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“Why didn’t you and I work out?” he asked, leaning one hip against the washing machine, watching me fold Ethan’s clothes.
I shot him an amused smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Does there have to be a reason? We were fifteen.”
“So that’s it? We were just young?”
I caught him giving me a once-over before his smiling gaze met mine again.
“And you were a flirt.”
That’s the problem with guys like Max. He soaks up attention like a sponge and doles out smiles and love to any and everyone, not at all discerning about who the recipients are. It’s a good character trait, don’t get me wrong—no one has a bad word to say about Max—but I’m just not sure I could date someone like him. I’d rather be one in a million than one of a million.
Still, a little time spent with him is good for the ego. I didn’t even mind the flirting. It felt nice to laugh and smile.
Then Ethan showed up like a black cloud rolling right over our beach vacation.
“How many guys on this crew are ‘friends’ of yours?”
The memory of his words makes my hands fist with rage.
If I had his clothes in front of me, I’d fling them across the floor all over again. No—I’d carry them to the lake and toss them out into the water, watch them float away slowly with a crazed smile on my face.
After lunch, I didn’t bother going back to ask Ethan for another task. I didn’t trust myself to be in his vicinity just yet. Fortunately, Robert saw me walking by and politely asked if I could get him some water. I jumped at the chance. I wasn’t doing anything important. When I handed it off to him, I asked how demolition was going. Maybe it was the pitiful way I sounded or the redness still burning my cheeks, but he took the time to walk me through the process while I listened intently.
Now, I’m off cleaning Ethan’s cabin with cleaning supplies I grabbed in the mess hall. It was a stroke of genius on my part—the cabin needs a good scrub-down and it puts me very, very far away from him.
I worked as a maid in that roadside motel for the last year and though I never hoped that one day—fingers crossed—I’d grow up to clean someone else’s toilets, I don’t actually hate the work. It keeps me busy and moving. I focus on the shower and make it as spotless as thirty-year-old tile can be. I wipe down the sink and the mirror. I arrange Ethan’s toothpaste and toothbrush so they’re perfectly aligned in the cup.
His bed is already made, but not well, so I redo it, ensuring the corners are tucked in. If I had a little piece of chocolate, I’d leave it on the pillow. Then I remember whose bed I’m making and decide if I did have chocolate, I’d eat it all in one bite, spitefully.
Dinner has rolled around by the time I’m finished sweeping dust off the front porch, and I’m ready to collapse when I make it back to the mess hall. After sleeping on a pallet on the ground last night, I’m ready to fall asleep where I stand, but I need food first. The crew’s already eating and I feel their eyes on me when I walk in with the cleaning supplies I had to haul back. I know they’re curious about me. It probably seems odd that I’m here, but I have no plans to leave any time soon, so they’ll just have to get used to me. Jeremy and Max are in line to get food and Jeremy mouths that he’ll get me a plate. When I’m done putting everything away, we head outside to eat.
I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around this whole arrangement, the living in the forest thing. If not for the construction project and the awkward girl-to-guy ratio, it would feel like an adult summer camp. The weather in late spring is beautiful, the temperature hovering in the low 70s most days with sunshine overhead. The scenery is beautiful, and the food is a lot better than anything I make at home. Even now, we’re outside eating lasagna on some lawn chairs under a canopy of pine trees. A guy a few feet away from us is strumming on a guitar he must have brought from home. All in all, it’s not half bad, especially now that I’m among friends again.
I try to grab hold of the little things while I can, because as soon as Ethan walks toward the mess hall with Robert by his side, my mood immediately sours.
“He’s looking at you,” Jeremy says, nudging me with his elbow.
“Who cares?” I hiss, mopping up some marinara sauce with my breadstick. Can’t he see I’m busy?!
