“Home sweet home,” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
The roof had a tarp protecting a large portion of it where shingles must have been torn off, and the yard was indistinguishable from the woods, due to fallen debris. A few trees were uprooted, their exposed roots clawing at the earth like outstretched fingers. The path leading to the cottage, probably once quiet and shaded, was nearly impassable, buried under leaves, branches, and soggy debris. A portion of the fence enclosing the backyard was pinned to the ground by a large tree trunk, leaving a gaping hole.
“You’re planning to fix all this with a rake?” she teased.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward in that adorable way. “I’m givingyouthe rake. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Sorry, but I’m not sure I can handle this with a rake.”
“Sure you can.” He pointed to a Bobcat bulldozer sitting at the edge of the property. “Just as soon as we clear it.” He shut off the engine and got out.
As he slid the cooler out of the bed of his truck and dumped the ice onto the ground, Emily put her hands on her hips to survey the damage in front of her.
“Where do you even start?” she asked, bewildered.
“At the beginning.” He tossed the cooler back into his truck and shut the tailgate. Then he nodded toward the Bobcat. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
Before she knew it, she was climbing up into the small bulldozer. The metal steps were slippery with damp leaves. She gripped the side rail, and Patrick offered a steadying hand. His strong grip kept her stable as she entered the cab, which smelled faintly of diesel and the outdoors. The seat creaked beneath her.
Patrick turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, vibrating beneath her feet. With practiced effortlessness, he moved the levers, guiding the machine into the tangle of branches and wreckage that had consumed the yard.
The heavy bucket scooped up broken limbs and crumpled siding, the machine cutting a path through the chaos as if it had a mind of its own. He filled the bucket with the remains of the storm and, with a jerk, moved it to the side of the property and dumped it out.
“What’s that?” she called over the racket, pointing to a small shack of a building she couldn’t believe had survived in the high winds.
“That’s my fishing shed. It’s got all my gear in it.”
“You fish?”
“There’s nothing better than catching your own dinner,” he said loudly over the rattle of the engine.
“You look like the fishing type.”
He downshifted, the machine groaning. “There’s a type? What’s the fishing type then?”
“I’m not sure, but if there was one, you’d be it. Maybe rugged?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in that adorable way of his. “I’m not sure. Winston fishes with me. I’m less cowboy and more babysitter, but we get some great dishes out of it.”
She imagined him taking Winston into the shed, choosing just the right fishing pole, and their spending the day out on a boat together. The idea warmed her heart.
There was something calming in the rhythm of the task as he worked quietly beside her—destruction being undone, one load at a time. The machine was too loud for any real conversation, and Emily was glad about that because she still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say to him. So she allowed herself this moment to be next to him, to see how easily he was able to plow through the chaos and give it a semblance of normalcy again. His mere presence doing the same thing for her.
TWENTY-THREE
When the last load of debris had been hauled away and dumped, revealing the torn-up yard that was in dire need of a green thumb, Patrick turned off the engine and looked at his watch.
“It’s after lunchtime. You hungry?”
“Starving,” Emily replied.
“Come on. Let’s make some food.” He helped her past a smattering of limbs, then onto the porch, and with a twist of the knob, he opened the front door and let her inside.
His cottage was the perfect balance between relaxed coastal charm and deliberate bachelor style. The uncluttered atmosphere, with natural light pouring in through wide, salt-sprayed windows at the back, gave her a sense of immediate calm. The thickly planked, weathered wood floors looked built to last, with a few well-placed woven rugs adding just the right amount of texture.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got sweet tea and lemonade.”
“I’d love some tea.”
