The timer on the stove went off again, and everyone—including the baby—raised their heads.
“Speak for yourself,” Lawson joked, standing up and heading to the drawer to grab some potholders. “I wantlasagna.”
I laughed.
Tam squawked and attacked Lawson with her dish towel when he tried to sneak a taste of the molten hot lasagna after she told him to “Wait for Lucas to get home for dinner, you barbarian.”
And thankfully—very thankfully—the moment passed.
But as I walked up my driveway later, past the piles of neatly shoveled snow, I kept thinking about Brewer—I mean,obviously—and about what Tam had said, too.
It was exhausting, pretending that I didn’t want him, that I wasn’t thinking about him all the time, and that the “bad idea” of starting something with Brewer didn’t feel like the best idea I’d heard of in a really long time.
So what I needed to do was convince Brewer somehow. Provide him with a compelling argument—the best one of my career—that it was worth exploring what was between us, at least temporarily.
No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn’t think of a compelling reason to convince him to ignore his damned principles and touch me again.
Until twenty-four hours later when the idea finally came to me.
CHAPTERTWELVE
BREWER
Two days after the storm,I still couldn’t get the taste of Delaney Monroe out of my mouth.
I ran my palm over the smooth poplar board I’d been sanding for his kitchen cabinets, checking for imperfections. Like the knots in the wood, my thoughts kept circling back to the same spot no matter how much I tried to smooth them away—Delaney on his knees in front of me, his glasses askew and his blue eyes looking up, determined and hungry.
Christ.
I adjusted myself in my jeans and focused on the cabinet design I’d sketched out with Delaney’s input—one that would blend the industrial feel he wanted with the home’s traditional character. Reclaimed metal hardware he’d sourced on the warm wood I’d suggested, with glass panels on the upper cabinets to make the space look light and airy. His style, my craftsmanship. Nothing either of us could have come up with on our own.
The normalcy of the work was grounding. Simple. Unlike the shit my brainwantedto stew over, like the way Delaney’s hands had moved over my body, and the way he’d said my name when he came, and how badly I wanted to do it all again.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
After I’d gotten back from Watt’s yesterday, things with Delaney had been… awkward. I’d wanted to get back to some level of normalcy, which meant no casual touching. No lingering looks. Instead, with the exception of working on the cabinets or the day-to-day business of living together, we’d tiptoed around each other literally and figuratively, careful with our movements and even more careful with our words… which was the opposite of normal for Delaney and me.
When I thought about it—which I’d done pretty much from the moment Delaney had fled to Tam’s house for dinner—he and I had never had an easygoing, polite relationship.
Delaney had a million opinions and would argue passionately about each and every one. Ididn’tusually have opinions to volunteer, and even when I did, it was rare that I let myself care enough to fight over them. But it was different with Delaney.
He was so damn determined not to compromise who he was or what he wanted, he might as well have the words “Take Me As I Am, Bitches” tattooed on his forehead. And yeah, that meant our conversations were often heated. But seeing him be so open and honest mademewant to speak up more. To figure out my own opinions and express them. To care about things enough to fight about them… and for them. To be known… at least by Delaney.
But all the reasons I’d given Delaney for why it was a terrible idea for us to take things further were still there. His job. My job. Our very different lives?—
KAK-WEEEE!
The doorbell rang for the fourth fucking time that morning, jarring me from my thoughts.
And for the fourth time, I reminded myself that I’d agreed to this… sort of.
When Delaney mentioned yesterday that he planned to share our find with Janice, I’d known what would happen—the news would travel around Copper County at twice the speed of sound, and the entire town wouldneedto see “Delaney’s jam cupboard paintings” for themselves. But seeing Delaney so excited, I hadn’t protested.
Now, it wasn’t even noon, and we—well,Delaney—had already had six visitors today alone.
From the living room, I heard Delaney’s voice bright with enthusiasm as he explained the composition of one of the lake paintings to whoever had arrived. The sound of him happy like that did something to my chest that I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I turned back to my work, only to hear approaching footsteps.
