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She’s always had a good eye when it comes to hair, and it won’t be long until everyone in town is lining up to get an appointment with her.
After we hang up, I rush back into the trailer to hand off Ethan’s phone. He’s meeting with Hudson about the framing inspection they have coming up tomorrow, so I don’t want to interrupt.
I set his cell on his desk and turn to hurry back out and see what Robert needed when he asked me to come find him earlier. Some windows were delivered yesterday and I think he wants them to be inventoried so we can confirm they’re the exact style number the interiors team ordered.
“Taylor?” Ethan asks, catching my attention.
I glance over my shoulder, brows perked with eagerness. “Yes? Do you need anything?”
I sweep my gaze across his desk, seeing that he’s still got some coffee and there’s nothing in his outgoing tray for me to scan or file.
“You’re running around like a chicken with your head cut off. What’s gotten into you?”
What’s gotten into me is largely thanks to stupid Grant and his stupid insinuations about my presence here on the jobsite. What he did to me yesterday was the last straw, the great big shove I needed to finally take control of my future.
I should actually send the man a thank you note, but I’d rather send him a steaming bag of dog poop.
I smile and nod toward the door. “I have to run and help Robert, but I’ll find you at lunch, okay? How’s that?”
I don’t wait for him to reply, already running out of the trailer.
I feel bad for taking time this morning to handle some personal things, so I work my butt off until lunch, finish up everything Robert requests of me then trailing after Hudson with a tape measure while he double-checks the few changes the clients requested before the framing inspection gets underway tomorrow.
I don’t have a second to catch my breath, but even when I stop to go get food, I still can’t quite breathe easy. There’s one more thing I know I need to do today, one more thing that should be accompanied by a tremendously kickass song and a group of spirit guides spurring me on.
I have nothing but my screaming nerves and my erratic heart telling me this might be a slightly impulsive idea. Then I stomp down on that train of thought. For weeks, I’ve worked side by side with a rowdy group of construction workers and I’ve tried my hardest to stand my ground with them and prove I’m not intimidated. I don’t know why I’ve gotten it into my head that they can’t know about my relationship with Ethan. They won’t do what Grant did. He is a disgusting pig. These guys are my friends.
Also, so what if they make snide remarks or poke fun?
HELLO, I am having sex with a veritable god—who CARES what they think?
This morning my mouth watered when I saw him up on that roof. There is no going back. This is the only way.
When I tug open the door to the mess hall, I find Ethan standing in line. Around him are one thousand people. Okay, maybe less, but still…my hands start to shake as I make my way toward him. I was hoping for a small crowd, maybe one or two guys who could just pass the message on, but unfortunately, most of the crew is in here, scattered around the tables, talking and eating. It’s a lively group and there’s no way I can chicken out now.
Not after everything else I’ve done today.
I’ll never forgive myself.
Ethan spots me and that dimple makes a wonderfully unexpected appearance when he sees how determined I am to get to him as I wind my way through a group of guys.
“Outta my way!” I shout teasingly.
A few of them put their hands up as they step back, like they’re actually scared of me.
They probably should be at this point. I’d mow straight through them if I needed to. I’ve got a destination and that destination is a ruggedly handsome man I am hopelessly in love with.
Max shouts my name, showing me he’s saved me a seat, and I wave and hold up a finger. Yup, be there in a second, right after I make a huge public declaration and embarrass myself big time.
Ethan is only a few yards away, then a few feet, and then I’m there, cutting the line to get to him.
There’re moans of protest behind me. Hungry men want their lunch and I’m standing in the way of that, but I’m not here for a plate of spaghetti, though that garlic bread does smell damn good, so perhaps I will reward myself with some afterward. At the moment, I’m here for something else.
