Because of the way Meg’s holding her hand against her chest, I decide to lift her down. When I reach in and cradle her sides, she sucks in a breath. The fabric of her shirt is buttery soft against my calloused hands. Beneath it, the outline of her rib cage presses back. And the underside of her breasts.
I set her down and yank my hands back. Shit. I hadn’t meant to touch her like…that. God, that’s the last thing she needs right now.
Trying to play it cool, I close the truck door and jog up my two steps to let them inside.
I flip on the light and continue to my kitchen, which takes up the right side of the main room.
“Wow,” Quinn says behind me. “How come the wood, like, glows?”
“The beams are refinished old growth Douglas Fir.” I flip on the main light before heading for the freezer. I crack open the ice tray and drop half of the cubes into a clean kitchen towel on the counter, then turn on the faucet to get the water warm. From under the sink I pull out another first aid kit and assemble my supplies.
“Who took these pictures?” Quinn says, still in the hallway. “They’re gorgeous. Is this your daughter?”
She must be looking at the black and white portrait of Greta riding Gypsy. I took it the summer she turned ten. “Yeah.”
Quinn wanders into the living area, then glances up to the second level. “Stripping off the old paint must have been quite the chore.”
I don’t think Meg’s A-frame has been renovated, so it likely still has the same paint job mine came with. “Worth it though. It was like a cave in here.”
“Can I go look upstairs?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, and coax Meg’s knuckles under the faucet.
“I know first aid,” Meg complains, wincing when the water soaks the gauze.
I peel the gauze from the wound, going slow. “I’m overdue for a refresher in wound care. You’re doing me a favor.”
She narrows her eyes. “Does that mean I get one in return?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Depends on what you come up with.”
“No more snakes.”
I chuckle. “Bro. Little word of advice? I’ll let this slide because you obviously didn’t grow up with brothers, but don’teveradmit what you’re scared of. It’s practically an invitation.”
She scoffs. “That’s just cruel.”
Maybe, but the torment from my brothers is a love language all its own. “You were really scared?”
She looks away, her mouth drawn into a tight line.
Is this a sign my teasing has gone too far? “You grew up here, right? So I thought the scare would only last a second. Then you’d get mad and if I was lucky, maybe you’d even laugh a little.” I give her an exaggerated cringe for good measure. “Sorry.”
Her lip quivers. She wipes the edge of her eye and glances away. “It’s fine. On any other day, that might have worked.”
I use the wet gauze to clean the excess blood from around her wound. She’s got a deep split across her middle knuckle. It’s pulpy and probably hurts a lot more than she’s letting on. The neighboring knuckles are scored with abrasions.
“What’s different about today?” I try to keep my voice casual, so she doesn’t see how much I want this answer.
She releases a heavy sigh. “My divorce got finalized. I should feel…I don’t know. Good, I guess? Free? But it still—” Her eyes stay focused on where I’m washing her wounds with a bit of soap “I’m still feeling things I shouldn’t.”
“It sucks.”
She glances up at me, her pale blue eyes tense with heartache. “You too, huh?”
“Yep.”
“How long did you feel totally used up and spit out? Like it was your fault?”
