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I'm excited to see what she can do with me.
Fuck...if only.
I clear my throat and focus on the task at hand, grabbing my tools and heading up to the roof. As I work, I can't help stealing glances at her. She's sitting on the porch swing now, swaying back and forth as she talks on the phone. I can't hear what she's saying, but I watch her lips move, imagining what they'd feel like on mine.
By the time I climb back down from the roof, I'm sweating and my mind is on only one thing. She was wearing a cozy sweater when I arrived, but she's shed it as the day gets warmer, down to only a thin white t-shirt with some kind of company logo on it. I've stripped down to just my jeans and toolbelt myself, the summer sun beating down on the roof.
Her jaw drops when she looks up from her book, and I can see the clear signs of attraction there. Maybe I should make overtures...or not. I don't deserve a girl like this, there's no fucking way.
She’s beautiful, but she’s still Dave Sawyer’s girl. I wouldn’t want to hurt her, and this woman doesn’t know my past. She deserves someone better than me.
"You uh...you look hot," she mutters softly, looking me up and down.
I snort, resisting the urge to prod her for the comment. "Yeah, it's warm up there."
Her eyes dart around. "You—do you want a drink? I mean, not to go out or anything, just to have. To cool off. Sorry."
"I would like that," I grin.
I follow her inside as she leads the way, her hips swaying with every step. This ain't the kind of girl who typically hangs around in Fern Hollow; she's a city girl through and through, used to wearing heels, walking with a purpose and with looks that kill. I banish the image I get of her in nothingbutheels, even though she'd look damn good in black patent leather stilettos.
I'm a monster. Fuck me.
"Options are a little limited," she says, opening the fridge. "I've got gas station beer and some lemonade I picked up at a farmer's market on my way out here. Other than that, you're stuck with water."
"Beer me," I say.
She laughs over her shoulder. "Gotcha."
She takes two out and places them on the counter, then starts to dig through the kitchen drawers. "I swear I had a bottle opener last night..."
"No worries," I say. "I've got it."
I grab one bottle and pop the cap on the edge of the counter, then I do the same with the other. Claire watches me with an impressed look, her pouty pink lips parted in concentration.
"Can you show me how to do that sometime?" she asks.
"Gladly," I say. "It's really not that hard."
I pass her one of the bottles and she takes it with a grateful smile.
"Hey," I say. "Cheers...to you making this place your home. I know it's not under the best circumstances, but here's to you, Miss Sawyer. Welcome back to Fern Hollow."
I hold out my beer and we clink our bottles together.
"Gee, thanks, Mr. Cooper," she says.
We take a few drinks in silence, watching each other over the rims of our bottles. I can feel the tension between us, the unspoken desire that hangs in the air. I'm sure she can tell I want her, and I've caught more than a few looks from her...but I’m holding myself back.
It’s mostly respect for her old man. The guy was my closest friend in Fern Hollow, and I won't disrespect his granddaughter. Of course, that doesn't mean I won't act on how I feel–just that I'm going to treat her like a goddamn lady and take my time.
"Gray...can I ask you something?" she says, her voice soft.
"Sure, anything."
"Why do you insist on doing this alone?" she asks, gesturing to the house. "I mean, it's a big job, and I don't want to put you out or anything. I figured the roof would be a job for a crew, and I know you've got them on hand. I mean, I met them."
“Having a crew here would be expensive, Claire.”
