“Okay.” She’d do what he wanted and let the subject drop. For now.
CHAPTER THREE
INSTALLING a dog run was harder than it sounded. For starters, pine trees didn’t come with predrilled holes, meaning she had to figure out a way to attach the rope to the trunk. The easiest solution was to simply tie the rope around the trunk, but she couldn’t get the knot tight enough. Her efforts kept sliding down to the ground, leaving her no choice but to screw a hook directly into the wood. Hopefully doing so wouldn’t hurt the tree.
Jake would know whether it did or not, but she didn’t want to ask. As it was, she felt amazingly self-conscious while she was working, convinced he was watching her miscues, and thinking her a royal idiot. No need to compound the situation with silly questions.
Her eyes strayed to the roof, where the handyman was busy attacking her chimney. Lovable chimney sweep from the children’s movies he was not. He jammed the hard-bristled brush up and down with such fury, the creosote didn’t stand a chance. Working out the pain from before, maybe? What was his story anyhow?
Beads of sweat had formed on the bridge of her nose, causing her glasses to slide. Taking them off, she wiped her damp skin with her sleeve. Man, but it was hot. She wasn’t used to physical labor in the heat. If installing a doggy run counted as labor, that was. Still, she was hot and sticky. Jake had to be even stickier. He was working three times as hard and had yet to take a break.
“I’m grabbing a cold drink,” she called up to him. “Do you want one?”
He shook his head and, after pausing briefly to wipe the sweat from his face, continued working.
“Talk about stubborn,” Zoe said to Reynaldo. The dachshund was laid out dozing on the concrete step. “He wouldn’t accept my offer of a drink while we were on the Vineyard, he wouldn’t take one after his ‘fresh air break,’ and now he’s still refusing. Either the man’s impervious to heat or he wants to be hot and miserable.” After today’s events, she was leaning toward the latter.
“Well, I don’t care how often he refused, he has to be thirsty. I am.”
She grabbed two bottles of ice water from the kitchen fridge and made her way to the ladder propped on the side of the house.
When she reached the roof, she saw Jake had finished his chimney assault. He stood with his back to her, breathing hard. Sweat and soot had turned his light gray T-shirt dark and heavy. The material stuck to his upper back like a dirty second skin. Zoe couldn’t help noticing the muscles underneath. She was close enough that she could see the way they rippled like water every time he breathed deep. A wave of female awareness coiled through her. Even standing still, he moved with grace. Her fingers twitched a little as she wondered what the view might look like beneath the cotton. Was it as hard and taut as the rest of him?
Flushing, she cleared her thoughts and her throat. “I decided to bring you a drink anyway.”
His spine stiffened, and she could tell, despite making noise, she’d startled him, making her feel all the more like a voyeur for her earlier thoughts. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were deep in thought. Here.”
“Do you always do what you want regardless of what people tell you?”
Talk about a loaded comment. Thoughts of Paul came to mind. “Unfortunately, yes. See, it’s kind of my job to know best. Ever hear of ‘Ask Zoe’?”
“No.”
She wasn’t surprised. He didn’t strike her as the type to peruse the arts and lifestyle section. “It’s a nationally syndicated advice column. People write in and ask me what they should do.”
“And you tell them.”
“That’s the point of asking me, isn’t it?”
“What if you’re wrong?”
What if, indeed. “Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “as far as bringing you water, I prefer to use the term executive overruling. I don’t need you getting light-headed from dehydration and falling off my roof.”
Jake slipped the water from her hand. “Afraid of a lawsuit?”
“One big payout a year is enough, thank you.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced. Once again, she’d said too much. From the way Jake knit his brow, he must have caught her reaction as well. Shoot. Now she felt compelled to explain. “Expensive divorce. And before you say anything, yes, I’m aware of how ironic my situation sounds.”
“Ironic?”
“A divorced advice columnist.” She tried for a self-deprecating smile. “Guess I can be wrong sometimes.”
She was grateful that Jake didn’t reply; he was too busy draining his unwanted water bottle. Zoe tried not to notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each swallow or how his biceps bulged from one simple bend of his arm.
Instead, she turned her attention to the shore across the street. There weren’t many places where you could get a better bird’s-eye view of the island. Below them, Naushatucket spread out in beige, navy and green glory.
She scrambled up the last couple of rungs to get a better look, realizing only when she reached her destination how steeply pitched the Cape Cod-style roof was. Standing was awkward at best.
Pressing a hand to the chimney for support, she sat down. Across the street, the beach was mostly empty. The waves rolled gently toward them, their swells dark curves on the water’s surface.
To her surprise, Jake lowered himself next to her. She could feel him looking at her. Zoe continued watching the waves. He’d spent the better part of the day ignoring her existence; she could do the same.
Except she hadn’t counted on his attention making her skin twitch. Did the man always stare so intently? Even now, his gaze felt like it was looking inside her rather than at her.
“What?” she asked finally.
“Chimney’s done,” he replied. “You can use it tonight.”
“Yay!” she cheered, although sitting in this heat, it was hard to remember why she’d needed a working fireplace to begin with.
She returned to studying the waves, the view turning her thoughtful. It didn’t take long for those thoughts to become words. “There’s something very centering about the islands, don’t you think?”
“If you say so.”
“Seriously. The idea of land, solid and strong, while surrounded by water. Can’t get much more centered than that.” Thoughts of her failures bubbled to the surface. “It’s why I bought this place, you know. I was hoping some of that balance would rub off on me.”
“How metaphysical of you.”
“I take it you disagree with my theory.”
Jake shrugged. “You can have any theory you want.”
“From your tone, though, you don’t believe a place can rub off on you.”
“Rub off on you? Sure. But what you’re talking about is a sense of peace.” He raised the bottle to his mouth. “Big difference,” he muttered over the rim. “Helluva big difference.”
Zoe wondered if he meant for his sigh to be so long or so sad. She waited for him to go on, hoping for more explanation, but he simply tossed his empty water bottle over the edge of the roof. “Flashing around your chimney needs replacing,” he said. “And you’ve got some loose shingles. Maybe even some soft spots in the wood.”
Once again changing the subject. They were both, it appeared, quite adept at doing so. “That your way of telling me I need a new roof?”
“Depends,” he replied with a shrug. “How badly do you want water leaking in?”
Short answer? She didn’t. Neither did she relish spending a lot of money on home repairs, which it looked like she was about to do. Damn her mother and Charles for not paying attention to this place.
It was her turn to sigh. “I don’t suppose you know how to repair roofs.”
“I’ve fixed one or two.”
“Think you can fix this one?”
“Maybe.”
Not the answer she wanted to hear. Why bring the darn repairs up, if he wasn’t looking for the work?
Jake had pushed himself
to his feet. Zoe immediately scrambled after him, except she lacked his innate grace and immediately began wobbling on the pitched slope. For the second time that day, a strong hand wrapped around her forearm, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Awareness had pooled at the spot where Jake’s skin met hers. In the back of her mind, she noted that for a firm grip, his touch was surprisingly light and gentle. “Guess I won’t be dancing on rooftops anytime soon,” she said, attempting a smile.
The attempt wasn’t returned. “You’ve got droppings,” he said.
“What?”
“On the chimney. Probably bats.”
Did he say bats? A shiver ran through her, and not the good kind of shiver, either. “Like in get-in-your-hair carry-rabies bats?” As if there were any other kind.
This time there was an attempted smile, or at least he quirked the corner of his mouth. “Afraid you’ll have to mount another rescue mission?”
“Try attack. Are you sure there are bats?”
“Don’t usually get guano otherwise.”
And here she’d thought the swallow was her only pest problem. Bats? The very idea they could be living in her crawl spaces would keep her up all night. Turning her face to his, she mustered her best desperate expression. Not all that hard to do, seeing as she was desperate.
“Can you help me?” she asked him. “Please?”
The sigh Jake gave this time held an additional note. One that she swore sounded a lot like defeat. Zoe watched as he opened his mouth to speak, stopped and then looked down to where he still held her arm. The awareness flared anew. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
“I’ll have to let you know.”
She was waiting for a better answer; Jake could tell. But he was purposely ignoring the flash of orange perched on his ladder. If he looked, he would only find himself staring. It’d been happening all day. As long as she was near his line of sight, his eyes would find her. It was driving him mad. And the way his skin felt whenever he touched her, like it was alive… Well, he didn’t like that, either.
So instead of looking, he forced his attention onto the chimney. What he should have done was go home after that debacle in the store, but home would have only made his mood worse. When working he could bury the thoughts for a little while, ’til he collapsed in a heap of numbness and exhaustion. At least he used to be able to, before bright orange T-shirts and bouncy ponytails got in the way.
Why did he have to bring up the bats? Or the fact he was the only handyman on the island for that matter? Now, he was stuck. Only a coldhearted bastard could look at her face, with that quivering lower lip of hers, and say no. He had no choice but to help her now.
From below he could hear that damn dachshund yipping, followed by Zoe’s admonishment to be patient. Sounded like the dog needed centering, too. Imagine thinking you could find peace by staying here on Naushatucket. If only it were that simple. Someone needed to tell her the truth: once you step on the wrong path, no amount of “balance” or redirection will make up for the distance you’ve already traveled. You can’t go back. To use her word from this morning: life didn’t come with do-overs.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the potential bat infestation dominating Zoe’s thoughts the rest of the day, but the man sweeping her chimney.
On second thought, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. After all, he’d been stuck in her head before the bat news; why wouldn’t he stay there? Especially after hearing that long, sad sigh. The sound was now permanently merged with the memory of his expression outside the hardware store. So much pain and so many impenetrable layers. She wondered if anyone could ever get through them all to help.
“He’s definitely a puzzle begging to be solved,” she remarked to Reynaldo as they snuggled on the sofa later that night.
You’re doing it again, the voice chimed. Getting sucked in. She couldn’t resist a challenge any more than she could a sad story. Maybe if she could, she’d have seen the truth about Paul a lot sooner.
The fire in her newly cleaned fireplace crackled merrily, the flame painting the living room a soft orange. Yawning, Zoe tugged the comforter from off the back of the sofa and draped it over her and Reynaldo. A day of exertion in the sun had left her drowsy and more than a little stiff. She wondered how Jake’s hip was doing. He’d been limping pretty badly when she saw him finally drag that ladder across the backyard.
Don’t start, Zoe.
Her subconscious had a point. She had hundreds of readers looking for her advice. If she was desperate to solve other people’s problems, she should focus on them, not the neighbor who had quite clearly told her to butt out.
Still, seeing the pain in those green eyes…
At some point she must have drifted off because before she realized it the pillow beneath her cheek was buzzing. Her cell phone, she realized drowsily. Probably Caroline, calling to nag her about this week’s column. She never balked at calling at weird hours and the column was overdue.
“I’m working on it, Caroline,” she barked into the transmitter. “No need to check in daily.”
“You work too hard, babe.”
Paul. Zoe nearly dropped the phone. She hadn’t heard his voice in months. Not since she walked out. Hearing it now made her stomach drop.
Balling her free hand into a fist, she took a deep breath, willing her insides to still. “What do you want?” she managed to ask.
“Since when does a guy need an excuse to call his wife?”
“Ex-wife.” Now she was over the shock, clarity was setting in. Thankfully. “I distinctly remember sending you papers. We’re no longer married.”
“I’ll always think of us as married in my heart.”
Didn’t he mean wallet? “So much so you haven’t tried to contact me since February.”
“I wanted to give you your space.”
“My space.” He’d certainly given her that, and then some.
“Because I knew I screwed up.” There was a pause. She imagined him chewing his thumb; he always did when nervous or deep in thought. “Truth is, I wasn’t sure you’d talk to me.”
“What makes you think I’m willing to talk with you now?”
He chuckled. “You answered the phone, didn’t you?”
“Because I thought you were Caroline. I can still hang up, and I will, unless you tell me why you’re calling.”
“I miss you.”
“I’ve been gone for months, Paul.” He’d been gone even longer, but she doubted he’d understand what she meant.
Meanwhile, he ignored her comment. “I’m playing Savannah this weekend. Remember last year? The tenth hole? The water hazard?”
“I remember.” She also remembered him sweet-talking her into ponying up for lessons with Lars Anderson afterward.
“We were good together, Zo.”
“Were we?”
“Of course, we were. We were Team Brodsky.”
Team Brodsky. She’d coined the silly moniker the night she proposed. At the time, Paul had been on the brink of making the tour. “Make me your partner,” she’d said. “We can do great things together. Team Brodsky, all the way to number one.” Her backing, his talent. That’d been the plan anyway.
“Ancient history,” she said.
“Doesn’t have to be.” His voice dropped a notch, turning all honeyed and soft.
Once upon a time, that tone of voice would have sent her heart fluttering. Today it brought nothing but regret and bitterness.
“You were—you are—my lucky charm, babe. Always have been.”
Not to mention his bankroll. She read the sports pages. He’d missed the cut in the last tournament. His short game was slipping without the expensive coach she’d been paying for.
On the other end of the line, there was another pause. More thumb-biting, she presumed. Finally he spoke again, clearly taking her silence as a willingness to listen. “What do you say? Can we at least talk? That’s all I’m asking for. A chance to see you. I need you, Zo
e.”
And there it was, her Achilles’ heel. Need. Forget sob stories and challenges. Never had there been a more powerful four-letter word, at least for her, and Paul knew it. Already she could feel the guilt building in her chest. Squeezing the phone, her nails bending against the plastic casing, she fought the emotion’s grip. “I have to go.”
“One meeting, Zoe. One.”
“Goodbye, Paul.”
She hung up before he could muster another argument, then quickly blocked his number from her phone before he could call again. And he would call again. Paul never liked rejection.
Dammit! She tossed the phone to the other end of the sofa, where it fell into the cushions. Why’d she have to answer the phone in the first place? Why didn’t she take the time to look at the call screen?
It wasn’t that she loved Paul. On the contrary, she was angry she had let herself be blinded by infatuation for as long as she did. Zoe Hamilton, Advice Columnist and Patsy. Tell her you need her, and you can walk all over her. Well, no more. Just like Team Brodsky, her days of becoming personally involved were history.
All of a sudden, her warm, cozy living room felt hot and stifling. To quote her neighbor, she needed some fresh air. Outside was still light enough that she could take a good brisk walk on the beach and clear her head.
“Come on, Rey.” She nudged the sleeping dog. “Let’s get out of here.”
Grabbing the dachshund’s leash, she headed out the patio door. Halfway through, she collided with a wall of muscle and bay rum.
“There a problem?” she heard Jake ask.
She had a problem all right. Her life. “I was taking Reynaldo for a walk.”
Since leaving her, he’d showered and changed. His bangs hung wet against his forehead, and she noticed droplet stains on the collar of his work shirt. The top three buttons were undone, revealing an expanse of tanned skin and blond chest hair. To her mounting annoyance, he looked way too good.
He held up a flashlight and what looked like a fisherman’s net. “I thought you wanted to tackle your bat problem.”
Right, the bats. Dealing with her pest of an ex-husband had made her forget her house was potentially infested with rabid winged creatures. “And I thought you had to think about it?” she snapped back. Uncalled for? Yes. But he was staring at her in that intense way of his again, and she wasn’t in the mood. She wasn’t in the mood for anything right now except Reynaldo and a long walk on the beach.
The Heart of a Hero Page 4
