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Last time I stayed in Harry’s barn, I took the sofa bed. We were nineteen, too old to keep pretending to date, and besides, neither of us wanted to cross that line once we got old enough to really consider it.
Harry… well, Harry has his own reasons, I’m pretty sure. And me?
My reason unlocks the front door, his big shoulders tense under his flannel shirt. I’m close enough here to feel the heat of him seeping through his clothes. Close enough to smell the peppermint tang of his soap.
“You gonna be okay in here all alone?”
My cheeks glow hot enough to cook an egg at that question, but as I follow Harry’s uncle inside, I give myself a stern talking to.
He doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s not an offer. Everett’s just asking if I’ll be alright in the creaky barn at night on my own, because let’s face it, I haven’t proven myself to be super steady and reliable tonight.
“I’m good,” I tell his shoulder blades, aiming for decisive and landing somewhere near wishful. “I’m not scared of the dark.”
Everett grunts, flicking on a standing lamp. Harry’s converted barn is smaller than the main one, so it’s basically an open plan cabin. There’s a stove top and a scrubbed kitchen table; cleared counter tops with a microwave and a kettle. A small refrigerator, a squashy sofa, and a coffee table.
Plus those bookshelves. Harry’s not a huge reader, truth be told, but I put a good dent in the rows and rows of worn paperbacks the last time I stayed.
“Have I ever mentioned how freaking cool it is that you built this?” My neck still aches as I gaze up at the ceiling beams. Even up there, where people hardly ever look, there are patterns carved into the wood. Every inch of this barn is a piece of art.
Harry’s uncle is like that. The more you learn about him, the more you take the trouble to look, the more hidden treasure you unearth.
Everett clears his throat, scowling at the window, but there’s a pleased flush on his cheekbones. “I won’t be far away,” he says, like I never complimented him at all. “So if you need anything, you can shout.”
As if I’d bother him again after all the trouble I’ve caused. An angry bear could burst through that door and come to eat me, and I wouldn’t make another peep. I’d go to meet my maker, and my last thought would be how good the man across from me smells. Like peppermint and sawdust.
“Josie,” Everett rumbles, like he’s reading my mind. Knowing eyes pin me to the rug. “I’m right next door. Okay?”
“Okay.”
So close, yet so far.
“Tomorrow we’ll figure out a job for you.” God, I don’t deserve this man’s kindness. If he knew the thoughts I have about him—the ways I’ve touched myself with his voice rumbling in my brain—he’d frogmarch me back to my parked car. He’d send me back out onto the highway. “Don’t go anywhere, Josie. I mean it.”
There’s an undercurrent to his words. Not a threat, exactly, but a promise.
If I leave, he’ll come fetch me.
If I disobey, he won’t be pleased.
I bite down on my bottom lip—hard.
“I’ll stay,” I murmur, fiddling with the hem of my white t-shirt. I probably have pit stains galore after that long, sweaty drive, but with the way Everett stares at me, I forget to be self conscious about that. “I won’t go anywhere, I promise. Thank you so much, Mr Bray.”
“Everett,” he says, then his forehead creases in consternation.
I hiccup a laugh. “Are you sure?”
Beneath that dark beard, his mouth tilts. Because no, he’s not sure about this at all, not sure if I should stay or if I should use his first name, and it’s written all over his gruff, handsome face. There’s no playbook for this. No manual for crashing with your ex boyfriend’s uncle.
Especially when you want him so badly you must be letting off pheromones all over his kitchen. Can he smell them on me? Can he tell how achy and restless I get in his presence?
“Sleep well, Josie.”
I raise a trembling hand. Heavy boots tread across the barn floor, and then the door swings shut behind him.
I blow out a long, slow breath, and give myself one final lecture for the day.
I will not touch myself in my ex boyfriend’s bed while thinking about his uncle. I will not bury my face in the pillow and hump the mattress with the scent of his laundry powder in my nose.
I will go to bed, and I will not touch below my own neck.
There has to be a goddamn line.
