I hand the clerk cash and leave before we can engage in any more conversation.
I already know this is going to be a long day.
I didn’t tell Tucker what we were doing today.
The entire ride back to my place, he kept asking questions about why I wanted to redo my deck so soon when we just did it last year. I just stayed quiet because I didn’t want to explainanything going through my head. After the railing broke on Blair’s deck, I hated the thought of her getting hurt again.
When I pull the truck into her driveway instead of mine, I look out of the corner of my eye and see Tucker realizing everything.
He scans the deck, the broken pieces from when she fell still scattered along the grass. Blair cleaned nothing up, and I wasn’t surprised. After that wicked gash in her leg, I doubt she wanted to subject herself to another one by touching it.
“Ready to explain?” he says.
I turn to face him from the driver’s seat, his arms across his chest and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Nope,” I say, popping the p and exiting the truck.
“Are you building your hot neighbor a deck?” he asks, rounding the front of the truck to meet me.
“Have you met her?”
“Nope,” he mocks me, popping the p the same way I did.
“Then don’t fucking call her my hot neighbor,” I warn him. “Do you see that broken rail over there?” I gesture to the deck.
“Yeah?”
“She fell a couple of days ago. I’m simply helping her out by fixing it for her. But also making it a little bigger since she mentioned she wants to expand it,” I explain, trying my best to hide any feelings I’ve been fighting in my chest.
“Dang.” Tucker huffs out a laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re falling for the girl.”
“Never fucking happening,” I grit out quicker than I intend, pointing a finger in his direction. “And I don’t want to hear it out of your mouth again.”
He holds his hands up in defense. “Sore subject.”
I turn on my heel and start to unload the supplies from the bed of my truck, while Tucker silently grabs the tools we need from the back seat.
For the next hour, we successfully tear off the old wooden pieces, leaving us with the concrete base I poured that’s still inexcellent condition. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and assess the next steps, while Tucker pops open a bag of his stupid pretzel twists.
I roll my eyes and work to set up the buzz saw for the wood, so each piece is the same length.
Once we lay down the first few pieces, I look over at Tucker, the conversation from before running through my head with each minute that passes.
“There’s something about her,” I say out loud.
My words cause Tucker to stop what he’s doing, sit back on his heel, and waiting for me to say more.
“I think Blair’s been through some shit. That’s why she’s here,” I say.
“Maybe she’s trying to start over.” He shrugs before his eyes widen. “Oh, maybe she’s a runaway bride! Could you imagine?” He laughs.
“You’re delusional.”
He scoffs. “Says the guy building his neighbor, who he barely knows, a whole ass deck.”
I don’t respond, because he’s right.
For the first time in his life, Tucker Daniels is right.
