He gestured to the last pancake and I shook my head, so he took it. “Pancakes are like my kryptonite,” he confessed.
“With these pancakes, I could see that. You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks.” He beamed at me, then tugged one of my curls, straightening it then watching it spring back into place. I grinned as it tickled my nose. “I like your hair when it’s down, when it flies everywhere. You have happy hair, Willard.”
“Happy hair?” I giggled at the strangely irresistible compliment.
With a decisive nod he answered, “Yeah, it’s curly and bouncy and wild. It makes me happy when I look at it. Or maybe it’s just you that makes me smile.” The warmth in his eyes shot straight through my body to land in my heart.
My giggle vanished as I fought the urge to jump in his lap. Or, throw my shirt at him. Or both. “Everett…” I breathed.
“So, I…uh…have sort of a proposition for you,” he finally said.
I raised my eyebrows. All he had to do was ask and I’d be his. Right now.
Chapter Six
Everett
“Always take care of your woman, Everett. And she’ll be sure to take care of you.”
Papaw Joe
“I’ll cut your rent in half if you help me paint the house,” I blurted before thinking of a way to make the offer more palatable to her skittish nature. Her fork clattered to her plate and her head drew back as she studied me with suspicion. She reminded me of that scared little fawn I rescued last year in the back yard, near the forest. Maybe I should have offered her an apple first. My lips quirked up at the corner as she glared at me.
Then her glare vanished as disappointment clouded her features. “Do you feel sorry for me, Everett?” she demanded. Her southern accent became more pronounced whenever she was worked up over something. During my nights spent at Genie’s Bar, I’d often notice her getting annoyed with male customers attempting to chat her up—several times I’d almost waded in—but she was adept at sidestepping, avoiding, and just flat-out stopping their advances with a well-timed glare and a good old verbal dressing-down, thick with her irresistible southern sass. Genie also employed several large busboy/bouncer types and a few of her bartenders were constantly on the lookout for trouble while they mixed drinks. Willa could handle herself just fine. She could probably handle me too, if she had a mind to. Plus, I got the feeling that me stepping in at Genie’s would piss her off.
Making Willa angry was the last thing I wanted to do, and pity was so far from what I felt for her it was ridiculous that she’d even think it. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted things I had no business wanting from her yet—like her body, her soul, her every waking thought, and every secret she had ever kept.
I slid my plate to the side and cleared my throat. “No. I don’t feel sorry for you. I need help around here. I’m busy with my shop, busy working for my father, and this place is falling through the cracks. I thought you might be interested. And since you already live here, you could keep your own hours, no rush on anything.” I attempted a casual approach. My real motivation would send her running.
“Bull crap,” she said. Her plate joined mine as she slid it across the counter then folded her arms across her chest. I eyed her chest then quickly looked back to her face. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I saw, uh, things. Nipples. I saw her nipples poking out above her crossed arms. The thin fabric of her tank top did nothing to hide them. I slammed my eyes shut and tried to find my train of thought. It had left the station without me, leaving me stranded in Perky Poky Nipple Town, population: Everett, who was about to get smacked across the face. “Everett! You don’t need my help. You overheard Patty tryin’ to give me her tips. Didn’t you?”
“Um, yeah. I heard that. I’ll admit I did. But, that’s not why I’m asking.” With a shove of my stool, I stood up. “Come with me. I’ll show you what I need done and you can tell me if you’re interested. Okay?”
I gestured to the big double doors to the rear of the large kitchen space that went through the dining room and into a formal living room—or parlor, as my mother called it. She scowled with suspicion as she crossed in front of me to open the door. Her arm swept over the wall inside, looking for the light switch. I reached around her and flipped it on.
With a jump back she crashed into my chest. “Oh, god. Is it haunted? Because I feel like it is. All those sheets on the furniture remind me of an old episode of Scooby-Doo. That chandelier is creepy! There are holes in the walls, Everett!” She backed into me and I held her arms to steady her. Soft skin met my hands while her sweet scent filled my lungs. I wanted to run my hands over every square inch of her body and see if she was soft everywhere. I wanted to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in, but I resisted the urge.
“No, it isn’t haunted,” I whispered in her ear. “This was my Grandfather’s house, on my mother’s side. He lived in the basement apartment, where you live now. He was kind of a hermit and none of us ever went inside the main part of the house. He wouldn’t let us. He’d always come to us at my parents’ house, or we’d barbecue out in the yard, or sit with him in the apartment. Everything looked fine from the outside.”
She turned in my arms. “He isn’t okay?” she asked, her expression full of sympathy.
I shook my head. “Alzheimer’s. He wasn’t the same person I knew growing up. This place bore the brunt of his illness. I want to fix it.”
Stepping out of my arms, she wandered over to the front window, slid the heavy drape aside and looked outside. “This house is kind of symbolic then?” she mused as she looked out at the front yard below.
I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but she was right. “I guess so. This place is something I can fix, unlike him. Nothing could fix him. This old house is full of lost memories. I just wish—”
She turned from the window. “I’ll help you, Everett.” Her sympathetic eyes held mine as she smiled at me. Her heart was right there, I could see it. She knew what this meant to me. Maybe she understood it better than I did.
I grinned at her. “You will?”
“Yes. It’s a mess, you weren’t lying about that.” She chuckled as her eyes swept the room. “I’m sorry that I thought—”
“I know, it’s okay. I’m sorry my timing was bad. I was never great at…talking. Communicating, or whatever.”
“You do just fine, Everett. But I can’t start today. I have to get my family reunion over with. But we’ll start real soon. Deal?” She held her hand out for me to shake.
With two long strides, I clasped her small hand in mine and wished…I wished so many things when it came to her that I had no idea where to even begin to sort through my rapidly growing feelings. “Deal. And thank you, Willard.”
“Oh, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you. The half rent thing will help me out,” she admitted somewhat sheepishly.
“Good, then it’s win-win.” I stuck my other hand out. She took it with a bemused smile. We held hands and I fought the almost irresistible urge to sweep her into my arms and carry her to my bed.
“So, uh. Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious,” she whispered. Her upturned face and luscious, pouty lips were a temptation I could barely resist. Adorable freckles covered her face and I wanted to kiss each one of them. With a fingertip, I traced the trio of freckles that formed a tiny little heart next to her lip. Her breath caught as her tongue darted out to wet that full lower lip and I almost groaned out loud.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.” I managed to say. My heart raced. It pounded in my ears like a drumbeat urging me to do something foolish—something we weren’t ready for—and yet, my head lowered toward hers just the same. I forgot myself whenever I was with her, forgot my manners, my restraint, the gentlemanly behavior my mother had drilled into us boys since birth. I forgot everything and just yearned. Willa made me want her, she made me burn for her, and it hurt. It tore at my soul that she wasn’t mine. I couldn’t understand why I felt this way, why I had
seemingly fallen for her so fast and couldn’t stop the descent no matter how hard I fought against it. Or how much she refused to acknowledge it.
In my grasp, her hand tightened and tugged at mine, urging me closer. I bowed forward without thought, seeking that undefinable connection we shared. She felt it too; she was losing control just as I was. Her body arched up into mine as my body sought to surround her, fill her, make her mine. Dark lashes drifted against her freckled cheeks as her lips parted. Only inches apart, my lips tingled in anticipation as her warm breath whispered against my mouth.
“Open up, Everett!” The knocker on the front door clattered against its brass plate and the doorbell sounded throughout the house like a warning bell.
We flew apart. She stumbled back, and I caught her by her upper arms before she hit the floor. A hysterical giggle escaped as she steadied herself and I stood there, chest heaving, and mind muddled with confusion and regret. I had almost taken what I wanted. Would it have ruined everything? Or would it have been the spark necessary to make her mine?
“Sounds like Wyatt,” she murmured.
“It is,” I ground out through the tight clench of my jaw.
“Let us in, Uncle Everett.” My eyes slammed shut as I struggled to subdue my racing heart, reckless thoughts, and out of control body.
She scrambled backward out of my hold and darted for the kitchen door. “I’ll go clean up the dishes before I get ready to go. Answer the door, Everett.” I watched as she slammed the kitchen door behind her and disappeared. I had never seen her in so few clothes; her long smooth legs were dotted with freckles just like her arms, face, and upper chest. I couldn’t help but wonder what the parts of her not kissed by the sun looked like. The doorbell rang again, and I cursed it. A rush of breath escaped me as I struggled to get a grip on myself.
I required a minute for the sake of decency—probably more, but a minute would have to do. I was not in control, not yet. Images of her still burned in my mind. Her gorgeous face was constantly in my sight no matter if my eyes were opened or shut. I scrubbed my hands through my hair, digging my palms into my eyes to escape the visions of her, of us together, that haunted me and wouldn’t let me be.
I stalked through the archway opposite the doors that led to the kitchen and headed through the parlor to the front door. I threw it open with a disgruntled sigh.
“Uncle Everett!” A smile escaped at the sight of my adorable red-headed nieces. Mak and Mel, ages nine and five, stood there along with my brother, Wyatt, and his new wife, Sabrina—who, coincidentally, was Willa’s best friend.
“We’re on the way to Daisy’s Nut House for breakfast,” Wyatt informed me. “Want to come with?”
“Doughnuts!” Mel screamed and threw herself at me. I scooped her up and blew kisses into her neck, making her giggle. Mak hugged me around the waist and I wrapped my free arm around her. I loved these girls with all my heart. I’d been overjoyed when Wyatt decided to move back to Green Valley.
“Hey, Sabrina,” I greeted my brother’s shy wife. An assistant librarian at the Green Valley Public Library, Sabrina was an unexpected and sweet blessing to our family. She couldn’t be more opposite Willa if she tried, which made their friendship a mystery to me. “Where’s Harry?” Harry was her ten-year-old nephew, and her newly adopted son. He was adorable and quickly becoming my favorite fishing buddy.
“Hi, Everett,” she answered with a smile. “Harry is at the senior center with my dad. Is Willa around? We tried her door first, but she didn’t answer, and her camper is here…”
“Uh, yeah. She’s in the kitchen. You can go on back.” I answered. Sabrina walked around me with big eyes full of questions. I smirked. I felt glad Willa would be getting those questions and not me—until I faced Wyatt and saw the same questioning look on his face.
His cell phone pinged with a text. He flipped it up to check and we both saw the message was from Willa.
Willa: Keep your mouth shut about Tommy.
My eyebrows hit my hairline as I set Mel down. She and Mak ran after Sabrina into the kitchen. The questioning look was mine now, while Wyatt was left to stand there avoiding my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Exactly what it said. I can’t tell you.” He heaved out a huge put-upon sigh. “Her ex-husband, my ex-partner, current hateful douchebag doing a nickel in prison. Tommy Ferris. You remember him, don’t you? I sure did when they partnered me with his dumb ass.”
“What’s he in prison for?” I demanded.
“Google it,” he shot back with a stone face. Wyatt always was a stubborn little turd.
“Why are you keeping her secrets?”
“She’s my friend, and she trusts me. She’s like a little sister to me.”
“She ain’t my sister,” I muttered.
“That’s a good thing. I see how you look at her.” He smacked my arm. “It would be sick if she were.” Wyatt chuckled and headed to the doorway that led into my living room. It was one of the few rooms I’d managed to finish before starting the work to open my shop. He plopped onto my couch and dug around in the cushions for the remote.
“Can I really Google it?” I asked as I sat on the opposite end of my dark blue sectional couch. My living room was decorated in mid-century man-cave—comfort was my only concern. Yeah, I had toss pillows, only because they were good to shove behind your head while playing video games. I glanced around the room—at my framed Gone with the Wind version Empire Strikes Back poster hanging above the fireplace, the mantel covered with my Marvel superhero Funko Pop collection, and the lightsabers sitting amongst the fireplace tools in the holder. My replicas of the Serenity, from Firefly, the Enterprise, from Star Trek, and the Millennium Falcon decorated the top of my coffee table. I sank back into the cushions with a groan as I took in the shelves beneath my 75-inch HD 4K television where my video game consoles were housed, along with my X-Men action figures on their little plastic display stands. What was I thinking asking Willa to help me out around here? Once she found out what I was planning to do with the formal dining room, any interest she possibly could have had in me would die. My house was not quite on par with Steve Carell’s apartment in The 40-Year Old Virgin, but it was too damn close.
“Why the face? What’s wrong?” Wyatt asked as he held up the remote with a victorious grin. “Found it!”
I shook my head. “Look at this place. What kind of woman would ever want anything to do with a guy like me?” A rare moment of vulnerability washed over me as I confided my fears to Wyatt.
“You’re a great guy, Ev. Quit that talk.”
“Look at this place, my shop. My entire life…” I snatched the remote from Wyatt and flicked the TV on.
Wyatt carefully put his feet on the coffee table and eyed me from the corner of the sectional. “If you’re worried about Willa, don’t. She’s not the type to judge you, even if she looks like she would be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, with the way she looks, people make assumptions about her. None of which are true.”
“How do you know so much?” I felt like he owed it to me to tell me. He was my brother for fuck’s sake.
With a quick look behind him at the kitchen door, he leaned toward me. “Tommy has been in prison for almost two years, Everett. Since the day he got locked up, Willa has been driving all over the place in that camper van of hers trying to find a place to be. For almost two years I’ve been telling her to just go home—to come back here, to her family. She only listened to my advice after I came back here. I already told you, she’s like a little sister to me. And you have nothing to worry about when it comes to superficial things, like your Star Wars obsession, or your Dungeons and Dragons game-playing schedule, or your shop, okay? Trust me, and don’t ask me anymore questions. Willa needs friends, and I don’t want to hurt her by breaking her trust.”
“Okay. I won’t ask any more questions.” I absentmindedly agreed as my mind raced through the hidden meanin
g of what he’d just told me.
“And yeah, you can google Tommy. But wouldn’t you rather she tell you about it herself?”
I let my cell phone—with Google ready to go—drop from my hands to land on the couch cushion. Yeah, damn it, I would rather she confide in me herself.
Wyatt was right. She needed friends more than she needed me and my pathetic, ill-timed crush.
Chapter Seven
Willa
“I’ll die without you, Willa, and your family will tear us apart if we go back.
Stay with me, baby, please…”
Tommy
The temptation to drive out of Green Valley was real. While I was washing the breakfast dishes, Sabrina, my bestie, and her stepdaughters paid me a visit in the kitchen. They were full of questions about me and Everett—had we eaten breakfast together? Was Everett my boyfriend? Would I be their aunt someday? Sure, Sabrina had shushed the “aunt” questions from Wyatt’s girls, but I could tell she was wondering the same thing. The chemistry between me and Everett was obvious and the more I fought it, the more tangible it became. I didn’t want him to become just another person to disappoint. I had to stay away.
Thus far, my life consisted of a sad series of bad decisions all of which culminated in my eventual running away from the consequences. The repercussions from everything I’d ever done had worn me down so much that the pressure to just be here—be home in Green Valley, near all the people I cared about, was becoming overwhelming. I was going to let them all down and the anticipation of that inevitability was making me twitchy. Bolting was an enticing possibility that I couldn’t stop thinking about.
I turned the key in my camper van—if you could even call it that. It wasn’t really a van; my home away from everything was a 1989 flat-nosed Bluebird short school bus with a 5.9 liter Cummins and an automatic transmission. I’d bought it when I was still married to Tommy, thinking we could convert it and use it for camping. He thought it was a stupid waste of money, but I had fun rebuilding the engine, gutting and redesigning the inside, then eventually decorating it. The transformation from short school bus to the glamping extravaganza I had created was extraordinary; it was all me, and I was proud of it. To spite Tommy, I’d painted her a matte, creamy, pale pink and named her The Rambling Rose. I stenciled her name on the side, along with a rose covered dream catcher. I decorated her in pastel shabby chic—lace and flowers, wicker and white-washed wood, broken-tile-mosaic trim and fluffy pillows everywhere. I had a tiny kitchen, bathroom, and convertible bed, plus plenty of storage for all my things. It made being semi-homeless bearable, even almost fun, like an adventure. It was the escape I had so desperately needed after the end of my marriage.
Carpentry and Cocktails: A Heartfelt Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 5) Page 5
