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I stopped mid stride, one booted foot in the air. I scowled and looked down, expecting to see a plate of waffles I’d somehow missed laying in the grass. I didn’t. I missed the ugly bald rodent. A rodent that was wearing a bright green nylon harness attached to a matching leash.
I took a step back, and the kid picked up the rodent and held it under its armpits as he showed it to me. “This is Waffles.”
We’ve met.
“Addie gave him to me. His family left him in a box outside her work because they didn’t want him anymore.”
I really couldn’t blame them, and they left it there because everyone in town knew Addie would find it a home. She’d been rehoming strays and pets since she was a kid.
“Want to pet him?” the kid offered. “He likes when you scratch his belly.”
When I made no move to touch it, the kid put it back on the grass. The thing kicked its stubby back legs out and lay on its belly as if it was sunbathing.
“He’s a skinny pig,” the kid said with his chin raised, as if he was proud of the fact that he knew what it was called.
He could call it whatever he wanted. It was still a rodent.
“It’s like a guinea pig, except he doesn’t have hair. Well, he has a little right here.” He touched the rodent’s face where there was a mohawk of white hairs running down the bridge of his nose. “And on his paws.” He climbed to his feet and held out the leash. “Do you want to hold his leash?”
Jesus Christ. “No.” I didn’t want to hold a goddamn rodent’s leash.
I ignored his outstretched hand and was about to walk by him when I glanced up and saw Macayla standing on the porch eight feet away, her hands cupping a mug with steam billowing out of it.
Her lips were parted, and her lily-pad eyes were wide as she stared at me with shock. I wasn’t sure why she was shocked. I told her I’d come by to fix the screen this morning.
My eyes trailed down the length of her body, and a foreign reverberation echoed deep in my chest. What the hell was she wearing?
It was some kind of baggy army-green onesie. The crotch hung low and concealed her tight ass, toned thighs, and wide hips. Big, droopy side pockets, fitted ankle cuffs, and sleeves that stopped mid forearm completed the look. The only thing remotely normal about it was the deep V-neck.
And yet, somehow, she looked sexy as hell.
She tore her eyes from mine and her chest expanded as she inhaled a deep breath.
“Uh, Jacks, breakfast is ready,” she said.
Her voice was scratchy, as if she’d just rolled out of bed, and from the looks of her hair in that messy ponytail with wisps sticking out in every direction, she likely had.
“Okay.” He jumped to his feet, and before I could object, he shoved the leash into my hand and darted across the yard. “Make sure he doesn’t run away,” he called over his shoulder before he disappeared inside.
I stared down at the miniaturized hippo. I had a hard time imagining the thing could walk, let alone run.
How did this happen? How had any of this happened? I was here to fix the door of a cabin I hated. I was holding the leash of a rodent I also hated for a kid who had night terrors and looked at me like I was a superhero. That wasn’t even touching the fact that his mother had been scarred into my head since I was twelve years old. Or that she was the little sister of a guy who would likely be on a plane and knocking down my door if he knew I was anywhere near her. Let alone if he knew I was imagining her in robin’s-egg-blue lace panties.
Fuck, I’d deserve it too. Because there was nothing safe about me, and my life wasn’t meant for anything permanent. Let alone permanent with a woman and her kid. A damaged kid.
The familiar scent of coconuts invaded my nose, and I looked up to see Macayla approaching, her lips glistening as if she’d just licked them.
She was no longer holding her mug, and I saw it sitting on the tree stump used as a table on the porch. She stopped for a second and sharply inhaled while hopping on one foot, having obviously stepped on one of the numerous prickly weeds. Her head dipped as she brushed off her foot. When she looked up again, a few strands of hair had fallen in front of her face, and she casually tucked them behind her ear. She smiled at me.
My breath caught in my throat, and I stared, unable to move. It was as if a steel anchor was chained around my ankles and pinning me to the ground.
Christ, she was beautiful. No makeup, hair a mess, and wearing a ridiculous onesie that hid all her curves—and yet she was breathtaking.
My hand tightened on the drill, and the goddamn thing sparked to life with a low frequency whir that sent a nearby squirrel scampering up a tree.
I scowled and took my finger off the trigger.
She stopped a few feet from me. “Morning,” she said, a smile pulling at the corners of mouth.
