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Everett
There’s no shame in being down and out. No shame in picking yourself up from the dirt, dusting yourself off, and starting over with your life. I wouldn’t judge a single soul for going through something like that, and definitely not Josie Martin.
She’s embarrassed, though. It’s clear to see. Just like it’s obvious that she feels… obligated to me.
First she cooks us both pancakes for breakfast, then insists on washing up.
Then she brings me coffees in my workshop all through the morning.
By the time I break for lunch, I’m half afraid that she’ll be pegging my washing on the line, but she’s not. Thank god.
Josie’s hunched over the kitchen table—my table, not Harry’s—scrolling through local job listings on my laptop. I stand in the doorway and beat the worst of the sawdust from my clothes before stepping inside, leaving the door propped open in the hopes of a breeze.
“Anything?”
I mean to sound casual, like I’m taking polite interest, but it comes out in a grunt. Josie’s mouth twists, and she lifts one arm in a shrug.
“Not yet. But I swear I’ll get out of your hair soon, Mr Bray.”
“Everett,” I remind her. “No rush.”
Now isn’t that the truth? If I could figure out a way to keep her here forever, I would. Even knowing that she’s torturously close and still out of reach, even with the constant awareness of her a sweet torment in my body, I never want her gone.
Having Josie here all to myself is the happiest I’ve been in years. I slept like the dead last night.
“I need a vegetable patch,” I tell the spoon drawer as I fix us coffees. It’s easier talking to Josie like this, when my hands are busy and I can keep my eyes fixed somewhere safe. Her hair is so distracting when it catches the sun. “You could dig one for me if you like. I’ll pay you for it.”
That’d tide her over until she can find something more long term. And it’d keep her here with me, sweating together in the sticky heat, digging up the warm soil out behind the barns.
“I didn’t know you grow stuff.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder. “I don’t. That’s why I need the patch.”
Josie blinks at me, her plump mouth twitching—and fuck, I love making her smile.
It feels better than when I put the finishing touches on Harry’s barn. Better than the warm, tingly feeling from a smoky glass of bourbon. When Josie smiles at me, I could flip a truck with one palm.
“You’re going to give me a job as well as a place to sleep?” Her tone is teasing. She’s an angel, with a halo of sunshine around her golden hair. “How am I supposed to repay all this, Mr Bray?”
I turn and stare so hard at the coffee spoons, I’m surprised the metal doesn’t warp. “Don’t need repayment.”
Josie hums, and it makes my gut clench.
Is she on to me?
“Harry will be here in the next few days.” I latch onto the only safe topic: the constant reminder of why I can’t let myself weaken around Josie Martin. The reason I’d be the worst kind of man to give in to these needs, not that she’d want them anyway. “You can stay together in the barn. It’ll be like old times.”
Josie’s quiet. When I glance over again, she’s frowning at the table top.
“Or I could make up another bed for him somewhere else,” I offer slowly. Still no dice. Josie’s gnawing on her bottom lip, like she’s biting back something she desperately wants to say, and maybe that’s why I keep going without thinking. “Or you can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa. Harry can have his barn back.”
At that, Josie lights up like a fucking Christmas tree.
Ah, shit.
Can’t read into this. Can’t let myself hope.
Of course she’d find it weird staying over there with Harry. Sure, they hung out there together that summer, but they still used to date. That’s got to be strange.
