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Dad is rarely involved in the shop now. He’s more of a silent partner. He sometimes comes into town when he’s working as a handyman. But other than that, he stays tucked away in his little mountain cabin where he works on his motorcycles and talks to his dog.
I excuse myself to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. Normally, Thursday nights are my night to have dinner with my dad. Ace isn’t here. We rarely see each other. Ever since that kiss at my mom’s funeral, he’s barely acknowledged my presence.
“Act normal,” I whisper to my reflection. Yeah, I can totally act normal. I can pretend that what’s happening between me and Ace isn’t weird. I can pretend that I don’t lie awake in bed, trying to define this strange bond between us.
Leaving the bathroom, I join my dad and Ace at the table. He’s made tater tot casserole this time, the one with the mushrooms in it. He makes it the same way my mom did except for one difference. She always pulled out my mushrooms.
While the two of them talk, I nudge the food around my plate and try to plan video content for my channel. I have an online video channel and blog where I help women learn how to conquer everyday home repairs.
It started when a pipe under my sink was leaking, and I fixed it myself. I felt so empowered that I didn’t have to call my dad or another handyman that I decided I wanted to help other women experience the same feeling.
My content is resonating, and I have millions of loyal followers. I even have an upcoming meeting with a TV show executive. It’s a formality at this point. They’re going to offer me my own show, a chance to travel the world and help even more women.
My dad turns to me, interrupting my thoughts, “What do you think about that Michael fellow?”
I frown and try to remember who he is. “You mean that guy who keeps coming into the hardware store to pick up deliveries?”
“That’s the one. He works on the Kringle Ranch now. Seems like a good man. Hard worker.” Dad nods to himself. If there’s one thing my father respects, it’s a hard worker. My dad has never slacked a day in his life.
“Why? Do you want me to interview him for a job at the hardware store?” Michael has always seemed nice. He’s flirty, but I’ve never paid him any attention.
“I want him to date my daughter,” Dad says as casually as if we were discussing the weather.
I sputter, spitting out some of my soda onto the table. I reach for a napkin to quickly blot it. “Come again.”
Dad scowls at me, his bushy eyebrows coming down over his dark eyes. “You’re too old to be this single. You need to be dating. You need to be having fun.”
Across the table from me, Ace has gone still. I’m not even sure he’s breathing anymore. I quickly avert my gaze, so my dad won’t notice. “I am having fun.”
Dad beams at me. “Yeah, what’s his name? Bring him around.”
I sigh. “No, I mean I’m having fun building my video channel and my blog. I’m getting more visits every day, and it’s my passion.”
“Passion is a great thing to have. But nothing says you can’t have passion and a man too,” Dad points out. He’s not one of those people who believes a woman’s place is in the home. He supports my video channel, but he’s also convinced that marriage is one of the best things that ever happened in his life.
Ace is still not moving. His hands are clenched into fists, and for a moment, I wonder what he would do if I did date somebody else. Would it prompt him to take action? Would he try to claim me or would he merely let me go?
I’ll never know the answers because I can’t stand the idea of another man looking at me. I never want to feel anyone’s hands on me except for Ace. He’s my one and only, and he’s never going to claim me. Not unless there’s a catalyst, something that pushes him. As soon as I think it, an idea pops into my head. I might have the catalyst I need.
4
MACKENZIE
I don’t knowif this is a good idea, and my hands are shaking as I clench the steering wheel tightly. I can’t see his headlights, and there’s no sound of a rumbling truck engine. But somehow, I still know that he’ll be there tonight.
I know my possessive mountain man will be stalking me. He’ll be prowling outside my window, waiting for me to get home. I can only hope that he finds me as irresistible as I find him. Otherwise, I’m about to make a fool of myself. Such a big fool of myself that I’m certain I’ll have to change my name and disappear from North Carolina entirely.
When I get home, I go through my normal routine of checking locks and shutting windows. Courage is a safe place. It’s not that I have to do this. My dad drilled it into my head when I was young that the last thing to do at night is to check the locks and shut the windows.
I think maybe he wasn’t safe growing up. Maybe that’s the reason he’s always watched over me so carefully. If only he knew that now his best friend has taken over that role. It’s his best friend who creeps up to my windows late at night and listens to my soft, breathy moans as I touch my heated flesh.
Just the idea of Ace listening—or better watching me—get off has my cheeks going red. Still, I can’t change my routine. If this idea is going to work, then Ace has to think everything is as usual.
I don’t close the curtains in my bedroom. I never do. I prefer to leave them open because I live on the edge of town. My bedroom window overlooks the forest with the moon shining down.
I used to leave it open because I liked the view of the moon. I liked the way I felt so safe and cozy with it as my nightlight. Now, I leave the curtains open because I know that Ace is appreciating the view.
Tonight, I take my shower. I use my fruity bodywash, the one I usually skip when I’m in a rush and trying to put together projects for my video channel. The spot between my legs hurts, but I don’t let myself touch it. Not yet.
