“Nowthatsounds like a bad pickup line.”
Chloeand I stand outside facing the damaged pipe.
I throw open my toolbox and grab my hammer but before I can do anything, she stops me with a hand on my elbow.“Can I try?”
“Be my guest.”I hand over the hammer, waiting for a smart remark about how big or hard it is.
Truth be told, when she doesn’t say anything, I’m kinda disappointed.
“That bent part of the pipe is the spot we need to hit, right?”She clutches the hammer at the neck with both hands, giving it a wild swing like a baseball bat, missing the pipe entirely.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I catch her wrist before she knocks herself out with the damn thing, and step closely behind her.I slide my arms around her waist, taking hold of the hammer with one hand.“You’re holding it too high.Move your hands down here.”Covering her fingers with mine, I drag her hand slowly and firmly down the handle, stopping near the base.“That way you get more leverage and it won’t slip out of your hand.”
“Really?”She swallows roughly.I swear I can feel her heart thumping through her back.“So, I don’t hold ithere?”She slides our two fists higher to about the halfway mark before gliding them back down again, tight and firm.
I shake my head, wondering if she can feel my dick thickening against her backside.I imagine kicking her legs apart with my knees and tugging up that dress of hers, right over her waist.
What the hell am I doing?I’m meant to be putting out these flames, not stoking them.“I should go.”I drop my hand and take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.“Just hit the pipe right there a few times, and that should straighten it out.”
Her lips curve up into a smile, but it’s hollow, and it twists something inside me.“I think I can handle that.Go on.I know you have more important things to do.Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” I say before gathering my toolbox and heading back to my place.
I keep telling myself: My to-do list is a mile long, and Idohave more important things to do.
I just don't know why I’m having such a hard time believing it.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
CHLOE
Nothing in Willow’sworkshop makes sense.Like, why does she have a lampshade made entirely of paperclips?No one knows.And that picture over there on the wall—the one with all the smudges and smears?It’s a sex painting that she and one of her old boyfriends made with body paint and too much time on their hands.She’s got it displayed behind a collection of dainty little frames holding pictures of ducks.I enjoy random stuff as much as the next person, but Willow takes knickknacks to the next level.
Did I mention there are crystalseverywhere?Colorful stones dangle from every cupboard in her kitchen.They hang across her living room window like sun-catchers.There’s even a crystal toilet roll holder in the bathroom.
As chaotic as this place is, every single piece—from the paper mâché elephant to the six-foot starfish—is a reflection of the beautiful soul sitting beside me, clutching a soldering iron.
I pick up one of her pottery jugs that looks like, well, jugs.There are nipples and everything.“One of these days, he’s going to explode,” I mutter.
For someone who’s so concerned about making mistakes, Ethan doesn’t seem to realize what’s bound to happen.Burnout is real, and Ethan Davis is on the verge of bursting into flames because of it.
“Sounds like he needs help,” Willow says, bringing her face closer to the magnifying glass.
“He does, but he’s too stubborn to see it.”Being so focused on the end goal means you miss so much along the way.
I want him to enjoy his time here, and that can’t happen if he never stops working.
Willow squints down at the seashell Ethan gave me.“Yeah, but you’re stubborner,” she says, closing the metal loop through the tiny hole she drilled a few minutes ago.
“Not sure that’s a word, Wills.”But she’s right.I am stubborner.“If he doesn’t take a break, he’s bound to regret it.”
When Ethan thinks about Inner Shores, I don’t want him getting lost in images of sandbags and plywood shutters.Don’t want him getting swallowed by the sound of drills and saws.
I want him to remember how it felt to stroll along the sandy beaches and stand in the foamy surf.I want him to think about me.
“So how do I convince him to come out of his cave?”I ask.That’s what his parents’ house is—a big, empty cavern for a big, snarly bear.
Willow sets aside her tools and hands me my new necklace with a smile.“You don’t give him a choice.”
