When August Ends

by Penelope Ward

  I took a few steps forward. “I’m truly sorry about what happened just now. Thank you for coming to save me. If I had really been drowning, that would have been heroic.”

  “What choice did I have? From where I was standing, you looked like you were waving your arms for help. I’d have to be a real dick not to do anything.” He turned away from me.

  “Speaking of you being a dick…”

  That got his attention back.

  “I thought you were gone the other day. That was the only reason I went into your space to clean. Your truck wasn’t there.”

  Noah blew out some smoke. “My truck needed a new tire. Didn’t feel like waiting the hour at the shop, so I walked a mile back here and decided to take a relaxing shower. We all know how that went.”

  Our eyes locked for a moment before his mouth curved into a slight smile. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he finally said. “I actually regretted it after. I was just taken aback.”

  “It’s okay.” I fidgeted, not knowing what to do with my body. Being around him made me very antsy. “I’m twenty, by the way. So, again, not a teenager. How old are you?”

  “Too old to be hanging out with a twenty-year-old whose tits are falling out.”

  I looked down at myself. Shit. He was right. My tits were practically out of my bikini. I was so into him I hadn’t even noticed. I covered my breasts with my arms. It wasn’t like I’d planned this whole thing, but nevertheless, that was indecent. Instead of feeling shy, though, the fact that he’d pointed it out filled me with heat. On some level he was noticing me in a sexual way. And I liked it—too much, maybe. An excitement I hadn’t felt in forever ran through me.

  “Why do you do all the work around here? It seems to be just you manning everything. Why?”

  No one had ever asked me that before.

  “It’s my responsibility. Why is that so strange?”

  “At your age, shouldn’t you be in college or something? Why are you cleaning and shit?”

  His question offended me a little, but it made me happy that someone had taken notice.

  “It’s not exactly my preference. My mother isn’t doing well…mentally. So, I’ve taken on most of the duties around the house and with the rental. I work over at Jack Foley’s Pub when I’m not tending to things here.”

  “You don’t need to clean my room anymore.”

  “But I have to. It’s part of the—”

  “No more cleaning the boathouse while I’m here,” he barked. “I don’t like people invading my space anyway. And I’m sure you have better things to do than clean up a grown man’s mess.”

  “Well, if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  God, he’s so grumpy.

  And sexy.

  “Okay.” I shivered.

  It was getting cool out, but I wasn’t ready to leave. This porch was probably the last place I belonged, but it was where I wanted to be. This was the most invigorated I had felt in a long time.

  My teeth chattered. “What brought you to Lake Winnipesaukee for the summer?”

  Rather than answer me, Noah got up and walked into the house. The door slammed behind him.

  No, he didn’t.

  Did he really just do that?

  I guess I can’t ask him personal questions.

  Just as I was about to turn around and head home, the creak of the door startled me. He returned to the porch holding a buffalo plaid flannel shirt.

  He threw it at me, not so gently. “Put that on. Cover yourself.”

  “Thanks.” I slid my sleeves through the shirt and buttoned it up. It smelled like him, all manly and woodsy—as if someone had bottled the scent of testosterone and sold it. I was already planning to sleep in this shirt.

  To my surprise, he returned to my earlier question. “I needed to get away for a while. Picked this place randomly. Didn’t run a background check to make sure it didn’t come with a prying little innkeeper who doubles as a Fly Girl.” He winked.

  “What’s a Fly Girl?”

  “Shit.” He sighed and looked down at his feet. “That was before you were born.”

  “Well, what is it? A Fly Girl? Some kind of superhero comic strip?”

  He laughed that hearty laugh I felt between my legs. “There was this comedy show in the nineties…In Living Color. Jamie Foxx and Jim Carrey used to be on it. These dancers called Fly Girls would perform in between the comedy sketches before the commercials. Anyway, I was just making fun of your little hip-hop routine.”

  “I’ll have to look it up online. I’m kind of disappointed in myself for not knowing. Normally, I’m pretty well-versed in nineties’ pop culture.”

  I could feel myself blushing, and I didn’t even know why.

  Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you work?”

  He puffed on the cigar and smoke billowed out of his mouth as he said, “I’m taking a break at the moment.”

  “What do you do?”

  He didn’t answer right away. It seemed like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer my questions.

  “I’m a photographer.”

  “Really? That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to learn photography. What kind of photos do you take?”

  “Everything from nature to portraits. You name it, I’ve probably shot it. I used to work freelance for newspapers some years back. A wide variety.”

  “So you work for yourself now? That’s why you have the freedom to take time off?”

  “Yeah.”

  I kept prodding. “There are some really pretty shots you could get on the lake, particularly when the sun sets. Is that why you chose to come here? Photographic inspiration?”

  “No. I’m not here to shoot anything. I’m taking a break from that. Like I said, I chose this place randomly. It was far enough away but not too far from home. The main requirement was that it was quiet and peaceful, some place I could think.”

  “So, I guess I’m interrupting your peace, then.”

  “Nah…botched water rescues are extremely relaxing.”

  He smiled, and I returned it.

  God. I noticed his eyelashes. It seemed unfair for a man to have lashes that long.

  There was a bit of silence before I asked, “You think I’m a dork, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I laughed at how quickly he answered. He didn’t even have to think about it.

  He cracked another smile. Every time he smiled at me, I felt my insides stir. I felt like a damn fool, actually. I needed to slap my face to rid myself of this giddy feeling.

  I looked out into the distance to try to clear my head. “I’ve never seen the lake at night from this angle.”

  “Why not? You live here, right?”

  “I don’t spend much time at the boathouse. Since childhood, I’ve been conditioned to avoid the people renting it. My mother always made me stay away. Things are different now, of course, since the responsibility of this place has changed hands, but I’m only ever here to take care of business. I don’t spend quality time on this side of the property.”

  “That’s actually a good thing,” he said.

  “Because I won’t be around to bother you?”

  “Well, that, too. But I was referring to the fact that growing up your mother made you stay away from the guests. There are a lot of bad people in this world. Having a business where strange people are coming and going can’t be easy when you have kids.”

  That reminded me of a time when it hadn’t been just me. Whenever anything made me think of Opal, I felt incredibly sad. No way I was going to subject him to that right now, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

  He interrupted my rumination. “It’ll be getting dark out soon. You’d better go back to your house so your mother doesn’t think something happened to you.”

  “She didn’t even see me leave, probably doesn’t realize I’m gone. My mother stays in her room most of the time…because of her
depression.”

  He seemed to process what I’d just divulged. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Things were silent for a while.

  He looked around. “You think you’ll keep this place forever? It’s got to be expensive to keep up. That’s not counting all of the work you have to handle.”

  “It is a lot. And I really want to sell the whole property.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “It makes me sad to think about it, for one. The lakehouse and boathouse have been in my family for years, and I love living here. But I think selling is inevitable. The main house is too big for just my mother and me, and it’s too much land to maintain. My mother is open to the idea of selling. But there’s a lot we’d need to fix up before putting it on the market. That’s really the holdup.”

  He held the cigar between his teeth and looked at me before inhaling. “You have a lot on your plate. It’s no wonder you dance around like a goon in the water. Whatever gets it out, you know?”

  “That’s right. Dancing is a stress-reliever.”

  Noah stood up and walked off the porch to put his cigar out on the cement. When he returned, he remained standing across from me. I was reminded of just how tall he was as he towered over me. A breeze blew his scent—a mix of cigar and cologne—in my direction. The same smell saturated the shirt I was wearing. I could’ve breathed it in all night. His nearness was doing things to my body I hadn’t ever felt.

  Noah looked around. “You mentioned some stuff around here needs to be repaired. What specifically?”

  I blew out a breath. Even thinking about it was exhausting. “So much. I’d have to make a list.”

  “Why don’t you do that? Make a list. I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ll see if there’s anything I can help with while I’m here.”

  He’d lost me at pretty good with my hands. My imagination was running wild. Shit. I imagined those hands doing a lot of things—mostly to me.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “You’d be stupid not to take me up on it. I came for a change of pace, but the truth is, too much quiet isn’t good. I like to keep busy.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I shook my head. “I don’t know…”

  “Make the list,” he insisted.

  Noah was right. It would be dumb not to take him up on his offer. It wasn’t like there was anyone else knocking down our door to help.

  I tilted my head. “What would be in it for you?”

  His expression turned dark. “People don’t always have to have ulterior motives.”

  Suddenly feeling bold, I said, “I thought maybe you would want me to go out with you in exchange.”

  Did you hear that? It was a record screeching.

  I admit, that was ballsy, but being around him brought out my flirtatious side. Maybe his cologne and cigar smoke were going to my head.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Okay. I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Actually, I—”

  “I’m practically old enough to be your father.”

  Really? That’s how he saw me? I knew he was older than me…but he didn’t seem that old. No way. I’d pegged him as early thirties, though I truly had no idea how old he was.

  I shook my head. “No, you’re not. That’s a lie. An older brother, maybe. How old are you?”

  Instead of answering, he took two steps forward. “Let me make something clear.”

  “Okay…”

  “I was not insinuating anything by offering to help. And I will not be asking you out, propositioning you, or going anywhere near you, for that matter. We clear on that?”

  Okay, then.

  I swallowed. Disappointment washed over me as I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He made his way toward the door, turning around one last time. “You’d better go. It was nice chatting. Get me the list tomorrow.”

  He disappeared into the house, leaving me on the porch to wallow in his lingering smell and feeling like a complete and utter idiot.

  ***

  Back in my room that night, I replayed his words.

  “I will not be asking you out, propositioning you, or going anywhere near you, for that matter. We clear on that?”

  God.

  His firm stance only made me more drawn to him. It’s funny how that works.

  He treated me as if I were twelve. At twenty, I’m old enough to date anyone I want. I don’t care if they’re forty or eighty. A hundred years ago, the average lifespan of a woman was something like fifty. I’d be almost halfway done with life by now. Once you hit eighteen, age is just a number.

  But apparently, that wasn’t how Noah felt. Or maybe he was just using the age thing as an excuse. But here’s the real issue: I was kidding around! (Sort of.) And he had to go and make it into a serious thing, make it known there was no way in hell anything would be happening between us. What was it about rejection that made me want him even more?

  My need to know more about him was pretty intense. I opened my laptop and typed into Google: Noah Cavallari photographer Pennsylvania.

  His website popped right up. It was the very first search result.

  Noah Cavallari Photography. Yup. That had to be him.

  I clicked on it. With a sleek black background, the main page of the site featured a slideshow of breathtaking images. From photos taken on African safaris to a presidential inauguration, Noah’s career had run the gamut. According to his bio, he was born outside of Philadelphia and began taking photos at a young age. After majoring in photojournalism in college, he’d spent most of his twenties working in construction for his father while taking photos on the side. He’d eventually been able to turn photography into a flourishing, full-time business.

  His career had taken him all over the world, but in more recent years, he’d opened a studio and focused on private event photography and headshots. There were no photos of him on the site aside from the bio picture, where his face was covered by a gigantic camera lens. It showed just enough, though, to confirm that this was the Noah Cavallari living in my boathouse.

  Well, color me intrigued. He seemed to have a fabulous career—seemed to have it all.

  So that begged the question: Why is he here?

  I began to theorize.

  Oh my God. Is he dying?

  No. He seems too healthy, too virile.

  Running from the law?

  Nope. I did that background check. Came out clean.

  Why would he want to come here for three whole months? I didn’t get it.

  A week or two, maybe. But why so long?

  What are you escaping from, Noah Cavallari?

  I was determined to find out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  HEATHER

  Two days later, a text came in from an unknown number.

  At Home Depot. What color exterior paint for the boathouse?

  Based on the question, I knew exactly who it was. I’d forgotten Noah had my number. But I gave my number to all tenants in my welcome email in case they needed anything.

  The day after our talk at the lake, he’d reminded me to make him the list and prioritize what needed to be done. Since the exterior of the boathouse was in shambles with the paint flaking off, I’d listed that job as the top priority. I still couldn’t believe he wanted to help. He certainly wasn’t wasting any time getting started.

  Heather: How about a gray?

  The little dots danced as he typed.

  Noah: There are several shades of gray.

  I decided to be a wiseass.

  Heather: Fifty? ;-)

  Noah: Very funny.

  Heather: Thank you.

  Noah then sent a photo of a paint card with five gray options.

  Noah: Do you like any of these?

  Heather: So you’re familiar with that book?

  Noah: Cut the shit, Heather.

  Heather: LOL. The second gray is perfect.
r />   There were no more texts after that.

  ***

  An hour later, I spotted Noah outside the boathouse, getting straight to work. I squinted at his shirtless physique as he rolled primer onto the wood. He was way too far away for my liking. If he was going to be working outside like this all summer, I’d need to invest in a set of binoculars.

  My mother snuck up behind me. “What are you looking at?”

  “Huh?” I jumped, closing the curtain. “Nothing.”

  “You were struggling to see something. What’s so interesting?”

  I sighed. “I was watching Noah paint the boathouse.”

  I’d told my mother about his offer to help. She was extremely skeptical, to say the least.

  “I don’t understand why he’s doing that. What’s in it for him?”

  “He seems to want to help. He says he likes to keep busy.”

  My mother’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better be careful. He might want something in return.”

  I laughed. “Believe me, I wish he did. But he’s made it very clear he doesn’t. Unfortunately, I believe him.”

  She seemed concerned. It was strange to get any real emotion out of her lately. But the idea of something happening between the new tenant and me hit all the right buttons.

  “You say that like you’ve offered something to him.”

  “I teased him about having an ulterior motive for helping, and he didn’t take it very well. He snapped at me. He can’t take a joke. He’s all business. He thinks I’m jailbait and wants nothing to do with me. He thought I was a teenager when we first met. He treats me like one, too.”

  “You seem disappointed.”

  Laughing under my breath, I said, “I sort of am.”

  “That’s crazy, Heather. The last person you should get involved with is someone just passing through town. You don’t know anything about this guy. He’s also too old for you.”

  “I don’t know. He won’t tell me his age.” I chuckled.