by Aubrey Irons
I snort, before immediately feeling awful for laughing and straightening my face. “No,” I say quickly, “she is not.”
“Wasted opportunity with that name.”
I roll my eyes as I follow him down the stairs. We reach the bottom, and I suddenly gasp and lunge forward as he heads towards the side table where I was just attempting to sort laundry before I realized the water wasn’t working.
“Oh, um, hang on.”
I push past him and start shoving my laundry back into the hamper.
“Sorry,” I mumble, turning back to see him grinning at me with his arms over his chest. “I was about to do laundry. That’s why I’m wearing this, actually,” I add in for some stupid reason.
Rowan grins.
“What?”
“You’re twenty-one?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, you own an outfit that consists of an over-sized youth ministry t-shirt that tucks into khakis.”
I scowl at him. “It’s just a shirt and pants, I don’t see what the big deal is.”
He shrugs as he moves past me to the shelving next to the table and starts pulling down a flashlight and a set of wrenches. “I’m just saying, I think I preferred that hot little sundress over this church-mom look.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me, the way I dress is in no way influenced by your opinion.”
“Too bad. I think my opinion has better fashion sense than you.”
My face sours, and I’m about to say something biting in return when he chuckles. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasing you.” He moves to a set of pipes running across the ceiling of the basement. “This joist was causing issues earlier. Do me favor,” he passes the flashlight. “Can you head over there to the tank and crank the knob to the right?”
I snatch the flashlight from his hand and march across the room. “Well if the water worked, I could’ve worn my sundress, or any other of the very nice clothes I have, thank you very much.”
“So you’re saying you would dress up for me?”
“What? No, I-”
“How’s that knob?”
“Twisted,” I mutter.
“Great.”
He reaches up, his t-shirt pulling tight across his broad shoulders and the biceps of his arm. He grips the big wrench tightly, muscles flexing and the ink across them rippling as he starts to twist at the pipe.
I quickly look away.
Temptations of the flesh.
“Hey, shine that light over here?”
I move closer to him as I angle the flashlight up into the ceiling.
“Yep, this should-”
I shriek as the icy cold water erupts from the pipe, dousing us both instantly. Rowan swears loudly, sputtering under the spray as he quickly turns the wrench the other direction.
The water stops.
“Fuck,” he mutters, spitting water and pushing his hair out of his face as he turns back to me. “Did you turn that knob to the right or the-”
He freezes, and his eyes suddenly flicker with something hungry.
“I-”
I glance down and my eyes go wide before I quickly wrap my arms over my now completely see-through, totally clinging to my body wet white t-shirt.
“Well don’t look,” I hiss as he just stands there grinning at me.
“Sorta hard not to, darlin’.” He makes a clucking sound with his tongue as he heads over to the tank and turns the knob the correct way this time. “Preacher’s daughter walking around town without a bra, huh? Quite the scandal.”
“I was doing laundry,” I mutter, scowling at him as he strides back over. I swallow thickly. I’m not the only one that’s been drenched. His own white t-shirt is soaked through, clinging to every bulge, groove, and hard-chiseled line of his chest. I can see his tattoos bleeding through the soaked cotton, my eyes tracing over them as I stand there like an idiot staring at him.
“Glass houses, angel.”
“What?”
Rowan chuckles as he raises the wrench back to the pipe. “Well don’t look,” he says in this ridiculously mocking falsetto voice.
“I don’t sound like that.”
“Not at all.”
The wrench turns, and this time, we’re not showered with freezing cold water. He tightens something else, muttering as he does, before stepping away. He goes back to the knob on the tank and twists it.
“Alright, water should be working now.” He nods at the sink next to the washer and dryer. “Give it a whirl.”
I turn on the faucet, and water splashes out.
“You’re welcome.”
“Thank you.” I turn and smile genuinely at him. “Honestly.”
“No problem.”
My eyes linger for another second on that chest of his, the way the shirt clings to every single groove of his abs. I clear my throat, looking away and tightening my arms over my chest.
“I’ll walk you out.”
At the door, he turns. “Hey, one last question.”
“Yeah?” I smile at him.
“You were doing laundry.”
“Yes.”
“Hence the, uh, lack of undergarments up top?”
I flush crimson, hastily looking at the floor. “I think we’ve been over this.”
“Right, well, that just leaves one lingering question.”
“Which is?”
Rowan grins as he leans close. “Well now I’m just dying to know if you’re going commando under those khakis, too.”
“Commando?”
He wags his brows at me, and my face goes bright red all over again.
“Oh my God!” I blush furiously as he snorts a laugh.
“Good night, Rowan,” I hiss as I shove him — still laughing — out the front door and shut it behind him.
Chapter Six
Rowan
That wasn’t exactly smart, and I know it.
This isn’t some townie girl, or some drunk bachelor party chick. This is the preacher’s daughter, off limits, probably-saving-herself-for-marriage Eva Ellis.
Flirting with her — with any girl like her is wrong. And I know better.
Because as fast and loose as I am with women, I do — believe it or not — have guidelines. No married chicks, no one clingy, no one who doesn’t move as fast as I do.
I might go ahead and add “no one with a fire-and-brimstone southern preacher of a father” to the list if anything my dad has told me about Leonard Ellis is true — and I warrant it is.
And so it’s with that thought in mind that I do my damnedest to get the images of Eva Ellis’s perfect — and I do mean goddamn perfect — nipples poking through the wet, transparent cotton of her t-shirt out of my head as I walk back to the bar.
“Shouldn’t you be slinging drinks, bucko?”
Aww, fuck.
I’m halfway back to the bar when I hear the voice from behind me, and I whirl.
“Hey, Rich.”
Every town, however nice, and however postcard-picturesque for the tourists like Shelter Harbor, has a Richard Ling. A while back, our version of Richard was my friend Silas’s uncle Declan, before he got shoved into Walpole State Penitentiary for the next twenty-five to thirty.
Since then, we’ve had all sorts of scumbags vying to be the next top, well, scumbag, I guess. Richard Ling ended up at the top of the heap.
It’s worth mentioning that Rich is also a top-of-his-game loan shark.
It’s also worth mentioning that I owe Richard Ling a substantial amount of money.
“You gonna answer the question?” Rich smirks at me, standing there in the ridiculous chunky-cut suit he’s always wearing like he’s goddamn Al Capone.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, man, I just had a thing to take care of.”
“That ‘thing’ involve you jumping in the fucking harbor?” He chuckles at his own joke before elbowing the big guy accompanying him — appropriately known around town as Big Gus — in the ribs, prompting him to chuckle along.
Richard
nods at my soaking wet clothes.
“Burst pipe.”
“I’m sure. You know tomorrow’s the first.”
I swallow, eyeing Big Gus standing next to him and wondering how well I’ll run a bar with my knee in a cast. Strangely enough, Gus is an old-school regular at O’Donnell’s. Off the job, the guy chases five shots of Jameson with five Sam Adams pints, loves putting Aerosmith on the jukebox, and will even actively talk Red Sox with me at the bar.
On the job, the guy is one mean motherfucker who could probably break me over his fucking knee.
“I know tomorrow’s the first, Rich.”
“Which means I’m sure my money will be waiting for Gus here when he stops by.”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” he mimics, smiling.
Loan sharks are bad enough to deal with without them being twenty-four-year-old douchebags with an obnoxious sense of humor.
“There a reason you’re stalking me out on the street like this, Rich?”
“Felt like a walk. I like walking don’t you, Hammond?”
I spread my hands. “There’s no need for dramatics, man.”
Rich smiles at me, the predatory kind of smile only a predator like him can flash. It’s the kind of smile that says he knows I’m twisting in the wind here.
O’Donnell’s came cheap when I bought it from the Gerritson family after old Tom Gerritson who’d owned it for decades finally kicked the bucket. Cheap, but not free. My dad helped, but I wasn’t about to go crying to my folks about just how little savings I had. Live in Shelter Harbor long enough — even if you’ve got the famous Hammond last name — and you get to know enough people that even the bad ones start to make themselves known.
Rich is the definition of bad people. Young, ambitious, and just enough of a connection to the Southie Boston crime world to be dangerous.
And I went and borrowed eighty-fucking-thousand dollars from him.
Not my best move, but it got me the bar.
“Look, man, why don’t you stop by tomorrow too, huh? We’ll have some drinks, and-”
“I don’t give a shit about your bar, Rowan.” Rich pulls a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, elbowing Gus into lighting it for him in this eye rolling way like he’s the godfather or something.
“I don’t give a shit about your bar, I don’t give a shit about whatever shit beer you want to pour me, and I don’t give nearly enough of a shit to hang out with you and pretend we’re buddies, okay?”
I clear my throat. “Right.”
“I just want the money.”
“It’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. I’m thrilled. You’re doing what you’re supposed to do. You want a fucking medal?”
“Sure, you got one?”
Rich narrows his eyes at me. “Gus, give the man his prize.”
Thanks, mouth.
Gus’s fist knocks me square in the jaw, knocking me to my ass. I groan as I go down, stars blinking in front of my eyes as my head spins.
“We done here?”
I spit, my fists clenching and my jaw tightening as I start to get up, when Gus leans close.
“Stay the fuck down,” he mutters.
Reason gets the best of me, and I sit on the curb.
“I said we done here?”
“Yeah, yeah we’re done here,” I mutter.
I hang on the curb, wishing to God I still fucking smoked until they’re long gone. Eventually, I pull my ass up, and swear and shuffle my way back to the bar in soaking wet jeans.
And you’d think wet clothes, a run in with my loan shark, and punch to the face would put a damper on the inappropriate thoughts of Evangeline Ellis’s perfect tits through her wet, see-through white shirt.
You’d be wrong.
Chapter Seven
Evangeline
“Dinner was fantastic, Irene, thank you."
Mrs. Hammond — Rowan’s mother — smiles warmly at my father as he eases back in his chair. “Oh, of course, Leonard. We’re just so glad you all could come up and help Jacob out with this whole thing.”
She’s warm, and homey in a way where I find myself thinking she’d fit right in with the southern ladies from back home.
“More scalloped potatoes?”
My father shakes his head and rubs his torso. “Oh, please, no, I don’t think I could manage.”
Jacob Hammond chuckles, reaching over to pat my father on the shoulder as he glances at my mother. “You know, Ruth, this guy used to pack it away back in seminary school.”
My mother laughs quietly and abruptly, like she always does when showing any sort of joy or excitement around company. “Oh, well, he still does.”
Her mouth purses as soon as she’s finished, looking down at her plate. I wish I could say “she wasn’t always like this”, but the truth of it is, my mother’s been quietly subservient to my father ever since I can remember.
“A woman’s place is by her husband’s side, abiding by him and caring for him, Evangeline.”
Jacob grins as he pats his own stomach — much rounder than my father’s lean form. “Well shoot, Leonard, you gotta let me in on your secret!”
His wife laughs, hers much warmer, and room-filling, and more genuine than my mother’s. She pats her husband’s hand before their fingers entwine in a squeeze. It’s loving, and intimate, and I can’t help but notice my mother look at the gesture before quickly darting her eyes back to her own plate.
“Eva? Chastity?” Irene reaches for the scalloped potatoes and passes them our way. “There’s plenty if you girls want seconds. There’s more glazed carrots too, back in the kitchen.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Hammond,” Chastity says with practiced formalness that feels weirdly out of place at this easygoing family dinner, in the warm, love-filled Hammond house.
I shake my head as well. “No, thank you.”
“I’ll take some more of those carrots, Ma.”
Rowan stands from where he’s been parked to my right. “Anyone want a beer while I’m up? Dad? Silas?”
Jacob shakes his head, but the quiet, good-looking man with dark hair sitting next to Rowan’s sister Ivy shrugs. “Yeah, I could do one more. Thanks, man.”
“Ivy?”
Rowan’s gorgeous, blond-haired sister shakes her head. “Nah, I’m good.”
He grins as he glances at his dad. “See? Told you she was pregnant.”
“Rowan Murray Hammond!” His mother throws a napkin at him as he laughs.
“I am not!” Ivy shoots her brother a look, chucking her own napkin at him as well in a way that brings a smile to my face.
“She’s not, dude, she’s just driving tonight.” Silas laughs before turning to his wife. “You’re not, right?”
Ivy rolls her eyes. “No!”
Rowan beams. “Just teasing you, Slimy.” He glances up the table at my father, who isn’t showing an iota of the warmth or cheer the rest of the Hammond family is.
“How about you, Leonard? Beer?”
“I abstain from alcohol, son.”
Rowan’s brow arches. “Oh yeah? Health cleanse or you just don’t-”
“Alcohol is just one of the many temptations meant to lead us astray from the gates of Heaven.”
Rowan’s mouth snaps shut. “Right, right. So, that’s a no,” he finishes under his breath as he heads for the kitchen with his plate.
“So, we’re all set for Monday,” Jacob says leaning back in his chair and turning to my father. “We’ve got some of the volunteers from my congregation coming at eight, and the fundraising team from over at First Parish in Stoughton will be joining them as well to help with the basic logistics.”
He smiles at my father, who only nods solemnly.
“I’m glad you’re here, Leonard. It’s been too long.”
“Indeed, Jacob, indeed,” my father nods quietly. “You’re doing God’s work here with this project.”
“Well, there’s a lot of folks who are going to be benefited by ha
ving a safe place to come sleep and get some food.”
“And to hear the word of the Lord.”
“And that,” Jacob says with a smile.
“Well, I’m glad to be part of it, and glad I could bring Evangeline and Chastity as well.”
Rowan saunters back into the room with a second plate of food and two beers, his eyes flicking to mine before I look away.
“Oh, and Rowan here is a handy guy. He’ll be on site when he can get away from the bar to help with the bigger construction stuff.”
“I thought it was a restaurant?” Chastity frowns.
Jacob shakes his head, chuckling. “O’Donnell’s? Oh, please.” He laughs heartily. “Rowan’s cleaned it up, but I’m not sure I’d eat anything I found there.”
Rowan chuckles as he passes Silas a beer and takes a sip from his own.
“I’ve heard about your handiness, Rowan.” My father addresses him from across the table.
“Oh yeah?”
“The pipes. Evangeline told me all about you coming over to fix the water.”
“Oh that was nice of you honey,” Irene says as she reaches across the table and pats his arm.
“Such a gentleman,” Silas says with a slight twinkle in his grin as he shakes his head at his friend.
Rowan beams as he turns back. “Yeah, no problem. The whole thing was real transparent once I got a good look at it.”
My eyes dart to his and realize he’s looking right at me with that grin on his face.
I shiver.
Transparent.
He’s talking about my shirt, and I know it.
“That’s where you get the bruise?” Ivy frowns as she looks at the bump on the side of Rowan’s head. “From a pipe?”
My brow furrows, and I’m about to open my mouth when he shoots me a quick look.
“Yep.”
He holds my eyes for another second before he turns back to his sister and takes a sip of beer. “Yeah, it’s fine though.”
I’m in the kitchen after dinner and after Ivy and Silas leave, helping to put dishes put away, despite Irene insisting that we leave it be.
I told her it was my southern roots that wouldn’t let me not help.
Chastity said something about the kitchen being a woman’s place that left a bit of an awkward silence.
