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He also let me know his father knew my father back in the day, passing on his condolences, which felt like a good omen.
Word would have gotten around about my parents’ death, probably spreading from the real estate agent when I claimed back my father’s property.
Together we built the decking around the tiny houses. We added interior woodwork and other exterior areas on my property where I needed carpenter skills, but I was eager to learn for future upkeep.
I made the firepit area by myself and assisted Jensen in building the long wooden bench couch in an upside-down ‘U’ shape. It faces the view and the gorgeous sunsets we get here. Plump Christmas themed cushions rest against the wooden back for extra comfort, but I will swap them out for cushion covers that match the tiny house colors after Christmas.
The Temecula winter gets its fair share of sun and mild days. The temperatures averaging twenty to twenty-two degrees—the Australian in me wants to talk in Celsius, it’s a tough gig to break—the weather report will say seventy-two-ish. Still, the nights drop down to chilly, so a firepit is a good investment in coziness and socializing for the guests.
In all the time Jensen allowed me to sort of apprentice with him, which I immensely enjoyed, I didn’t let any conversation linger on my parents’ deaths. That was a taboo subject between us, and he never pushed me for more information. I am sure he would have heard enough on the grapevine, but it was too painful a topic to talk over with him.
We get along well because Jensen is funny and intelligent. I enjoy his easy-going personality and company while working side-by-side.
I swear the guy gets better looking every time I see him, no doubt about it; he knows how to fill out a tight pair of jeans. Jensen did flirt with me initially, but I threw my rule book straight at him. I let him know I wasn’t looking for a date, only a professional friend. It didn’t stop the flirting, but I treated it with good humor. I believed he thought I would break my rules if he persisted, but I’m not playing that game.
Jensen does drop in unannounced from time to time when he’s in the area—as he likes to call it—but I don’t encourage him, and I was honest with him from the get-go.
Having taken in his fill of my newly landscaped property, he walks over to me. “Wow, you’ve been busy. Now, this is why you haven’t been returning my messages or answering your phone.” He reaches me, pulling me in for a brief friendly hug. “From the look on your face, Aussie, you still don’t remember.”What was I supposed to remember?
He cocks his head on the side, studying me. And then his face changes. His mouth drops open.
Here it comes.
“Aussie”—Jensen lowers his voice—“what the hell?” He takes a step right up into my personal space. His hands come up and gently peel my sunglasses off my face, sucking in oxygen. “Who do I have to beat up? You told me you were no longer in the bounty hunter line of work.”
“I’m okay. It’s not what you think.” My friend lifts a hand to hold my chin while he inspects my face gently. His lips are so close to mine I find myself bending away from his scrutiny. To cover my unease, I blurt out, “You should see the other guy.” I fail badly at cracking a joke when his look of concern crashes into a deep scowl. I’m not sure if it is the casual way that I am fobbing off how my face looks or the fact he noticed me pulling away.
I sigh in recognition because Jensen is such a great guy, but I know he plans to get me eventually on a date, and I am not going on any dates with any guys until I am ready.
“You can’t be looking like you had a brawl in a bar and not explain to me—the guy who is your friend—what happened.” He crosses his arms. “Plus, you stood Hank up.”
What?
Jensen patiently watches the cogs turning in my brain until I get thatohmoment. I was supposed to drop off a batch of homemade lamingtons to Hank yesterday, and I clean forgot even to make them. They are fluffy sponge cake squares coated in chocolate-not-quite-icing but not-quite-a-chocolate-sauce and rolled in desiccated coconut. They are an Aussie classic.
And then I go and say, “Honestly? It’s a funny thing. I met a guy—”
“You met a guy? I thought you had your rule—”
“—in a café, standing behind me. The guy bent to help me pick up my keys, and he got rammed from behind from a teenage boy-on-boy physical argument over a girl, and a chain reaction occurred”—I swirl my hand around in front of my head—“face meets wooden counter-top.”
“Babe, are you hurt anywhere else? You should be resting, not working.”How did we get to babe?
“Peterson, I’m a big girl.” Jensen raises an eyebrow, with a smile tugging away at his mouth. He’s well over a foot taller than me. I punch him lightly in the arm. “You know what I mean. I can’t help it; I’m height-challenged.”
“Aussie, you make up for it in other areas.” His eyes settle on my lips.
I get my pointy finger in his face. “You and me, we aren’t atbabelevel, carpenter boy.” I’m mock-angry. “We are at ‘Aussie’ level, and in turn, you are ‘Peterson.’”
“Damn rule book,” he mutters, giving me a sexy, cheeky, dimpled grin.
“Don’t press it, please. I like being friends.”
He dips his chin, staring at me, rubbing the back of his neck. And right there is a look that should thaw my anti-men heart. But it didn’t. Jensen ticks many boxes, but something inside me isn’t looking for more.
To break the awkward moment, I playfully shove against his chest with more strength than a woman my build should possess, making him take two steps backward.
“Ow, you wound me.” He rubs his chest.
