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I nodded because I didn’t trust myself to speak at the moment.
Macayla’s smile broadened as she held out her hand for the rodent’s leash. “You don’t look like you want to hold him. Here. I’ll take him.”
I passed her the leash, not saying anything. She bent and picked up the rodent, cradling it to her chest, and a low, purr-like chatter erupted. She laughed and scratched the thing affectionately on the head.
I stared at her for a half a second too long, and when she looked up, our eyes locked. Her smile faded and her lips parted as she inhaled a deep breath.
I didn’t like it. Any of it. How she didn’t look away when I glowered. How the sound of her laugh sent an unexplainable warmth through me. How her smile made my heart skip a beat. How I suddenly yearned for the smell of coffee and coconuts.
Six days. I’d fix the door and stay clear of her and the cabin for six days. It wouldn’t be hard. I had a shitload of work to do on the house and could easily avoid seeing her and the kid.
“I’ll fix the door.” I didn’t wait for a response. Shit, I’d rather she didn’t speak at all. Or smell so good. Or tuck her hair behind her ear. It would be better if she just disappeared.
I walked up to the porch, hearing her soft footfalls behind me as she followed.
I grabbed the screen, examining the top where the hinge had ripped from the doorframe. A doorframe that was now busted. Fuck. I’d been hoping it was a simple fix and that I would only need to drill in the screws, but the wood was splintered, and the door would need a new frame.
Macayla picked up her mug and sipped. “He never talks to anyone he just met like that.”
I didn’t look at her or respond. I crouched and set the drill bit into one of the hinge screws at the bottom of the screen door. I pressed the trigger, and the screw unwound and fell out into the palm of my hand. I repeated the process three more times until all the screws holding the hinge to the frame were out.
“He likes you,” she said.
I put the drill on the ground while still holding the door so it wouldn’t fall. I dropped the screws into my side pocket, then stood up. “The doorframe needs repairing. I’ll have to come back.”
She chewed her lower lip, glancing at the screen and back to me. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
I picked up the screen and walked to the far end of the porch where the kid couldn’t knock it over while coming in and out of the house. I leaned it up against the wall and walked back to pick up my drill.
“You don’t have to fix it,” she said. “I mean, we’ll be gone soon anyway.”
“I said I would.”
She didn’t respond, and I was glad because I didn’t want to hear her sexy, scratchy voice again.
I strode down the steps, and I had no idea why I said what came out of my mouth next. “The onesie is ridiculous.”
Her bubble of laughter rang through the air, and for a split second I felt a foreign twitch pull the corners of my mouth upward.
Macayla
“Let’s go, little man,” I called over my shoulder while pouring coffee into my travel mug.
I needed a bucketful after last night’s sleep, or rather, lack of. I’d been on the porch until after midnight, fiddling with a verse of a song. And I’d been fiddling because my head hadn’t been on the song. It had been on Vic Gate.
I didn’t know how many times I’d scanned the darkness, wondering if he was there. If he was watching me. Then I’d felt silly because Vic had better things to do, and there was no chance he was lurking in the woods like some stalker and watching me play guitar every night.
Still, any little sound caused my breath to hitch, and my heart had skipped so many beats it felt as if it had run a marathon of hurdles.
Three days. That’s how long it had been since I’d seen him. He’d fixed the screen door at some point, but I hadn’t seen him do it.
I shut off the coffee maker and sipped my coffee. “Jacks, we’re going to be late.”
Again. And I’d have tight-ass Vice Principal Gruella Gorilla stomping down the school steps while pursing her puffer fish lips at me again. Then I’d have to listen to her high-pitched voice as she tried to make me feel like the most irresponsible parent in the world for not getting Jackson to school on time. But she didn’t have to say anything to make that happen. I felt irresponsible all by myself.
I’d never let her know that, and just to piss her off when we were late last Thursday, I drove in the “out” lane instead of the “in.” You’d have thought I’d committed a felony by the way she thundered down the steps, the pickle up her butt sinking deeper with each stride.
I offered her the sweetest smile I could muster and said, “Sorry. There was a bunch of cows blocking the road this morning. They must have escaped in the storm last night.” It had been Jackson’s turn to come up with an excuse for being late.
