Now that I was alone, I was too pissed off to wallow like I wanted to. I was pissed off at myself for getting mad at her. I was mad that she had to be so damn … so incredible. With those eyes and those lips. When she looked at me. And her curiosity was just so …
That young lady was showing interest, and that’s how you act? You make art but get so mad when people like it …
“Stop making me feel bad!” I kicked the stump with my work boot, and it hardly moved. The steel tips protected me from breaking a toe.
But what did I expect? Whatever bullshit was happening inside was just that. Bullshit. Nothing to get all worked up about. These feelings would pass. Maybe I did need to get out more. The first woman to show any interest in my art and I lose my shit.
“Get your act together, man,” I said, shoulders at my ears as Igripped the side of my workbench to flex my throbbing foot.
After several minutes of breathing and collecting myself, I decided to apologize to Claire. Like the grown man I was under all the aforementioned bullshit. I had been all over the place since I met her, and it had to be getting annoying. After I apologized, that would be it. No more finding excuses to linger in her presence. No more thinking about her at all. I could compartmentalize and shut things down. That was a strength of mine.
I got three feet outside the shed and almost smacked into her.
“Hey.” Her brows shot up.
“Hi.” I relaxed my “resting jerk face,” as Pace referred to it.
She’d changed her clothes, now sporting a thin windbreaker and a small bag strapped to her side. Her long cargo pants and hiking boots made my next question moot.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“For a walk.” She smoothed her thick hair, now pulled back into a ponytail. “I just wanted to let you know. Not that you would worry, but you know, they always say to tell at least one person when you go hiking solo. And as you are the only person, that makes you the winner.” She wiggled her fingers like jazz hands. “Huzzah.” Then she dropped them to twist behind her back, schooling her features.
I made a sound of acknowledgment, and she fiddled with her sleeves. I was supposed to apologize, but this weird sensation of trepidation or exhilaration made my adrenaline go haywire. It happened when we were inside the workshop, too. Maybe I was getting sick.
“Also, I just wanted to apologize again for pushing my way into your workshop. And then asking all the questions.” She winced. “And then pushing about selling that one piece,” she said.
I was the one who meant to apologize. I was the one acting like a grumpy ass because some things were still too painful for me to process. Her gaze moved over my clenched jaw and balled fists, and her frown grew.
“You were very clear when you made the listing for Little Cabin that you didn’t want to have any sort of interactions,” she said, pressing her fingertips to her chest. “And I love rules and lists and clear expectations. I should have respected that. I promise I will print and laminate the list of rules and pin them above the bed so I see them when I first wake up.” She chuckled anxiously as she ran her fingers through her ponytail. “I will leave you be. I’m almost done with my work, so I need to focus on that anyway. I will probably go to town for the internet. So I won’t bother you, is what I’m saying.”
My intentions to apologize got lodged in my throat. She was right. This was what I wanted. I continued to blur the lines of the boundaries. “Okay.” I was furious with myself but respected both of our lives by sticking to the plan. “Thank you,” I added.
She started to step backward, pursing her mouth to the side with a series of quick nods. “Okay, then. I’ll just be—” She thumbed to the road.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “I should know. For safety.”
“Just up to the Cozy Creek Short trailhead,” she said.
That was a beginner-level trail that was family friendly. Otherpeople were likely to be hiking there at this time of day as well. She made it clear she was used to hikes, so I had to trust that she knew what she was doing.
“There is supposed to be a storm tonight,” I said.
Well, I tried.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gone an hour, tops. Remember, this ain’t my first rodeo.” She slid on a corny country accent.
“Do you have your phone?” I focused on the questions. Her nervous weirdness made her exceptionally adorable, and I was not equipped to handle that.
“I do, but you know.” She pointed at the little bag with a shrug. Unless she hiked pretty high up, she wouldn’t be in sightline of any towers.
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I didn’t want her to leave. This was exactly the problem. Maybe I needed a laminated copy of the rules too.
Instead, I cleared my throat as the awkwardness settled between us.
“Okay. See ya,” she said, waving as she spun on her heels and walked away.
I opened my mouth, hand reaching for her and then pulling back. I shut my mouth tight.
