Spitfire in Love

by Isabelle Ronin

  Before he could slide inside the truck, someone called out his name. An older man slapped his back in that man-to-man greeting. I couldn’t hear their conversation clearly because the windows were up.

  His phone in the cup holder lit up and I saw his text.

  Dad: Your mother has gone back to Toronto. I took care of it.

  I’d seen his phone before, and it wasn’t this. This phone looked new and was a different model. Maybe it wasn’t his.

  I jerked my head away, looking outside the window when he opened the driver’s side door.

  He got in silently, the roominess of the truck accommodating his size. His long legs looked comfortable as he started the vehicle, as he stepped on the gas.

  I wondered if he remembered the times we were in my car, just like I was remembering them now.

  If they even meant anything to him.

  Stop this! Don’t make any more assumptions about you and him. You know where that led.

  I didn’t trust myself around him. I wanted to hurl accusations at him, questions that I desperately wanted answers to. But I didn’t.

  That’s a first.

  He threw me a glance, but I turned and faced the window instead. He stopped the truck.

  “Give me a few minutes. The guys have been waiting for me to get back,” he said and got out of the vehicle.

  Three men wearing hard hats approached him. This time, I lowered the window so I could hear their conversation.

  I saw how they respected him, how they went to him for reassurance, to ask what they needed to do about this problem or that. It seemed like he had answers for most of their questions. And when he didn’t, he promised them he’d find out. He’d pulled out a small notepad from his back pocket, a pen from his front pocket, and jotted it all down.

  I didn’t like finding out how competent he was. How responsible. At least in his work ethic.

  Apparently, it didn’t apply to other parts of his life.

  “How was that project out of town you’ve been working on? Rick said that was supposed to take only a couple days,” one of the men said. He had a dirty gimme cap on, rather than a hard hat.

  “We ran into some complications,” Cameron said. “The plumbing, the electrical. Some materials were missing.”

  “Someone was stealing?”

  Cameron shrugged. “It’s all taken care of now.”

  The man stroked his beard. “Took a while, I was told.”

  Cameron nodded. “A few days.”

  “You finished it though. Good job, boss.” He slapped Cameron on the back. “You going to have a beer with us this time?”

  Cameron shook his head but smiled at him. “I’m going to have to pass, Mack.”

  “You always do. Got a girl you gonna go home to, eh?”

  Suddenly Cameron turned his head and caught me looking at him. I didn’t remove my gaze and matched his stare.

  “If she’ll let me,” he replied.

  My heart tripped. He was confusing me. Every time I was ready to leave, he’d say something to bring me back again. But I didn’t want to. Not anymore. Not like before. I’d show him…

  “Well, make it so that she does! Get your ass out of here. Some of us gotta work.”

  Cameron was silent as he got inside the vehicle, as he started the truck and stepped on the gas. I stared straight ahead, pretending to be interested in what I was seeing, but the truth was…I was so aware of him beside me, that I…ached.

  “We refer to this place as The Yard.”

  I jumped when I heard his voice, but he just kept going.

  “The office downtown is called The Necktie.”

  I would have laughed if my heart didn’t feel heavy. If he could act nonchalant about everything, so could I. “How come?”

  “The downtown office is where we meet clients, do presentations. Mostly.”

  I’d heard this before from Rick. “So?”

  “So you have to wear a tie,” he answered. I could hear a smile in his voice. “Rick’s rules.”

  I smirked.

  “You’ll get calls from clients asking to set up an appointment with Rick, or if he’s not available, with me or Elijah. He’s one of our foremen. You’ll meet him eventually.”

  The three buildings, he explained, had different purposes. The first building where I went was the office. The second was for the workers—lunchroom, washroom, a place where they could cool down when the heat gets too extreme in the summer, basically a big locker room. The third was storage.

  He pointed out places as we drove around The Yard, the machines and what they do, the process of sifting debris from the soil, the types of soil and stones customers usually ordered.

  “You won’t be taking order calls from customers wanting stones,” he explained. “That’s the job of the other three women. You’ll be taking care mostly of the construction side. Deb will explain it to you.”

  “Is Rick your dad?”

  Where the hell did that come from?

  “I wish he were,” he answered after a moment.

  He didn’t offer anything after that. It was a skill, the way he dodged questions and answered them without giving away anything.

  I knew he was like this with everyone, not just me, but it was still frustrating. And if I let the drama queen in me take control, I’d feel hurt because I was like everyone else. I was no one special.

  Where the hell were you? What did you do? Why didn’t you text?

  Am I still important to you?

  Was I ever?

  But I didn’t ask any of that. Every one of those questions sounded pathetic. And needy. And I didn’t want to be. Pride kept me in check.

  When he parked the vehicle back in the same spot, I shot out of it and headed for my car.

  I had to get the hell out of there right now. Being with him was playing with my emotions. And then I realized I still had to talk to Deb.

  “Shit.”

  I felt his eyes following me as I walked back to the office. I waited until Deb was done on the phone. She apologized and said she was too busy today to brief me, but she handed me a folder and asked me to come back in a couple of days and we’d work out everything then. She’d phone and let me know when she wasn’t swamped this week, and we could work out the days when I could start my training. The folder she handed me contained most of the information I needed.

  “Let me guess—Rick didn’t ask you much,” Deb said. The phone rang, but she ignored it.

  “He didn’t tell me much either.”

  She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I knew it.” Then she told me my hourly rate, which Rick had told me at least. “That works for you?” she asked, grinning.

  “Oh God, yes!”

  She laughed, and we said goodbye. I left the office, feeling better than I had in days—no, weeks. When I received my first paycheck, I should celebrate with a milkshake. I should buy pizza for the guys at the garage and takeout for Dad and Dylan. I should phone Tala and take her out for a movie. Damn, when was the last time I went to the theater? I couldn’t even remember.

  With this money, I could save up faster to buy off Andrew’s share. Get rid of the parasite for good. I couldn’t wait!

  When I saw Cameron outside talking with another man with a hard hat, I lost my smile. Muttering under my breath about dark, evil spirits, I rushed to my car.

  “Kara,” Cameron called out. “Wait up.”

  I turned and looked at him impatiently.

  How can you stand there as if nothing happened?

  “What?” I snarled.

  How can your damn smile still affect me? I hate you.

  “I need a ride home,” he said. “You still owe me.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “I just need to clock out. Be right back.”

  I watc
hed him jog to the second building.

  I must’ve damaged my eardrums last time I cleaned them. The internet had warned me not to use cotton swabs, because it would only push the earwax deeper, but of course I never listened. That must be it.

  I didn’t really hear him say I still owed him a ride home, did I?

  I rushed to my car and started it.

  Nothing wrong with those ears. You heard him right the first time, girl!

  The balls! I could choke him with my bare hands.

  I grabbed my phone and checked the time. It was 1:15 p.m. Time to leave. Just as I was going to speed my ass out of the parking lot, an eighteen-wheeler decided to block my way.

  I closed my eyes in defeat, hitting my forehead repeatedly on the steering wheel. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  And then I heard a knock on the passenger side door. It was him, of course.

  He looked like he’d washed up a little bit. His face looked cleaner, the grease stain missing. He’d lost the man bun, his dark curls in an adorable disarray on his head. He had changed into a gray shirt and dark jeans.

  “I’ll ask him to move his truck if you let me in,” he offered.

  His voice was muffled by the closed window, but I heard what he said. And the laughter in it.

  “He’ll be here for another half hour,” he added.

  I scowled at him. He grinned.

  This is your chance to prove that he doesn’t affect you. Do it. Show him who’s got the upper hand. If you can control yourself, that is. Or you can keep making a fool of yourself by blowing up on him again. See if he doesn’t ignore you and leave again.

  I need you to shut your piehole right now. I don’t need you in my head.

  Nothing really happened between you two. There were no promises. Why are you so hurt about it?

  Because I had let him in. I wouldn’t have opened up to him if he hadn’t pursued me, told me all those lies. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t making it all up.

  This time, the inner voice in my head was quiet. Might as well let Cameron in then. I would prove to him how much he didn’t affect me.

  I unlocked the door and got out of my car.

  “You’re driving, Bigfoot.”

  “Bigfoot, huh?”

  “If you don’t want to, then forget about—”

  “All right,” he said quickly, looking surprised and pleased that I’d agreed.

  He went to talk to the truck driver first, and of course, the eighteen-wheeler moved right away. He seemed to be used to getting his way here. He was the prince. The dark-haired, taciturn golden boy.

  He was helpful and somehow approachable with his men—when he chose to be, but I also noticed from his conversations how he kept everyone at arm’s length. He didn’t seem to hang out with them after work hours. I remembered the man said he never went out for beers with them. What the hell did he do when he wasn’t at school and working?

  He slid into the driver’s seat. I refused to acknowledge the twinge in my chest when he adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs. It was all so familiar.

  The reaction I had watching him do this that first week was so different from my reaction this time. Now I was…sad.

  He cranked the window open a little, then started the car and reversed. A few seconds later, we were on the road. He drove one-handed.

  His chiseled jawline. His big hand on the steering wheel. The scrapes on his knuckles. His long fingers. A lock of his dark hair against his skin. The movement of his leg as he stepped on the gas.

  I looked away, gritting my teeth.

  I turned the radio on, noted the time, and blasted the volume. It didn’t dispel the tension in the car completely, but it made it easier.

  Just like when he drove me around The Yard, I faced the window so I didn’t have to look at him. I turned off the radio, noted the time again. I lasted eight minutes.

  “You lied to me,” I blurted out.

  I saw his body go on full alert. “What’s the lie?” he asked quietly.

  “Your vehicle, you jerk. You told me you don’t have a vehicle.”

  His body visibly relaxed. A small smile was even flirting on his pretty mouth. “I never said that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “You asked me if I owned the truck. I said it wasn’t mine.”

  Was that what he really said?

  “How could you even remember that conversation?”

  I couldn’t even remember what I ate yesterday.

  “I remember,” he said softly. “Because I remember every conversation we’ve had.”

  Oh no. No, no.

  My traitorous heart skipped a beat. I didn’t want this. I wanted to be cured of his curse. His black magic on my heart. I needed to be exorcised. I needed a priest.

  “Why?”

  Did I really ask that? Why did I ask that?

  Because you want to hear how important you are to him. What you mean to him. If you do mean anything to him.

  “You know why,” he said gently. Then he turned his head to look at me. His eyes pulling me again. Back to where I was before. “You know.”

  Suddenly I was feeling angry. So mad my chest was heaving from breathing so hard, so fast.

  “Pull over to the side of the road. Now!”

  As soon as he did, I shot out of the car. I couldn’t be around him. I just couldn’t. I was losing my shit, and there was no way I was going to allow myself to blow up on him the way I had the night before he left.

  I started walking. I heard the car door slam closed.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he yelled behind me.

  “It’s none of your fucking business!” I yelled back.

  I curled my hands into fists. The sun was glaringly bright in the sky. We were still outside of the city. The vehicles here drove over the speed limit. I could hear them zipping past, the ground shaking.

  I didn’t care. If I had to walk home, I would. I couldn’t be around him anymore. But I wasn’t stupid. I definitely didn’t want to die. I stayed away from the road but walked as fast as I could.

  Suddenly he was beside me, close to the road. I knew he was protecting me from the vehicles, but it only made me angrier.

  I wanted to get over him. I wanted to be rid of him. And every time he did something kind or sweet, my treacherous heart gave in, little by little.

  “You’re going to walk home? Is that your plan?” he demanded.

  “What do you care? You don’t get to know anything about me when you can’t even…when you can’t even—”

  “When I can’t even what?”

  I was so close, so close, to punching his pretty face. I walked faster. He matched my pace.

  “I lost my phone,” he said suddenly.

  I stopped in my tracks and shot him a glare. “I didn’t know you could go so low and lie to me like that.”

  “I’m not.”

  If it was true…that was why I’d seen a new phone in his truck.

  “You mean you lost your phone right after I texted you that night?”

  “No,” he answered after a moment. “Not right after.”

  “Then you just didn’t want to reply.”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “It’s not about wanting.”

  “What then?”

  “It was better that way,” he replied. “At the time.”

  I was done. Totally done.

  “Fuck you, Cameron. Leave me the hell alone.”

  I started walking again, trying to calm myself down. I hated how fast he could make me angry. I was aware of my temper, but nobody could light it up as fast as he could.

  He walked beside me but stayed a few feet away. Thoughts raced in my head. One after the other.

  Bottom line was, riding with him in the same
vehicle wasn’t going to work. We had to repair his motorcycle. Fast. I could deal with him at the new job. I just had to make sure other people were around us all the time and I would treat him the way I treated other people I worked with. That was a good plan.

  “Hey, listen,” I said. I felt calmer now. Considerably.

  He studied my face and must have seen the storm had passed. He moved closer so he could hear me properly.

  “So if I believe that you really did lose your phone—”

  “I did.”

  “—that meant you didn’t get my text. Dylan ordered the wrong part, but I fixed that already. I’m sorry,” I said, nearly gagging at the word sorry. “It will take three weeks again. Unfortunately.”

  “I guess you’re going to have to keep driving me around.”

  My eye twitched. “No, I’m not. That deal was broken when you left!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I lied to you about the truck.”

  That caught me off guard.

  “It was the only way you’d…stay with me,” he continued. He sounded so vulnerable, I felt my heart squeeze. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but…can we still keep it?”

  “Keep what?”

  “Our arrangement,” he answered. “Please?”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Why then?” I asked, my voice sounded thick.

  “Why what?”

  “Stop acting like you don’t know what I’m asking you.”

  His face suddenly lost its vulnerability and was replaced by his stone-cold mask. It was all I needed to remember all the things that happened before. Anger easily took over.

  “How long do you think you’re going to use that excuse of an arrangement?” I snapped. “I’m tired of it!”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How long?” I repeated.

  He threw me a look. “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes?”

  “For you to like me again.”

  I curled a fist against my stomach when I felt a flutter there. “That’s never going to happen. Ever.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Because I’m just like everybody else.”

  There was a bitterness in his tone I’d never heard before. But I noticed the pain in it too.