She splashed him, furious and humiliated.
"Stop! It is not funny! I could have been killed, you horse's ass!"
He laughed harder.
It took Justin a good five minutes to stop laughing and another five to finish asking questions about shapewear. The man knew nothing about body shaping undergarments and was, apparently, mystified by it. When she tried to explain how one entered and removed the stretchy spandex, he lost it again, and she had to wait, glaring, while he recovered.
Not nearly soon enough, his questions—and laughter—were spent. They treaded water side by side in the swimming hole, and Elle let the sound of the waterfall surround her in a peaceful cocoon.
After a few minutes, she started to wonder about Justin. He was so different from the men she dated. He didn’t try to compliment her, or censor what he said to her—and she still wasn’t sure what she thought about that. But, more than anything, it was refreshing being with a man who didn’t seem to want her to act anything but like herself.
She wanted to know more about him. Not that they were dating. And not that she wanted to date Justin. Obviously.
“So tell me,” she asked, trying to distract herself from a dangerous line of thinking. “What was it like growing up here?”
“I loved it,” he said simply. “Well, I loved this kind of stuff. Swimming holes, hiking, exploring. But it wasn’t perfect.”
She waited.
“Kids could be mean,” he said. “There weren’t many single mothers, and they liked to pick on us. It didn’t bother me as much, but my older brother had it pretty bad, and Amy too.”
Elle was quiet for a moment. “Is your dad … ?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about him. She came from a big family on the coast. Did the whole debutante thing. Got married, had kids. Then she left him. Moved up here.”
“That must have been hard,” she said.
“She made the most of it for us. When Mrs. Vanhelt hired her at the inn, that changed everything. Gave us a place to live, gave her an income.”
“So it’s more than just a job for you, it’s your home.”
He gave her a look. One she couldn’t decipher. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Is that why you work there?”
Justin kicked back a little, still treading water with ease. “It’s important to my mom. I’d like to buy the owner out, and make sure she has a place there as long as she wants it … but I’m not sure I can.”
“Because you can’t afford it?” Elle wanted to bite her tongue the moment she said it. Why did she need to bring up money? Obviously, he couldn’t afford a place like Oak Bramble. Surely it was worth far more than he’d ever earned as a groundskeeper.
“Something like that,” he said, his tone ending the conversation.
He swam closer to her, and she thought for one wild moment that he was going to kiss her.
What surprised her most, though, was that she wasn’t sure she’d mind.
He floated in the water, coming close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his body, even in the cold water. Elle parted her lips, waiting. Wondering.
Then he dunked her.
Elle came up, spluttering and furious. “You—you—! What kind of man dunks a woman?”
He gave her a sly grin, swimming away. “This kind.”
She had to laugh. Justin might not be who or what she expected, but she was starting to realize that made him far more fun. She liked not caring about how she looked, or whether she had snot running down her face. She could do whatever she wanted, without worrying about what a proper lady would do, whether or not Justin wanted her, or what her mother would think of him.
It was … freeing.
But since she didn’t care, that meant she could fight dirty. Too bad for him she was a fantastic swimmer.
Elle dove and delighted in pulling him under the water.
This time, she was the one to gloat when he rose, spluttering, to the surface.
When he recovered, he gave her an assessing look. “You’re not who I thought you were,” he said, almost to himself.
“Funny,” she said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Have I graduated from an unsavory type?”
She laughed.
They swam until Elle grew chilled, then worked their way up the hill, laughing and joking. Elle kept slipping on the muddy slope until Justin grabbed her hand and pulled her up after him.
She slipped again and crashed into him, laughing too hard to be self-conscious. Justin caught her at her waist and pulled her into his body. Again, they were skin to skin. Well, skin to shapewear. But this time, she didn't pull away.
Justin's eyes, brown with those hidden bits of gold, glittered as he looked down at her.
Elle caught her breath.
For one long, beautiful moment, she wanted him to kiss her.
He looked down.
She looked up.
She moved closer.
Then, she remembered who she was, who he was.
Elle wasn’t made for flings. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed someone she didn’t plan to vet as a potential husband.
What am I doing?
Elle pushed back with an embarrassed, "Sorry. I lost my balance."
He cleared his throat. "You need to stop doing that," he said, his voice was teasing, but with a strained edge.
They were quiet as they pulled dry clothes over wet underthings.
"Well that was fun," she said as they walked back to Justin's truck. "Thanks."
He shrugged. "No problem. Just …” He sounded torn about something.
“What?” she asked, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t breathless.
He gestured to her and said, “That thing you’re wearing is see-through. I thought you might want to know.”
Chapter 11
Justin left Elle at the main house and went to his apartment to clean up. His apartment was actually a small renovated toolshed on the outskirts of the property, hidden in the forest beyond the inn's grounds. The place was small and spartan, but it was home.
When Justin had moved back to the Valley from California, he'd taken over the old shed, first gutting it out, then remodeling it to be a small apartment. It was large enough to house a few riding mowers, and now it was more than enough space for him. He'd poured himself into the project, and he could still taste the fierceness of his focus on the place.
The exterior was unfinished corrugated metal and refurbished wood planks. Inside, he'd lined the walls with whitewashed wood, scraps he'd sanded by hand, and laid dark gray slate on the floor. Justin didn't need or want much in the way of furnishings, but he had a bed long enough to accommodate him, a reading chair and bookshelf, and stools at a tall bar next to the kitchenette. The kitchenette was small; he depended on the main house—and Jess—for any meal that required something more complicated than boiling water.
The bathroom was an addition he'd splurged on—the small room boasted a dual headed shower and custom tile work. He hadn't planned on adding the room, but trying to shower in too-small stalls had gotten old fast.
He stripped and stepped into the shower. The hot spray pounded into his neck and shoulders, relieving the tension of the morning, and washing away the dirt and grime the swimming hole hadn't been able to remove.
Justin didn't miss his last L.A. apartment, with its beach view and high-end appliances. Not for a minute. The toolshed was simple, but he wanted it that way. No distractions. Nothing fancy or complicated. And each morning he woke an unobstructed view of the blue mountains, thanks to a wide window he'd installed opposite his bed.
Jess and Amy told him he was an idiot to put this much time and effort into a toolshed. Perhaps they were right. Looking back, though, he was glad he did it. He had a place to himself, a place to step away from the noise and busyness of the main house. And, he had to admit, the place had been a lifeline after Adam had died.
His grief and frus
tration went into every piece of polished wood, every paint stroke. Adam had been his best friend and business partner. One night of partying had gone too far, and his friend had overdosed, then later died when his heart failed.
It had been the longest night of Justin's life.
After losing Adam, Justin had quit his job, sold all his stuff, and moved back to North Carolina. He was a wreck. Couldn't stand to be around people. Wasn't able to make small talk or pretend everything was okay.
Working on the shed made him human again.
Then, when the shed was done and he itched for something to keep his mind busy, he'd set his sights on Oak Bramble.
Ever since Justin was in high school, old man Vanhelt's interest in his inn had been dwindling. By the time Justin returned from the west coast, Vanhelt was owner only in name. The old man stayed in his big house in downtown Woodbine Valley and didn't come out to the inn. Not even when the place was in the black.
It was the opportunity—and distraction—Justin had needed. He took the reins so his mom could focus on doing what she loved—cooking, baking, decorating, chatting up guests and making the place feel like a home. Justin handled maintenance tasks and moved the by-hand booking to an online system. He redesigned the website, purchased ads in local tourist magazines, and—once they were making a profit again—hired Jo and her crew to help him fix up the grounds.
Now Oak Bramble was a solid success. With better numbers, they got the go-ahead from Vanhelt to update Jess's kitchen. To hire more cleaning staff. To fix up the cottages.
Justin wanted Jess to have a place to make a living doing what she loved. It was why he'd scrimped and saved. Why he took on odd jobs in town even when he'd spent the entire day working at the inn.
Jess had given her kids everything, and Justin wanted her to have something of her own in return. She deserved it.
Deep down, he knew he wanted to atone for his past. For leaving the Valley when his Mom needed him. For Adam.
And if a small part of him wondered what he could do with the money if he weren't buying Oak Bramble? Well. It didn't matter.
He turned off the hot water. After stepping from the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist. A quick glance at the mirror told him he needed to shave, but the idea of looking clean cut in front of Elle made him decide to leave it. He'd bet good money she hated scruffy-faced men. He grinned at the thought.
His cell buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up, checking the screen before answering.
“Lynn,” he said.
“Jus, how’s it going?” she asked, in her raspy voice. Lynn had been into music since they were kids. She traveled with her band now, and Justin kept tabs on her, noting her successful shows and tracking her tours. Even though he hadn’t been to one of her shows in years. Two years, to be exact.
“I was just thinking about you,” he said. Which was true. Thinking of Adam made him think of Lynn.
“In my underwear?”
He chuckled. “Hell no. I was thinking about that time you, me, and Adam went to the swimming hole—“
“And we stole his clothes?”
“Man, he was pissed. He had to hitch a ride holding branches over himself—I still can’t believe he talked someone into picking him up.”
“That was Adam,” she said, her voice amused, but sad. “The man could talk anyone into anything.”
Adam had been their best friend when they were kids. And, later, Lynn’s boyfriend. After he died, Lynn traveled more. She extended her tours to cities all along the east coast, and her voice drew crowds who sought out the bare honesty and haunting harmony of her music.
It was that same honesty that drove Justin away until their friendship dwindled to infrequent phone calls.
“I’m going to be in town next week,” Lynn was saying. “Wanna grab a drink?”
Justin paused. “Well …”
“Don’t be an ass. Let’s get a drink. You can pay for it. It’ll make you feel better for not jumping at the chance to see me.”
“I can’t. I have too much going on here. But next time.”
He could hear her disappointment in her sigh. “Come on, Jus. Stop pushing me away.”
Justin didn’t know how to reply. So he said nothing.
“Fine. Be an ass. Just call me when you’re ready to get over yourself.”
Justin dressed and grabbed his hat and glasses. Annoyance—at himself, at Lynn for calling him out—made his movements rushed and hurried. Before he could leave, there was a knock at the door.
"Justin, honey. You home?"
"Yeah, Mom," he said, opening the door. "Come on in. I was just heading to the big house."
Jess fluttered into the room. She'd lost her shawl and wore a long, flowing skirt and a loose top. With her bangles and long earrings, she looked more like an artist than a chef, but when Jess wasn't cooking she liked to look "presentable" for guests.
"I won't keep you long,” she said. “But I thought you might want to hear about my chat with Mister Vanhelt."
“Tell me he’s ready to sell,” he said.
“Can’t we sit down?” she asked.
Justin sighed but knew better than to argue. “Sure. Want some coffee?" he asked.
"Tea if you have it."
While Justin put the electric kettle on, she made herself at home. He joined her at the long bar beneath the toolshed's wide window.
He lasted all of a minute before he had to ask: ”How'd it go?"
Jess sighed before turning to him. "It went well," she said. Then, "Really well, actually."
"Great. So he's going to sell."
She tilted her head. "Yes and no."
The kettle clicked off, and Justin stood to make tea. He plopped two tea bags in mismatched mugs, then brought the steaming drinks to the counter.
Jess took hers. She bobbed the tea bag in her mug. Blew on her tea.
"Mom," Justin said. "You're killing me here. What did he say?"
"He's going to sell," she said.
Justin leaned back with an exhale of pent up breath. "Finally."
"Well, there's a hitch."
He sat up on his stool. "What hitch?"
"He'll sell, but only to me."
"To you? But that makes no sense. I'm the one who approached him." He pushed away from the counter to pace. "He knows you don't have the money. This is his way of keeping us from owning the place. Dammit."
"Language," Jess said.
"Sorry."
Jess pushed aside her tea without taking a sip. "Sit down and listen to me, would you?"
Justin sat.
"Be honest," she said. "Do you want to buy Oak Bramble for yourself? Or for me?"
That was easy. "For you."
She shook her head. "Why?"
"You deserve it," he said. "You've worked hard here. You put this place on the map. Old man Vanhelt doesn't care about this place. Why shouldn't you own it?"
"But I wouldn't own it, sweetheart. You would."
Justin wasn't sure what to say. "Is that a problem?"
Now it was Jess' turn to stand. "I love that you want to do this for me, but yes. Yes, it is a problem." Justin opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. "Mister Vanhelt and I had a conversation about this place. He wants to sell, but he wants to sell Oak Bramble to me if I want it. And I do want it, Justin."
Justin thought he must have missed something. "But why?"
She shrugged. He caught a hint of pink on her cheeks.
Is she blushing?
"He thinks I deserve it, too, but on my own terms. And you know what? I can afford it. We had a good chat about loans, and if I put down a good down payment, then he'll make a private loan to help me with the rest."
Justin shook his head. "That's risky," he said. "You don't know Vanhelt, not really."
She waved a hand at him. "I know him better than you think," she said. Then she looked away like she'd said more than she meant to.
"It's not just that," she said. "I don't w
ant you to buy Oak Bramble. It's not your dream, it's mine. For years I've been working myself to the bone. First, because I needed to for you kids. Then because I loved it. Now, I want this. I want to own the inn. For me. I can't explain it any better than that."
"You don't want me to buy it for you?"
His thoughts ran in a million different directions.
What happened next? Where would he go? What would he do?
He'd been so focused on buying Oak Bramble, he hadn't thought of what would happen if he couldn't buy the place.
But his mom didn’t need him anymore.
Jess continued, unaware of his panicked jumble of thoughts.
"I want you to do what you want,” she was saying. “Go have adventures. Take your money and go into business with your brother."
Justin shook his head. He was beyond adventure. Beyond risking it big like Evan. He’d had a plan. A good one. Now it was gone. "That's not what I want,” he said, hearing the growl in his voice and unable to care.
Jess sighed. "Well maybe now's the time to figure out what it is you do want."
Chapter 12
The next day, Elle left her room with a plan. She would stay away from Justin. Far away. She might invest in a chastity belt. Or a taser that would zap her whenever she looked at him and had impure thoughts.
Bottom line: he might look nice, smell nice, and make her insides tingle, but he was still a tattooed handyman who lived in a toolshed. As her mother would say, he wasn't marriage material.
Today, she wanted space to clear her mind. She wanted peace and quiet, and men—okay, one man—were not invited. Elle also had a deadline. Caroline had called to check in on Elle, and Lucy texted again about meeting up—Elle could only avoid them for a few more days because they still thought she was canoodling with Carter. Soon she’d have to figure out what to say. But not today.
Elle floated down the stairs in a sundress and a shawl, filled with purpose and focused on her goal. Instead of going to the breakfast room, she poked her head into the kitchen. A wall of warm air, thick with the scent of whatever creation Jess was in the midst of making filled the room.
Love At First Ink: A Woodbine Valley Romance (Tate Family Book 1) Page 10
