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A smile lifts the corners of her mouth. Easy. Friendly. Like last night changed something—fixed something. And for better or worse it feels good.
Then she looks past me, and her eyebrows raise. “I forgot you were doing the work on this place.” She moves further into the shop, giving me a wide berth.
I glance down at my sweaty, dirty self, and my sawdust covered shorts and work boots. I’d give me a wide berth too.
“You made this?” She’s smoothing her hand along the countertop when I turn, her head tilted, hair falling over her shoulder.
“I did.” I clear my throat, fold my arms, and try not to picture her how I left her this morning. Half-naked, warm and pressed against me.
“Where did you get the wood? Cluan jacaranda, is it?” She glances up at me, lips parted.
“Yeah.” I scratch my collar bone and drag my gaze from where she’s still sliding her palm over the natural curves of the wood. “Got it in the timber yard over in Tenting.”
“Nice.” She nods, looking at me, but not, almost like she’s lost in her head. “Hardly anybody works with local jacaranda anymore and the ones that do charge a fortune.”
“You know your wood.”
“I know Clua.” She shrugs. A slight frown creasing the skin between her eyebrows, she continues to examine the countertop, her hair practically glowing in the sunlight flooding the shop.
I watch her silently. Breathe in the floral scent of her. Remind myself that I can’t want her. That if she scratched the surface, she wouldn’t want me either. “Listen, I’ve got—”
“—Thank you for cleaning up the disaster in my kitchen last night,” she cuts me off and turns from the counter. “I didn’t notice until this morning.”
I did it when she kicked me out of the living room last night so I wouldn’t see her squirm as the ointment did its thing. “No problem.” I drag my bottom lip through my teeth. “You need a new pot rack.”
“I know.” Her stare fixes on my mouth. “What time did you leave? I thought you might have woken me.”
I don’t answer. Her tongue slips over her bottom lip, and just like that I’m right back in that empty hospital room with her all those months ago. Memories assault me. Her face in my hands, her lips on mine, her fingers in my hair dragging me closer. It may have been months ago, but none of it’s old. Not to me. It’s branded into my fucking brain, and now, thanks to last night, so is how it feels to wake up with her half naked and wrapped around me.
She looks up, locks eyes with me. “Mylo?”
I shake my brain back into gear. “Nine-ish. Late. You were...”As good as naked and even I don’t have that much self-control.“You were sound asleep, I didn’t want to… I couldn’t...”
Her lips pout to the side, like she’s trying not to smile at my epic awkwardness. “I slept until ten. We sleep well together.” Her eyes widen, then roll to the side, like she can’t believe she said that.
I fight a grin. “Apparently so.”
“Soooo, anyway. I should probably go.” She glances at the watch on her slim wrist, then back up to me, her lips still twitching, clear blue eyes scanning my face. “Thanks again for last night.”
“Any time.”
I watch her go, scratch my beard and lose the fight to keep that grin from spreading over my face.
The rest of the morning is a bust. The floor tiles I was supposed to pick up from the store didn’t arrive, and they couldn’t mix the paint I need until this afternoon. Not even that was enough to dampen the buzz of fuck knows what after my encounter with Kenzi earlier. Maybe it won’t blow up in my face. Or maybe it will, but damn if it doesn’t feel good to have her smiling my way again.
With a couple of hours to kill and too many thoughts, I do what I always do when I need to clear my head. I surf.
The tang of salt water on my tongue. The board cutting through the water with every easy pass of my arms. The sun warms my back, staving off the ocean’s coolness. The waves are bigger on this side of the island—too big to teach on, but perfect for what I need. Escape.
I focus on the building swell, adrenaline already sparking in the base of my spine. I eye the wave, turn the board, then paddle like my ass is on fire. The wave lifts and I push onto my feet and carve away. A perfect barrel. Mind. Cleared. It’s like fucking magic.
I’m still riding the high when I drop my board onto the sand and shake the water from my hair. Nothing has ever come close to the freedom of shooting a curl and escaping before it collapses. The memories it brings with it are only good ones—no baggage, no expectations. Summers in Hawaii with my uncle—the one Taylor man with guts enough to break the cycle—to do life his way, to hell with the consequences.
My cell rings with the robotic music my nephew picked to be his mom’s ringtone before I left. I pull it from the pocket of my backpack. Jaynee’s face flashes on the screen. I love my sister, but the last time I talked to her she told me to get my ass home because dad was sick, and someone needed to run shit until he got back on his feet.
Resentment burns off my good mood. Not at Jaynee. She was just the messenger. I resent the fact that over any one of the men he has working willingly under him—any one of the men dying for a chance to take the reins and show him their worth, he summoned me. I resent that he expected me to drop everything I’m working towards here and jump. But most of all I resent that I did.
Roughly drying my hands on the towel my bag is under, I grab my cell and swipe the screen. “Jay, what’s up?”
