“Why?” I ask. He’s already helped me so much. I don’t want him to feel a responsibility that most definitely isn’t his to bear.
He looks back at me. Lifts a muscled shoulder in a shrug. “Why not?”
“Don’t you want to enjoy your time off?”
“Who says that’s not how I enjoy spending my time?”
I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around them. Examine him in the blue light casting off the television. “Is it?”
He flashes me a quick grin. “No, but I’m always game to learn new things. Plus, I’m pretty handy.”
“Right, the ranch,” I say, and he looks shocked that I remember. Honestly I am, too, considering the circumstances of that night, but for some reason, those few minutes he spent in my room are seared in my memory.
“Yeah, the ranch,” he agrees. “I may not know how to restore an Airstream specifically, but I can mend a fence post with the best of them.”
“You don’t have to help me,” I tell him.
“I know.” He looks back at me, gaze holding mine. In this light, there’s no blue to be found in his eyes. They’re dark as the night sky. “But I don’t mind if you don’t.”
I let out a breath. “No, of course not. I’m grateful for any help.”
A grin tips up one corner of his mouth. “It’s settled then.”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s settled.”
Thecabinsmellsincredible.I walk out of the bathroom Stevie and I share with wet hair, dressed in jeans and a worn-out navy University of Utah hoodie, I find her in the kitchen making breakfast. She wasn’t there when I slipped in and out for my run this morning, but she’s somehow made enough food during the length of my shower to feed an army. Crispy bacon stacked high on a paper towel lined plate. Eggs frying in a skillet on the stove. Gravy bubbling beside it. Homemade biscuits going into the oven.
She hasn’t noticed me come out yet. Her hair is tied back in a loose braid, strands of thick, dark hair falling out of it and slipping over the curve of her long neck. She’s also weaning jeans, but instead of a hoodie, she’s got on a long-sleeved striped tee and a fleece vest. Her feet are bare, toes painted a dark brown.
“Morning,” I say, and she startles, spinning on her heel to face me, a Waffle House coffee mug in hand.
“God, you scared me.” More hair slips from her braid. “You’re too quiet.”
“You should tell my twin that,” I say, lowering myself into a barstool. “He’s always said I’m too loud in the morning.” Evan isnota morning person. When we used to work at the local ranch in high school, I’d have to drag him out of bed. He wouldn’t even speak to me until we were turning down the dirt drive, his coffee finally drained. Then he wouldn’t shut up.
“I didn’t wake you this morning when I got up to run, did I?”
She shakes her head then takes a sip of coffee. “No, I didn’t even know you were up until I heard the shower going. Did I wake you up when I went running?”
I arch a brow. “You went running?”
She tips her head to either side. “More like half-jogging, half-walking. The first time I’ve gone since the concussion. But I go most mornings. I used to hike a lot in the mornings, but I just haven’t had time lately, so I started running instead.”
“No, you didn’t wake me.” I take in her face. She never wears much makeup, and this morning is no exception. Dark lashes, a smattering of freckles against her tan cheeks, glossy lips. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s something practical, like chapstick instead of actual gloss. “We must have just missed each other this morning.”
She grins, then hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the food. “Must have. I made breakfast as a thank you for helping me with the Airstream today.”
“Not necessary,” I say. “But thank you.”
I push from my chair and circle the island.
“It’s just the usual,” she tells me, pointing out the items on the stove and counter. “Eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy.” When she looks back at me, my eyes are wide. “What?”
A soft laugh rumbles out of me. “Nothing, this is just very muchnotthe usual for me.”
“More of a cereal kind of guy?”
I shake my head. “Way too intensive. Poptarts. Protein shakes. Yogurt. Fruit, if I’m feeling fancy.”
