one of the bedrooms.
Chris had always been good-looking with his broad shoulders, easy smile, dark eyes, and cleft chin. When she’d known him before, he’d always kept his hair short and been clean shaven.
He wasn’t anymore.
He looked like he’d just slunk out of a cave. His beard was long, his hair untrimmed, and both his jeans and T-shirt were torn. He was bigger than she remembered, and he seemed to take up all the space in the big room.
She’d intended to act friendly toward him, but she was too flustered to say anything but, “I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“I got here today.” His voice was low, gruff. He was staring at her with those same dark eyes she remembered, and he wasn’t smiling.
“I can see that.” She took a deep breath, tearing her eyes away from the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his biceps. He’d been strong before, but it looked like he’d been tearing up trees by the roots for the last few years.
They’d been screaming at each other the last time she’d seen him. She’d been berating him for abandoning her father, and he’d been saying over and over that she had no idea what was going on with him.
It was the worst fight she’d ever had, and it suddenly felt like it had just happened yesterday.
She’d trusted him before, and it had been one of the worst mistakes of her life.
Her gaze landed on the door he’d emerged from. That was the room she’d been planning to claim—the one with the best view and larger closet. Her mind whirled with confusion and annoyance and resentment and something like anxiety, but she tried to sound her typical upbeat self as she asked, “So you’re taking that room?”
“Yeah.”
If he’d been a gentleman, he would have offered it to her, but she knew better than to believe he was anything like a gentleman.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get into an argument on their first day here. She just had to make it through six months. She could keep a smile plastered on her face for that long, and then she could mostly be free of him.
“Did you want it?” Chris added, when she didn’t say anything.
She shook her head with a fake smile. “Of course not. The other one is just fine.”
She walked into the bedroom and dropped her stuff on the floor, giving herself a mental pep talk about keeping her composure.
It was just Chris. He wasn’t—and he’d never been—that important to her. She could paste on a smile and pretend he didn’t exist for the next six months.
Right?
When she felt up to it, she peeked out into the main room and was relieved when she didn’t see him. She stepped out and noticed that his bedroom door was closed.
Good. Maybe he had the same thing in mind that she did. Stay out of each other’s way as much as possible.
There was only one bathroom in the apartment, but it was a big one with a free standing soaker tub, a lovely tiled walk-in shower, and a granite-topped vanity. She went to use the bathroom and then stared at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands.
She looked like her normal self—smallish with long blond hair, her eyes and mouth a little too big. She’d pulled her hair into two braids to keep it out of the way as she moved her boxes, but she suddenly wished she’d done something prettier with it.
Not that she wanted to attract Chris. Not at all. She’d sooner hook up with old Jack Turner who lived downstairs and only showered once a month. But still. She didn’t want Chris to look down on her in any way, and right now she looked like a little girl.
She blew out a breath and resisted the urge to take her hair out of the braids. She wasn’t going to primp for him. She wasn’t going to change anything about herself for him.
She was turning to leave the bathroom when the door started to open.
She couldn’t hold back a squeal of surprise and indignation. “Hey! I’m in here.” She swung the door opened all the way to glare at Chris, who was standing there looking rather stunned.
“I thought you were back in your room.”
“I’m not back in my room. I’m in here. When the bathroom door is closed, then you either knock or you wait.”
“Okay. Fine.” His brows were lowered as he studied her. “I heard the toilet flush a long time ago. What were you doing in here?”
For no good reason, she was embarrassed that he’d heard her flush the toilet. And she certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d been standing there, trying to steel herself to face him again. “That’s none of your business. Just knock on the door next time.”
“Fine. I will.” He didn’t look happy to be here. He didn’t look like he liked her. But he also didn’t look angry at her.
And that bothered her a little bit too. That he could upset her so much after just a few minutes, and she couldn’t upset him at all.
She reminded herself it didn’t matter. She was going to pretend he didn’t exist to the best of her ability, and she wasn’t going to let him see that he could upset her like this again.
Two
Chris shut off his alarm and let out a long, weary sigh. What the hell had he been thinking to agree to this arrangement? Yesterday had been awkward enough, but luckily there had been the distraction of Heather moving her stuff in to keep them from actually having to talk too much.
Except to argue.
Damn, but the woman certainly knew how to do that.
About everything!
With a muttered curse, he climbed from the bed and stretched. It was only five-thirty in the morning. He had purposely set the alarm for this early so he could have a little time to mentally prepare for their first official day of…well, everything. Roommates. Business partners. What the hell was Tom thinking of with this crazy arrangement?
An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him for a minute. It usually did when he thought of his friend and mentor, Tom Carver. The man had been the one source of stability in his life for so many years, and how had Chris thanked him? By running off as soon as life got a little tough.
So maybe this was payback.
The thought made him laugh. It would be fitting too—forcing Chris to not only work with the man’s daughter, but live with her too. He shook his head because, although he realized what the lesson was they were supposed to be learning, it just still didn’t sit right with him. The entire thing.
Heather was a
lways a good kid—quiet, studious and easy-going. That was not the woman who had walked in yesterday like she owned the place.
Well…technically she did. Sort of. But the quiet girl he remembered was gone, and in her place was a woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
About everything.
With shuffled steps, Chris walked out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. The apartment was dark and peaceful, and after quickly relieving himself, he stepped out into the kitchen to make some coffee. As the liquid brewed, he looked at the mess in front of him. There were boxes everywhere, and it was a hodgepodge of furniture.
He chuckled as he remembered Heather’s instant dislike of his orange recliner. She’d been glaring at it as he’d come out of his room yesterday to see her for the first time. Once his coffee was made, he walked over and ran his hand lovingly over the piece of furniture. Flo. That’s what he’d named her. The orange fabric reminded him of a character, Flo the waitress, on a television show his mother had always watched, and so he’d been calling the recliner that since he’d gotten it. She was the most comfortable piece of furniture he had ever owned—other than his king size bed—and although she wasn’t the prettiest piece of furniture ever made, he loved her.
“Do you two need a moment alone?”
Chris froze at the sound of Heather’s voice. Why was she up so early and, more importantly, why hadn’t he thought to put on pants? Looking down at his boxers, he immediately realized that he was going to have to make some adjustments to living with Heather.
Namely? Wear pants.
Dammit.
Forcing a smile on his face, he looked over at Heather. “We’re fine with expressing our love in front of other people.” She didn’t smile at the joke. Clearing his throat, he took a sip of his coffee and motioned over toward the kitchen counter. “Coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, she made a face before turning and walking toward the kitchen. He studied her as she moved and mentally noted all the ways she’d changed in the three years he’d been gone.
The girl he remembered didn’t have the same grace. She didn’t move with the kind of ease that Heather was moving with now. And she certainly didn’t walk around in short little robes that showed a lot of tanned, toned legs.
Swallowing hard, he quickly turned away, but it was too late. Certain parts of his anatomy were way ahead of him in noticing her skimpy attire and now…
“Oh my God!” she cried from across the room, and Chris jumped into the recliner before she could see his response to how gorgeous she was. “What on earth is this?”
He had to stifle a laugh when he realized she was referring to the coffee. Yeah. He liked it really strong. Like…really, really strong. Most people hated his coffee, and judging by the carrying on going on behind him, it was fairly safe to say that Heather did too.
Chris heard her slam the mug down while muttering about bad coffee and how she should have just made her own and his overall lack of manners because he lived like a mountain man and…
Wait…what?
Standing up, he walked back to the kitchen. “Mountain man? What the hell does that even mean?”
Big blue eyes looked back at him, like a deer caught in the headlights. It was really hard not to laugh this time because it was obvious that she not only thought he had no manners, but that he couldn’t hear either.
“Oh…um…I just meant that you…”
He leaned casually against the granite countertop and sipped his coffee, amused by her sputtering, since she normally seemed so composed.
“You could have warned me that the coffee was that strong, Christopher.”
Christopher? Hell, the last person to call him Christopher was his fourth grade teacher Mrs. Kelly. And his mom.
“Obviously you’ve been living in some sort of wilderness, based on the looks of you,” she was going on. “And maybe you’ve forgotten basic common courtesies but—”
“I’ll have you know that no one on my last job complained about my coffee,” he said as he took another long drink.
“Really? Were they ever forced to drink it?”
She had him there, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. “No one forced you to drink it either. You did that at your own risk.”
“My own…” With a huff, Heather walked past him toward a stack of boxes in the corner of the kitchen and began moving them around. Five minutes later, she was back with some sort of…hell, he didn’t know what it was, but she was putting it on the counter next to his coffee maker. “This,” she said breathlessly, “is what modern, non-mountain people use to make coffee now.”
He frowned. “What have you got against mountain people?”
“What…I don’t have anything against them.”
He arched a dark brow at her. “Are you sure? Because you keep throwing that phrase around like you’ve got a serious grudge.” Then he stood back, finished his coffee and watched as she tried to come up with a snappy comeback.
And realized this was kind of fun.
Normally, he preferred the peace and quiet of a morning alone—it was a great way to get his head in the game for whatever work was in store for him that day. But bantering with Heather had him more engaged than he could remember being in…a really long time.
Stepping past her, he poured himself a second cup of coffee and grinned at her as he walked back over to Flo to sit down.
“Can we talk about moving the furniture around for a minute?” she said from across the room.
“Sure. What were you thinking?”
“Wait…give me a minute.”
One of the many good things about Flo was that she also spun around. So he turned and watched as Heather put some sort of pod into the machine she just put on the counter. It made a humming noise, and then she had coffee. Interesting. He was so focused on the coffee maker that he didn’t notice those tanned, bare legs coming his way. Quickly spinning Flo back around, he took a sip of his coffee.
Heather took a seat on the sofa that was facing him. “I would really like to get this place put together a bit today,” she began. “I think the couch works here and the coffee table is spaced nicely. But maybe your recliner would look better…in your room.” She looked at him sweetly as she took a sip of her own coffee in some sort of flowery mug.
“You want me to put Flo in my bedroom?”
She straightened and looked at him oddly. “Flo?”
He rubbed the arm of the recliner.
“You seriously named that chair Flo?”
“Yup. And she stays in the living room. Where else am I going to sit while I watch TV?” He studied Heather for a moment and saw a world of frustration play across her face. “Any other suggestions?”
Now it was her turn to arch a brow. “I’m sure I can think of one.”
“Sarcasm…nice,” he said with a grin and then stood and stretched. “Flo stays, but I’ll make you a deal. You can move the rest of this furniture around any way that you like, as long as she stays right here.”
“But it’s so ugly!”
He ran a hand lovingly over the top of the recliner and leaned down toward it. “Don’t listen to her, baby. She’ll come around.”
“Christopher,” Heather called out as he turned to walk away.
He stopped and looked back at her. “Look, I’m not any happier about this setup than you are,” he began, realizing suddenly that this was going to be life for the next several months. “It’s six months. If you don’t like the chair, tough. I’m sure by the time you get your things unpacked I’m going to find something of yours that I don’t like too. We’ll just have to deal with it. Okay?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed off to the bathroom to take a shower.
Twenty minutes later, he looked at his reflection.
Mountain man.
Yeah, it had been a while since he’d shaved. Or gotten a haircut. Or given a damn. He was looking pretty rough. At the back of his mind, he’d always as
sumed he’d clean himself up some after he got back to Preston, but if he shaved right now, it would look like he was caving to her and her mockery. Then again, he was supposed to be getting ready to take over Tom’s business, and it wouldn’t be right to look so…unkempt and unprofessional.
So he made a mental note to hit the barber later today and let someone else help him start to look human again.
The bathroom wasn’t overly large, but Heather’s stuff was everywhere—makeup, jars of mysterious creams, and just general clutter. They were going to have to figure out a better system for this. And fast. Drying off, he wrapped a towel around his waist, brushed his teeth, scooped up his stuff and opened the door.
Heather turned and looked at him, her eyes going a little wide before she turned away. Okay, so a towel wasn’t much more than the damn boxers. Note to self: pants! Seriously. Take pants with you everywhere.
***
It was close to six that evening when Chris was standing at the door to their apartment with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion. It had been a long day. He’d spent a large part of it getting reacquainted with the town and driving by some of the job sites Tom had told him about. Then he’d gone to get that shave and a haircut. He ran a hand along his now-smooth jaw and had to admit, it felt pretty damn glorious. He’d forgotten how freeing it felt to be clean-shaven. So clearly, beards weren’t for him. Good to know.
He felt a little bad about not helping Heather with her unpacking, but he had a feeling she probably preferred it that way. He’d had the advantage of arriving first, and he didn’t have much with him to unpack. Plus, he was a guy, and he didn’t overthink the placement of every item he owned. He had a feeling Heather did.
No doubt, he was going to find that everything was put in a specific place, and if he tried to move it, he would get his head bitten off. He chuckled. “Bring it,” he murmured.
But he still didn’t open the door.
But someone did. Down the hall.
“Young man! What are you doing loitering out here in the hall?”
He turned around and saw an elderly woman standing in the doorway to the apartment down the hall. She was tiny and had a bunch of pink rollers in her hair—the kind his grandmother used to wear. And she was scowling at him.