by T. I. Lowe
My eyes blink, coming close to not reopening. “Oh yeah. Between this sculpted body you’ve got going on, that chiseled jawline that always has just enough shadow to make any woman’s fingertips long to test the texture of the stubble, and the alpha military male persona you’d be one mighty fine study for the hero role in a romance novel.” I stop rambling when I notice he’s gone still as a statue. “What?”
“You’re flirting with me at…” Beck studies the heavy-duty watch on his wrist, “…four fifteen in the morning.”
This wakes me up. “I… No… I didn’t mean to—”
“Yes, you were.” His lips twitch. I’d say he was just poking fun at me, but I don’t know him well enough to make that call for sure.
“My mind is still in writing mode. I was pointing out your book character qualities.” My hands shoot up in defense. I notice a stability ball resting in the sand and point at it. “I think I need to sit on you… I mean on the ball!” Did I really just say that?
I shuffle over to the ball and have a seat before I say something else to embarrass myself. Clearly, the sleep deprivation has wreaked havoc on my brain-to-mouth stop sign. My tired body tries to balance on the wiggly ball, but loses the battle when Beck walks over and leans over me.
He locks those blue eyes on mine and says, “My lap is more comfortable than that ball.”
Heart hiccupping, I tilt back to get away from him, and lose my balance in the process. He catches me before my butt hits the sand and places me upright on my feet. His soapy scent surrounds me even after he moves away from me. A roar of laughter bellows out of him, so rich and delicious, it makes my mouth water.
“What’s got you so frisky this morning?” I take a step back to help me abstain from leaning in to sniff him. Why is this man’s scent so darn appealing?
Beck shrugs with a wide grin showcasing his mouthful of straight white teeth. “I got a ten mile run in this morning. Guess I’m still high on endorphins.”
I grab his wrist and check the time. Four-thirty. Clucking my tongue, I say, “You’re a sick, sick man.”
“We’ve still got a while. Let’s take a walk.” Not waiting for a reply, Beck grabs my hand and keeps it long enough to make sure I’ll follow him down the beach.
I sort of wish he’d kept it.
After a few minutes of silence passing between us and the whispering ocean, he says, “Tell me a story, Miss Writer.”
“Like last time?” I snicker.
He shakes his head and tsks. “No. You’re versatile enough to come up with something different. Give me your best shot.”
Oh the challenge. The man knows how to provoke me.
“I’m not ready when it happens. Neither is the sun, for it hides like a coward behind the clouds and stays there long after the catastrophe has inflicted its damage and fled. The intruder shows no remorse, stabbing me until red pours from the wound. The seagulls witness the attack, but flee as easily as the sun when I cry out in excruciating pain. I stumble away, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. The moon shows up eventually and casts a mournful light on the evidence of my misfortune, but it’s too late.” I wrap up my little story and look over at him as we slowly walk.
“Your murder,” Beck answers right away, thinking he has it figured out.
“Now… Aren’t you being a bit overconfident?” I sniff. “I was talking about a splinter that got stuck in my foot yesterday.”
“How’d you get a splinter?” he asks with genuine concern.
“My deck. I think it’s time to have it sanded and refinished.”
Beck turns us back around to retrace our steps. “Jack doesn’t handle stuff like that for you?”
“Jack? That metrosexual man has weekly manicures. He doesn’t do manual labor.” My hand flicks out to dismiss the idea. “Besides, I don’t expect him to take care of stuff like that for me. I’m a grown woman. I know how to handle things on my own.” I want to add that I do most everything alone, but somehow manage to keep that confession to myself.
“Harper, it’s okay to not do everything on your own.”
It’s the last words he shares with me before we meet up with a few class members on the beach. Class goes as usual with me screwing up most all of the exercises, but I don’t whine about any of it. I’m too tired to form any words.
As soon as Beck declares the torture done, I waste no time taking my tired behind home. After a shower, the fluffy bed calls out to me. Not up for an argument, I give in. The morning is lost in a deep sleep and feels so good that I’m still dozing in my bed at one in the afternoon.
Cocooned in a sea of white eyelet fabric, I hear a noise coming from the back of the house. Thinking it’s the wind moving some of the furniture around on the deck, I roll over and close my eyes. A little time passes before the whining noise of a power tool starts up. Kicking the covers off, I climb out of the bed and go investigate. First thing I notice when I reach the French doors is my deck is clear and all of my stuff is stacked on the sand. I crane my neck to the left and find a giant shirtless man bent over while running a handheld sander against the weathered planks. The phoenix on his shoulder flexes with each pass he makes over the wood.
I step outside and tap Beck on the shoulder. “What are you doing?” I try yelling over the noisy machine.
He flicks a button and the droning ceases. “What does it look like?” He sits back on his haunches.
“But why?”
“It needed to be done. I had the afternoon off, so I thought I’d take care of it.” Beck shrugs while his eyes keep coasting over me.
Becoming uncomfortable, I glance down to see what he’s so interested in and that’s when I remember I’m only wearing a thin, cotton nightshirt that hangs off one shoulder. Snapping my fingers, I say, “Eyes up here.”
He looks up with his lips curling. “If you want my eyes to not roam then you need to go put on some more clothes.”
Before I can sass back, a familiar voice pipes in, “That’s a man hitting on you, in case you didn’t understand, Harper.” Jack rounds the side of the house and joins us on the deck.
“Shut up,” I say to both of them.
“What’s happening?” Jack asks casually.
“Harper’s deck needed refinishing. I’m helping her out.” Beck stands and places his hands on his hips.
“Need help? I can take my shirt off, too.” Jack grabs at the bottom of his light-blue dress shirt like he’s about to pull the hem from his slacks.
I pop him in the gut and hiss, “Jack.”
“Darlin’, you can go topless, too.” Jack winks.
Beck grunts.
I snort while stealing a peek at Beck before addressing Jack’s sauciness. “You’ve seen these goods all you’re ever going to, buddy.”
Beck glares at us and barely stifles a growl. Oh my.
“I’ve not seen the goods since we were three. I think we’re due another bath time.”
Beck doesn’t hold back the growl this time.
My hand darts out and clamps over Jack’s mouth. “Never listen to a word this man says,” I say to Beck who looks a bit uncomfortable. I then remove my hand and ask Jack, “Does this visit have a purpose?”
“Actually, it does. May I speak with you inside?” All of Jack’s saucy tease is gone and is replaced with seriousness.
“Sure.” I glance at Beck but he is fiddling with the sander, so I follow Jack inside.
Once the door is closed, Jack looks out toward the deck. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“About Beck.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Jack turns from the door and tilts his head. “By the way that man watches you, I beg to differ. Seems like a lot to tell.”
My arms cross. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, my naïve one, he looks at you like he’s seeing way beyond your exterior. And by the way he responded to my banter, he’s already claiming some territory.”
; I glance over Jack’s shoulder and see Beck is back to steady sanding. “I thought maybe he was acting a bit weird out there.”
“What about you? How do you feel?” Jack asks with sincerity.
I shrug my shoulders and look at the hardwood floor. “It feels like he’s gotten under my skin… In a good and bad way…”
Jack’s dress shoes step into my line of vision before I feel the warmth of his steady arms circling me. He presses a kiss to the side of my head and whispers, “It’s about time you let someone in. I’m proud of you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, because I’m not sure I’ve done what Jack says I have, so I keep quiet and allow him to hold me. When he finally pulls back and looks down, my friend looks rather somber.
“What’s wrong?”
He huffs. “First off, why in the heck did you have to go and kill off Margo?”
“I just sent the first draft last night and you’ve already read it?”
“Yeah. Skipped going out last night, because I got so wrapped up in it. Seriously, I’m ticked about Margo. I was in love.”
“Someone had to die.” I roll my eyes.
“Besides killing my dream girl, I loved it. I could feel the passion of this story. Well done, young lady.” Jack smiles but it doesn’t meet his eyes.
“What else?”
He sighs long and slow. “Have you watched Roselyn’s latest interview?”
“No. I’ve been busy.” The tension begins to tighten along my neck. “Why?”
Jack places his hand on the small of my back and leads me to my office. He places me in front of the computer and with a few dashes over the keyboard, he has the video of the interview playing.
Ten minutes after the interview ends, I’m still sitting here staring at the blank monitor. “She… She was talking about the wrong book…”
Jack groans deeply and pulls at the end of his hair. “If I were here seven years ago, you wouldn’t be in the midst of this ghost writing hogwash.” His eyes redden. “Harper, it’s about to come back around and bite you in the butt.”
My head shakes, but I’m pretty sure he’s right. “Maybe no one will notice.”
“Your fans will. Your publisher will. Maxine sure as sin better.” He starts pacing the room.
Jack has hated the idea of me ghost writing from the time he found out about it, saying I was better than that. And he has always loathed the idea of Roselyn. I’ve never been able to convince him she’s the reason the books sold. He says it’s the story itself and that’s all me. Not Roselyn.
I do a quick internet search of Roselyn Scott and a bevy of new headlines pop up—several questioning Roselyn’s erratic behavior and her fumbled interviews as of late.
Closing out the window, I drop my head in my hands. “What am I going to do?” I mumble and feel Jack’s hand rubbing my back.
“First, you are going to hire a lawyer and get that contract of yours gone over with a fine tooth comb.” Jack pulls his phone out and begins tapping away on it. “I’ve got a few contacts. Sit tight this week and let me see what I can figure out.”
“Okay.”
A few minutes later, he pockets the phone as a slow grin spreads across his lips. Mr. Serious is gone, and looks like Mr. Mischievous wants to come back out and play. “Now here’s some advice in the meantime.” He pulls me from the chair. “You’re gonna take your fine butt to your room and get it covered up. The view is truly nice, darlin’, but you need to make the guy work a little harder than this to get to see it.”
“He’s not seen anything… I was napping when he came up…” My cheeks warm.
Jack chuckles while walking me to the bedroom. “Good. Now go do as I said and when you’re done, you need to bring your handsome handy man a glass of water.”
“Why?” I pull a pair of yoga pants out of a drawer and slide them on. I grab a bra and T-shirt and close myself inside the bathroom.
“Because I said so,” Jack calls through the door.
Once I’m decent, I head to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water like a good little hostess and head outside. Surprisingly, Beck is alone sweeping the sawdust off the deck.
“Where’s Jack?” I hand him the glass.
He nods in appreciation, using the back of his hand to mop the sweat from his forehead. “He said something about having a meeting to get to. Said he’d call you later.”
“Oh. Okay.” I watch him tip the glass to his lips and take a long sip, his Adam’s apple working as he swallows. I’ve never noticed how appealing that part of man is until now. Hmm…
“Thanks for the water.” He shakes the empty glass to dislodge the ice. Tipping it back, he takes the ice in his mouth and crunches on it.
Taking a break from staring him down like a weirdo, I inspect the deck. It looks quite smooth. “Wow. This looks great.”
“I just need to reseal it.” He motions to a few gallons of polyurethane.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” Beck hands me the glass back.
“No. I need to pay for the supplies at least.” I tuck a curl behind my ear while eying the paint rollers and sandpaper.
“Okay. You can treat me to dinner.”
I almost drop the glass. “What?”
“Dinner.” Beck eyes me as he shakes one of the cans like it weighs nothing. “You eat don’t ya?”
“Mainly protein shakes and bars.” I shrug.
“I’ve worked up more of an appetite than that. You can take me out.” He offers a wry smile.
Is this man asking me on a date? “Umm… I don’t normally go out. I’m a homebody, remember?”
“Several places deliver. I’m not picky.”
He’s not going to let me wiggle out of this, so I head back inside and call Jack. He’ll know what I should do.
“He wants to have dinner with me,” I whisper while looking through the freezer.
“And?”
“And? What do I do?” I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder, so I can sort through some frozen diet meals.
“You eat with me. It works the same way with any other man. Promise.”
I give up on the freezer, close the door, and lean on it. “I don’t think I can go out, though.”
“Then stay in, but be sure to keep your pants on. Remember, you don’t want to give out free previews of your goods. Keep that bod covered up.”
“Jack! You know that’s not going to happen. I can hardly handle this!” I work my fingers along my scalp, feeling overwhelmed.
“Darlin’, I’m in a meeting and have several investors looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. How about I have something delivered in a few hours. Will that chill your little panic attack out?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He hangs up.
My little panic attack? Jack has no idea. In high school, when everyone was checking off their first date milestones, I sat home alone with quarts of ice cream and bags of cookies. My mom didn’t even try to talk me into going to the prom, saying a proper dress would be next to impossible to find in my size. I still feel like that heavy girl, who hid in her room most of her youth, never experiencing a normal social life.
A few hours later, a young guy shows up at my door with large canvas totes from a swanky steakhouse and a flower arrangement.
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know y’all delivered.” I reach for the bags.
“We don’t, but Mr. Calloway called in a favor.” The guy quirks his lips and hands me the bouquet.
“Okay, how much do I owe you?” I glance at the entry table for my wallet and try not to think about what he may have read on the card tucked into the flowers.
“It’s already been taken care of, as well as my tip. Mr. Calloway said you can thank him by keeping your pants on tonight.” The young guy whispers the last part while studying his feet.
Eyes wide, I hurry to say, “I am so sorry you had to relay that. Mr. Calloway isn’t right in the head.”
“No worries.”
He waves it off and backs away from the doorway. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks. I will… with my pants on.” This procures a laugh from him.
Closing the door, I head to the kitchen to wait on Beck to get back from his shower. A bad case of nerves hits me suddenly, thinking I could just stand him up, but can’t because he’s coming here. I place everything on the island and pluck the card from the flowers.
Bachelor Buttons are for celibacy and the mint symbolizes virtue. Darlin’, you’ve held tight to both for twenty-eight years. Let the flowers be a reminder to not get a wild idea to do something you may regret. Love, Jack
Heart racing, I hide the card in a drawer. Jack and his weird morals. The man is always bragging about his wild nights, but acts like my daddy as soon as the first guy comes along and shows me a bit of attention. The entire day is just too much and the bed is calling my name… No, screaming my name, so I snatch up my phone to send Beck a text to cancel. Of course, the doorbell would ring at this precise moment.
“Good grief!” I snap at the canvas totes before hurrying to the door. I open the door and find an intimidatingly handsome man. Hair still damp from his shower and smelling fresh as a bar of newly opened soap, the man takes my breath away. Thankfully, he’s wearing a plain white tee and black track pants, making me not feel underdressed. I probably should have changed into something cute, but it’s too late for that now.
“Hey.” He looks me over.
“I’m keeping my pants on,” I blurt. Instant heat scalds up my neck and relights my cheeks where the dang things just cooled down.
“If you want to.” He grins as he slides his flip-flops off and steps inside.
“Supper just arrived.” I hurry back to the kitchen and start opening the containers. Steaks, baked sweet potatoes, and sautéed green beans. I grab two plates and arrange the food, giving Beck both potatoes. With a flourish of my hand I offer him a plate and move to the den. Once I’m settled on the couch, I look around and don’t find my dinner date anywhere. “Where’d you go?”
“In the dining room. Where else?”
Oh no. I bet there’s an inch of dust on that neglected table. I scoot off the couch and swing by the sink to grab a dish cloth on my way to the dining room. Beck sits with his hands resting in his lap, waiting.
