The wall between our bungalows is thin.
Our bedrooms are situated headboard to headboard and every groan of Mitch’s mattress has me clutching at my sheets. Every time he pads to the bathroom and twists on the shower, I know about it. And Mitch takes really long showers.
I’d wrongly assumed that having Mitch next door would facilitate and enable my interest in getting to know him, but it turns out that it’s had the opposite effect. Since we got back to Pine Hills and Mitch relocated from the motel to the bungalow next door, all that it’s enabled is Mitch working overtime. Instead of finishing up at the site at 6p.m. at the latest Mitch is in his office until at least half seven, and then he’s pulling out of the site so that he can buy groceries in town. Admittedly, Mitch being next door has lead to Mitch bringing me dinner every evening, most likely in an attempt to prevent me furthering my adventures with food poisoning, but when I offer him to come inside and eat with me he’s all red cheeks and heavy breathing. It makes me unsure about whether he’s feeding me because he likes me or because he thinks that I’m incapable.
Maybe both.
But by the start of November I’ve stressed so hard that I now fully believe that Mitch’s decision to move in next door had nothing to do with getting closer to me and everything to do with finishing up the reno ahead of schedule. It doesn’t matter that when we were at his place he told me that he wanted to take me on a date – in fact, I was so out of it that I can’t be sure that I didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.
The final nail in the coffin for my withering confidence is a call from my mom on her lunch break, gently urging me to head back to LA ahead of my movie’s upcoming press tour.
It’s 5p.m. and I’m sat cross-legged on the roof, watching Mitch and his guys as they finish hauling in the bespoke furniture my mom commissioned for the cabin bedrooms, joking together as they pick up cabinets and panels like they weigh nothing more than a marshmallow.
I clutch the phone tighter in my right hand, my left hand pressing against the ache in my chest.
“I can’t come back, mom. Not right now.” I sound like I’m pleading even though this argument has nothing to do with her. Of course I don’t want to face Evan and, in this context, it would be even more humiliating.
“You wrote the damn movie, Harper. Why are you letting him win? He doesn’t have half as much right to be there than you do.”
“Does your other daughter know that you’re talking about Evan like this?” I ask her, aiming for a low blow because I know that she’s right. I should be there, but instead I’m acting like I don’t exist and letting Evan take all of the limelight. I’ve been writing movies for a long time and I’ve always loved falling in love with each new character, but after what happened with this last one, it really sucker-punched the passion out of me.
“Holly did a shitty thing, Harper, I know. But there’s nothing that we can do to align other people with our own moral compass. Most people are inherently selfish, and last month you got a master-class in that. It’s shocking and it’s upsetting, but I promise you that seeing their true colours now will be so much better for you in the long run.” She deliberates for a moment and then tacks on, “Honestly, thank fuck that spoiled little prince is finally out of your life. I never understood what you saw in him anyway, Harper.”
“I bet you haven’t said that to–”
“No, you’re right, I haven’t said that to her, Harper. But it’s not because I’m hiding the truth from her. It’s because they’re the perfect narcissistic match.”
There’s a finality to her tone that stops me from arguing back. I take a deep inhalation, allowing the oxygen to refresh my body and my mind, and then I breathe back out, closing my eyes.
“You’re right,” I say, nodding. “I know you are. But I think that I’m better off staying in Pine Hills for a bit, and just missing the press tour. I… I really don’t want to see him.”
“Why not? Maybe the time apart will have given you a new perspective that you didn’t see coming.” I hear tapping on a keyboard and then she says, “How’s your handyman, by the way? Don’t think that I’ve forgotten.”
I open my eyes and look out down the valley, where Mitch is leaning against one of the cabin railings whilst one of his crew lights up a cigarette beside him. I feel a sparkle in my chest when I realise that his eyes are already on mine.
When I forget to formulate words my mom says, “In case you were wondering, I’ve narrowed down the selection to the ones that I think you’d go for.” Then she mumbles, “I know who I’d be going for.”
“How’s dad?” I ask her sharply.
She laughs. More key tapping. “If you’re staying in hiding then you may at least have some fun. Please.”
I do some rapid blinking, trying to work out if that was thoughtful or weird.
“LA is messing you up,” I say to her. Mitch’s thumbs are now tucked behind his belt, his rippling forearms on full display.
“Don’t I know it,” she mutters back. The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “You know what, maybe you were right in leaving for a while. Has the change of scenery given you any creative inspiration?”
I get to my feet on shaky legs, my eyes blacking out as I look at my source of inspiration.
“It’s been…”
Mitch cocks his chin at me from across the site and the pool in my belly is suddenly throbbing.
“I’ve got to go,” I say quickly, and I can almost hear her eyebrow raise through the line. I’m stepping backwards towards the latch, my head feeling heavy as I watch him watch me. “I’ll call you tomorrow, mom – bye.”
I hang up before she’s finished talking, my feet already racing down the steps, slipping into my flip-flops, and then out of the front door, chest rising and falling in double-time as I make my way down to the cabins.
When he sees me approaching Mitch pushes himself off the railing and starts heading towards me, his friend looking at us curiously with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Hey,” he says as he stops a few inches away from me. I’m eye-level with his chest and feeling very lightheaded.
“Hey,” I breathe back, my voice the ghost of itself.
He gives me a brief once-over. Fuzzy jumper, denim shorts, flip-flops. I try not to pass out.
“It’s been a busy week,” he admits, running his hand across his forehead. “Sorry I’ve been AWOL.”
I tear my eyes away from the thick column of his throat and move them upwards to meet his icy gaze, gorgeously striking against his tan skin.
“That’s okay,” I say.
I don’t know what’s going on anyway so don’t worry about it, is what I don’t say.
He’s watching me intently, jaw flexing as he decides how to take it from here. I lace my hands behind my back so that I can fidget. His eyes narrow as he follows the movement.
It was the incentive that he needed.
“I want to take you out tonight, Harper,” he says, and my heart hitches in my chest. He watches me cautiously, both of our cheeks beginning to blush. “I wanna, um… I wanna take you to one of the places in town. There’s a couple nice restaurants, cafés, and, um, there’s a country bar too–”
“A country bar?” I ask, intrigued.
He pauses, his brow furrowing a little. “Yeah, there’s a country bar,” he says slowly, “but I was thinking that a restaurant might be more–”
“I’ve never been to a country bar before,” I admit, and my mind begins concocting images of Mitch swapping his uniform for a pair of denim jeans and a tight-fitting shirt, muscles bulging beneath the cotton as he dons himself a cowboy hat.
“Uh,” he says, laughing slightly and shifting his bodyweight. “You, uh… you want to go to a country bar?” He gives me a prolonged look. “Instead of a restaurant?”
“I mean…” I toe my flip-flop back and forth in the grass. My silence screams YES. He hears it.
“Okay, yeah, sure. We can go to the country bar tonight. If that’s what you’d prefer,” he adds on, eyes burning into mine. I think that he’s trying to get me to change my mind but I’ve never been able to indulge in small town novelties before, what with never living in a small town. I want the full-blown IMAX experience.
I glance over to the guy on the railings, his eyes still trained on us, and I give him an eyebrow raise. Look away, Smokey. After he chuckles and turns to give us some privacy I look back up at Mitch, a warm sensation spreading in my chest. I love that he’s willing to compromise, to facilitate whatever he thinks will make me the happiest.
I watch him work the muscles in his throat as he waits for me to give him the green light, stoic and patient even when he’s still on the clock. I give him my best girl-next-door smile and his eyes drop to my lips, colour flushing up his neck. His chest swells even larger.
I decide to toy with him a little. “Let me just check my diary,” I say, holding up my pointer finger and flipping open my notebook.
His eyes dip down to the pages as I flick through page after page of nothing but delirious plot concepts handwritten in size 0.4 font, because he actually thinks that I’m being serious – he actually thinks that I’m checking my diary. It’s so adorable that I have to bite back a smile and I tuck the book back into my pocket because I can’t take it anymore.
“Looks like I might be able to squeeze you in,” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling up at him.
He grunts and nods, then jerks his head towards the bungalows. “Collect you at seven?” he asks, his voice low and brusque.
I think for a moment, then ask, “What do I wear to a country bar?”
He’s about to answer me but he abruptly pauses, followed by his eyes slow-dripping down my torso and lingering on my bare legs.
“Layers,” he says gruffly. “Lots of layers. It’s probably gonna be cold tonight. I can give you a jacket.”
I try to restrain the golden sunshine feeling in my chest, but the knowledge that he wants me for his eyes only is something that pleases me on the most innately feminine level.
“No to the shorts then?” I tease him, stepping back a bit and cocking my hip.
His eyes are locked on my thighs, pupils swallowing up those cut-crystal irises. “Uh…”
I smile, chewing at my lip a little. “I’m messing with you, Mitch,” I finally whisper, when I realise that he’s so captivated that he’s literally stopped functioning.
His eyes flash to mine and he gives his hair a quick tug, licking at his bottom lip. “Sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Got distracted.” He takes a few deep breaths and then says, “Seven o’clock, I’ll come get you.”
Pleasure ripples through my belly as I smile up at him. “Can’t wait.”
