I shouldn’t care. She isn’t even mine.
But the thought of what just happened to her instantly made me flip the switch.
I trudge across the site so that I can throw down the haul of off-cuts and then I start to make my way uphill, towards the curve in the valley where Harper’s bungalow is set.
Clearly she can’t stay here alone anymore, not when there are random guys illegally trespassing onto the premises and scoping her out like she’s on the market.
My cheekbone twitches. Is she on the market? I refrain from incriminating myself by looking back at her over my shoulder – not that I’d need to, seeing as the image of her is thoroughly burned into my mind. The soft sun-kissed wisps that gently frame her face. The long delicate fingers that tentatively brushed my arm.
I roll the muscles in my back, trying to forget about our fleeting moment of contact. Did that even happen? I glance down at my bicep as if I’m expecting to see a poker-red burn mark, but it’s just business as usual. I shake out my wrists and try to shove the soft scrape from my mind.
As I work my way over to the van and its unfortunate driver I mentally catalogue a way to extrapolate Harper from living on site. Or, my brain suggests, a way for you to stay closer to the site, and therefore prevent any further unwanted incidents.
Obviously it would be… potentially uncomfortable to move into the bungalow next door to her. I’m classifying the place as one-hundred percent hers and I’m not about to encroach on her womanly space. I’m not here to patronise her or tell her how to live her life. I mean, she can take care of herself, as a twenty-eight year old woman and all.
My subconscious snickers back at me. You keep reminding yourself of that, buddy.
Maybe it would be better if I could just temporarily relocate somewhere nearby for a while…
The van door swinging open is enough to pull me from my thoughts. Thank fuck. I’ve got some energy to burn.
“Hey man, how’s it hanging?” he says. I’m met with a knowing grin and a uniform that sure as hell doesn’t have the name Coleson written across it.
“Hey. You got a permit to be here?”
His bravado falters for a second and then he re-masks and shrugs. “I was just scoping out the situation.”
“And what situation would that be?”
He nods down to the valley. “That’s one big project you’ve got going on.” He slides his eyes back to mine. “With such a small team.”
Why is it so hard for people to keep to their own turf? Speaking of off-cuts, that’s what this guy’s after. Pine Hills is a bells-and-whistles cherry pie and he’s after a slice all for himself. I check the words on the side of his van and it nudges to a distant memory. I’ve seen his name around but he doesn’t have the kind of reputation that I’ve spent years building for myself. Which means he’s either looking for a freelance job on my crew or he wants to take over the job entirely.
Neither of which are on the cards for him.
He notices my silent appraisal and he shifts on his seat, wiping dirty palms down his jeans as he starts feeling increasingly awkward.
Which brings me back to exactly why I’m over here.
There’s no way to tactfully say this without getting straight down to the point.
“There’s a woman on my site. I heard that you touched her.”
His demeanour changes entirely and now he’s grinning like a wolf.
“So she’s yours,” he says like gotcha. “Makes sense. Fine little thing.”
I roll my bottom lip into my mouth and bite down hard. My eyes stray to the fingers that he’s got curled around his doorframe and I imagine breaking every single one of them. “You’re trespassing. Get the hell off my site.”
His eyes are glowing with entertainment. “Which bit don’t you want me trespassing on exactly? The site or…?” He moves his gaze so that he’s looking down into the valley. I shift my body so that I block his view of Harper.
“Let me put this into words that you’ll understand. You set foot on my site again you’ll be leaving with a souvenir. You put your hands on the woman on my site again you won’t be leaving, period.”
“Is that a threat?” he asks, grinning.
“Yes.”
A little colour drains from his face but he keeps going because he’s an idiot.
“You’re a real tough guy, aren’t you?” He laughs and gestures down the hill. “Whaddya gonna do, throw me in the cement mixer?”
“Don’t give me ideas.”
He blinks rapid-fire and then shakes his head. “She’s not worth it, man.”
“I’ve got your plate number, a motive, and about ten-thousand shovels. Hit the pedal, asshole.”
He looks up at me from the inside of the van, the roof casting part of his face in shadow. He’s contemplating whether or not I’ll actually rough him up. The set of my jaw states my intentions loud and clear. Touch her again and I’ll break your neck.
Verbally, I opt for a more diplomatic approach. “It’s protocol. You can’t ride in here.”
I think that I’ve finally gotten through to him with the pacification speech but when I see him lean farther back in his seat so that his eyes can dip back to the valley I choose to check all the boxes.
“And yeah, she is mine. She’s, uh, she’s my girlfriend.”
Not once in my adult life have I considered a woman that I’m seeing to be my ‘girlfriend’. Once you get past a certain age it’s just a case of dating, and then deciding whether or not she’s about to become your wife. But I needed to use a label that would send this guy running and I couldn’t exactly call her my fiancée when there’s no ring on her finger.
Hell yeah I noticed.
The word ‘girlfriend’ bulldozes whatever plan he was cocking up right out of his head and he returns his gaze to mine, nodding once, pissed off but understanding, and I step backwards as he reaches to shut his door.
Good riddance.
I watch him punch the engine to life, pull a rickety three-point turn, and then the van is groaning to the entrance of the road diverging from the Pine Hills Nature Trail, the low metal gate already wide open from where he clearly lifted it without my knowing. I follow the tire tracks once he’s out of sight and pull the gate across, clicking in the hatch as my eyes watch the now-empty road. I look down at the gate under my palms, re-checking the mechanism in the thick bolt attached to the chain. So that’s how he got in here.
Time to get a couple new locks.
I pull out my notepad and pen and jot down a couple of thoughts, including that asshole’s licence plate number and a one-item shopping list that just reads bolts. Plus I’ll have to give Harper a key of her own for the new lock, so I’ll have to get a couple spares cut.
When I turn to head back down towards the workshop my eyes land straight on Harper, whose boots have already brought her halfway up the grassy incline. Are those pink laces? I don’t have the opportunity to stare at them for too long though because she’s suddenly giving me a big perfect smile for the first time since she got here, her eyes sparkling with gratitude and her cheeks two rosy apples.
Holy shit.
Do not think of her cheeks. Of any kind.
“You really scared him, huh?” she asks, her grin making little dimples appear. “You are a very handy handyman.”
A gruff sound rumbles in my chest as she gets closer, and we meet somewhere in the middle, on the precipice of her bungalow’s front garden. She’s looking up at me all cutesy, and my eyes are fucking dying to get another look at her bare left hand.
I change topics entirely.
“He won’t be coming back here again. I’m gonna get a new lock and key for that gate though, so I’ll get some spares cut for you ASAP.”
She nods and smiles, her eyes unblinking as she looks wondrously up at me. I watch as she slides her palms down into her back pockets, her body arching forwards and releasing a wave of her sweet scent straight from where the little gap in her zipper is, right between her breasts. Hell. I reach an arm up so that I can scrub at the back of my neck but I think I just gave her a hormone-dousing of my own, and her eyes look up and linger on the curve of my lifted bicep.
“Well, thank you,” she says, a little raspier than before. “And I’m sorry for being such a pain. I…” She looks down at the sleeve of her pretty jumper and dusts at the dirty hand-print. Instantly the cords in my neck are twisting a little tighter and I’m thinking about actually paying that guy a late-night visit. “I’ve learnt my lesson. It was kind of you to look out for me like that. I’ve had a hard month is all.”
Suddenly I’m very interested in continuing this conversation. She’s had a hard month? I’m guessing that explains why she’s here. What could have gone wrong in this beautiful woman’s life?
Did someone do something to hurt her?
She wafts a dainty hand in the air, dispersing her words between us.
“Not that that justifies anything. What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for being a pest and, after my little scare, I am now ready to actually stay out of your way and let you do your job.”
Her little scare? She was scared of the guy in the van? Fuck. Now the last thing that I want is for her to stay out of my way. I want her in my way. I need her close by, so that I can keep on looking out for her.
“Harper–”
“Seriously. I’m really grateful.”
I can tell that she’s trying to now head back inside her bungalow, with her judgemental teddy and dick-thickening lingerie, so I quickly say, “My number, Harper. I promised you that I’d give you my number. Just in case.”
She twists back around, eyebrows arched as if she’d forgotten. Of course she had. She’s probably been thinking about lots of other things, including but not exclusive to men her own age.
I pull my notepad out of my pocket and quickly jot down my number. I write MITCH above it for good measure. Who knows how many guys are trying to get their digits in her pocket.
My blood boils at my own phrasing.
I rip out the page and she jumps a little. My eyes fly to hers, hoping that I’m not coming across as too much of a brute. To balance out the violent tear I gently fold the paper in half and then extend my hand, passing it to her.
She reaches for it, looks up at me, and then slowly lowers her hand to the paper. Her fingers brush softly over mine and we both stare, unblinking, until she’s fully taken it.
I stand there dumbstruck, wondering how the hell that was one of the hottest moments of my life. I can still feel her cool fingers burning into me, stroking against my palm.
She gives me another smile and then she stuffs the number into the tight front pocket of her jeans.
I watch her walk away until the front door closes behind her.
*
It’s almost the end of the week by the time that I can get a reservation on a room at the motel three miles from Pine Hills. I flip over how illogical it is to not just stay in the bungalow next door to Harper’s – or, better yet, to not simply leave her alone like a normal guy would – but I convince myself that getting a little nearer to the site whilst simultaneously not infringing on her space is the safest option when there are potential hazards in the area. I don’t think that our visitor will be coming back any time soon but I’d prefer to be only a few minutes away, just in case.
Motels are cheap and I’ll be making sure that the heir to Pine Hills is out of harm’s way.
It’s a no brainer.
My son, Tate, stands in the foyer of my house, shrugging on a jacket as he watches me silently from under the dark shadow of his fringe. We just had a father-son dinner together because he’ll be leaving the site a little earlier tomorrow, what with it being Friday and him spending the weekend heading up to his fiancée’s campus during her term time. Her third year just started so I’m sure that he’s more than eager to help her settle back in.
I’m pretty sure that his mom, Pam, never taught him how to cook but for some God blessed reason he’s naturally skilled when it comes to working around a kitchen. Our arrangement when he comes round is simple – he cooks and I clean.
His mom and I were tight in high school, not as a couple but as kids who liked each other’s company. When we got a little older we decided to experiment in the ‘safe zone’ of our friendship and soon Pam was pregnant. She didn’t want to be in a relationship and there was nothing I could do about that but I was immediately dead-set on getting a full-time job so that I could pay for our kid. Despite the circumstances and the fact that I was low-key shitting it, deep in my chest I was stoked to become a dad. Having a family was my sole goal in life. Even though it took me my whole adult life to get to the stability and salary that I’m at now, and even though Pam and I were never meant to be, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Regardless of the fact that Tate’s always seen his mom and I as two separate parts of his life, I know that it might be weird for him to consider me having an interest in a woman who isn’t his mom. I mean, my last relationship that he was aware of wasn’t exactly the greatest for him to witness.
Just ask his fiancée. She would know, seeing as I was dating her mother.
I swallow that thought down and then take a deep breath to calm my mind. It was a head-in-my-hands moment when I found out that the first woman I’d decided to get to know in years was the mother of the girl who my son was in love with. It was for the best when we quickly realised that we weren’t going to be the greatest match. Now she’s doing her thing, I’m doing mine, and I want nothing but the best for her.
It’s been – what – two years since my last relationship? So surely it’s okay to start thinking about someone new now.
Not that I would have anything to do with Harper. I’m positive that whatever chemical imbalance I’m currently feeling is just a by-product of not having my needs sated for such a prolonged time. Hell, I’m six-four, two-hundred-and-fifty-pounds, and thrumming with testosterone. It’s probably unhealthy to have gone without for as long as I have.
But I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Harper isn’t the chick for that. One, she’s only twenty-eight, and even though I’m aware that she’s not wearing a ring, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a boyfriend. Or boyfriends. I steel my jaw and try to push aside the thought of multiple guys trying to get near to her.
And two, I don’t even know what I need right now. I’ve been out of the game for so long that I can barely remember if it was worth playing.
I feel a protesting flex down south. My body definitely thinks that the game is worth playing.
I’m left with two options. I either keep beating my meat on my own, or get out there and consider a hook-up. If Harper’s an impossibility then I need to think of some other options.
I run a hand down my face and feel the scratch of stubble that I really ought to shave off.
I need to get laid, like yesterday.
I toss the hand-towel down on the counter after I put the last of the cutlery away and then I turn to face Tate fully, sensing that he’s a combination of curious and unsure about my motives to temporarily relocate closer to the site, emotions that put a boyish look in his eyes. They make me see him as a kid again, rather than an almost twenty-two year old man with a fiancée who’s in college.
“Let’s hear it,” I say to him, giving him the all-clear to voice his concerns.
He shifts a little, glances out of the kitchen window. Then he says, “You wanna… stay in a motel. Instead of” – he looks around the foyer – “your house.”
My eyes crease around the edges. “Well, it sounds dumb when you put it like that,” I say, my mouth slanting into a half-smile because I’m kind of messing with him. “I’m… sampling the local hospitality. Seeing if there’s anything Pine Hills might be missing whilst we fix it up.”
He stares at me blankly. I’ve already told him exactly why I’m relocating to a motel for a little while and I know that he’d do the exact same thing if he was in my position. And I know that because he literally travels to check in on his fiancée every weekend without fail.
“How long do you think you’ll be staying in the motel? The reno still has a month and a half to go, minimum.” His expression tells me that he doesn’t like the idea of his dad staying in a stop-off motel for such a prolonged period of time.
“Haven’t decided. Maybe a couple weeks, when I’m certain that our cold-caller’s history. Ideally not the whole month and a half but I’ll just have to wait and see.”
He nods his head. Then, quiet and a little begrudging, he finally murmurs, “I guess I’d do the same.”
I bite back a smile and say, “I know you would, kid.”
I give his shoulder a squeeze before he heads out onto the porch and a sharp warmth spreads in my chest. I fold my arms and lean against the doorframe as I watch him take off into the night.
The apple didn’t fall far at all.
