“Don’t care,” I clipped. “He’s proven time and again that I can’t trust him.”
Silas sighed. “Fair enough. You need anything else before I head out?”
I shook my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You got it, fire man.” He headed for the door with a half-hearted wave.
I made one last pass through the downstairs. We’d made good progress over the past week or so, but this job was a true marathon and not one we could rush.
After giving everything a last once-over, I slipped out the back door and locked it behind me, pulling off my mask. Now that people in town knew we were rehabbing the place, we ran the risk of more lookie-loos. Locking up was good, but I wondered if I should talk to Shep about installing some cameras.
Laughter caught on the breeze, light and free. The sound was so pure it almost hurt to listen to it. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from searching out the source.
Rhodes sat with her toned legs on either side of a blue pot while her dog danced toward her and then away, something in his mouth.Her head tipped back again, laughter set free as her wild mahogany hair spilled down her back—strands I wanted to sink my fingers into as I took her mouth and swallowed that laughter whole.
I moved toward her without thought, as if she held me in some sort of trance, that laughter her siren’s song.
“Biscuit,” she chided, eyes shining.
The dog just kept dancing, and as I approached, I saw he had a trowel in his mouth.
Rhodes dove for him, but he danced out of her grasp yet again. The exchange only made her laugh again.
That damn sound. I’d never get it out of my head.
As she straightened, she caught sight of me. “Anson.”
I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Didn’t trust whatever words might come out of my mouth.
She was too fucking gorgeous for her own good, all tumbling waves and tanned skin. Curves peeking out of shorts and a tank top. And those hazel eyes. Witch eyes that entranced with their golden flames.
Her brows pulled together. “Everything okay?”
I forced my gaze away from her face, taking in everything around her—the pots, the flowers. I scowled. “Everything’s so bright.”
Another laugh burst out of Rhodes, but this one was stronger, wilder. It hit me like a freight train, nearly making me stumble back a step.
She grinned up at me, the second blow in a one-two punch. “Says the king of anti-color.”
My scowl just deepened. “King of anti-color?”
That grin morphed into a full smile as she gestured behind me. “Black truck with not even so much as a bumper sticker.”
Of course, there were no stickers on my vehicle. That kind of thing just gave people insight into who you were.
Rhodes drew a circle in the air between us. “Gray T-shirt.” Her hand lowered. “Dark-wash jeans. I guess there is a little blue in there, but barely.” Then she pointed to my shoes. “Even your boots are black. What did color ever do to you?”
“Reminds me of what I lost.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I blamed those hazel eyes holding me hostage.
All the amusement fled Rhodes’ face in an instant. I braced for an onslaught of questions, but they didn’t come. Instead, she kept her gaze on me, not looking away from the pain I was sure was carved into my face. “I’m sorry. For whatever you lost.”
So many people were uncomfortable with agony. They couldn’t stand to see others in the throes of grief because it reminded them of what was at stake in their lives. That they, too, could lose everything in a flash.
Rhodes kept those hypnotizing eyes on me as she took a deep breath. “I know it’s hard to have the reminders around. It’s easier to lock them away. But sometimes you need to just take the first step.”
Pain pulsed deep in my chest, the memory of my sister still beating there. Greta’s vibrancy. Her laugh. She would’ve loved Rhodes on sight.
Rhodes patted the ground next to her. “Maybe you start with one pot of flowers.” She shot me a smirk. “I’ll even give you my most boring pot. Least amount of color.”
