Page 14 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)
Her dad flipped his safety goggles up and held his hands out. “Trace. This was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said, biting her lips together as she scanned the stacked lumber that was a lot tidier than the tarped heap had been.
Cole stood tall, his weight on his good leg, and he pushed his hair back. “We, uh, had to get creative. Some of the pieces were… missing. Along with the instructions,” he said under a cough.
Jeremy blushed and fired him a traitorous look. “And I am grateful for the assistance,” he said as he nodded confidently.
“Glad to help,” Cole said, flashing Trace a wink when Jeremy wasn’t looking. “Definitely a two-person job.”
Trace grinned wide, flashing back to the first time Cole had discovered her father’s… lack of talent.
Some people were technically minded, creative, even, whereas others were more adept at delicate sorts of crafts. Both of her parents fell into the latter group. The sewing shop knew them well, for how often their matching machines needed repairs.
Back in the day, when Cole had been with them three, maybe four months, Jeremy had screamed bloody murder from the deck, where he’d been trying to replace a board.
Cole had driven him to the ER, then took care of it before Jeremy could attempt it again.
Shop class was the only class he never skipped, especially after that day.
“Now,” Jeremy began, moving closer to stand and appreciate with her.
“Normally, you know I count on you to help me out with my projects, but I knew your special bookcase from Grandpa hadn’t survived the move.
Sort of a welcome home present, but as it is taking longer than I anticipated, it will be more of a housewarming present for your next place. ”
“Oh, Dad, that’s so sweet. I loved that bookcase.”
She crossed the garage and got a closer look. Tracing her fingers along the edges, the raw espresso finish that gave it a modern rustic look, she smiled at how Cole had cut and sanded and repurposed unfinished boards from another failed project.
He shut off the main power to the saw and shrugged, stepping close and rubbing his fingertips over the shelf she was admiring. “I, uh, wasn’t sure that we could match the finish, so I was going to ask what you thought before trying. We could just leave it natural, contrast rather than mismatch?”
“I like it. It’s perfect.”
“I can finish it with a clear stain, so it’ll be more durable, but… I’m glad you like it,” Cole said, slipping off his goggles and pushing his hair back again.
“Very much,” she said, realizing she was blushing and stammering and he was blushing and stammering. Blushing even harder at the discovery of them both blushing and stammering awkwardly, she stepped back and nudged him in the tummy. “You’re looking better today.”
“I feel pretty good,” he said, taking a deep breath. He did look better, but she could see the exertion had wiped him out, still a little pale.
“How about we order pizza and veg out with a movie?” she asked.
“No hot date tonight?” he asked, flashing a teasing grin like he might have years ago when she’d had fancy plans with Finn, but there was something new and less… certain, than in the past.
“Not tonight,” she answered, nudging him again.
Cheek firmly between his teeth, he looked at her… without looking at her. He pushed his hair back, blushing for no reason now.
Oh. Shit. A glimmer of memory burst into a lot. Holy shit, she thought she’d imagined offering to… um… damn.
Her cheeks heated to fevered levels, and her eyes widened. Trace’s mouth dropped to a stunned smile, and she looked at him, trying to read him and see if he was thinking what she was thinking.
He puffed a breath, the corner of his mouth curving up, and he looked past her toward the worktable.
Double shit. She really had. No wonder he’d been avoiding her.
Jeremy stepped up next to her and nodded with appreciation as he inspected the shelf in progress. “I’ll message Ellen about picking up some pizza on her way home. We have a book club meeting tonight, so you two are on your own for dinner.”
Voice a bit high pitched and borderline nervous, Cole cleared his throat and said, “That sounds great. Thank you.” Without looking at either of them, Cole set down the tools, and quickly glanced back at Jeremy.
“I’ll, uh, finish this up tomorrow. I’ve got some ideas, so don’t feel like you need to do anything without me. ”
Jeremy laughed and stepped back. “Of course not. This is your project now. I won’t interfere.”
“I honestly do need a partner though. At least until I’ve got more mobility,” Cole said, oozy-sweet adoration unmistakable in the look he gave Jeremy.
Trace did not take to the idea of love at first sight, but she made an exception when it came to her father and Cole.
The relationship had been rocky at first, naturally, but they were hooked from that first moment the social worker brought Cole to the house.
“Happy to help. You know where to find me,” Jeremy answered with a sparkling wink.
Trace took Cole’s crutch from where he’d leaned it against the workbench and handed it to him, setting the tools back where they wouldn’t get knocked over if her dad decided to park in the garage tonight. Cole started the hobble toward the house.
She leaned close to her dad and asked quietly, “What do you think?”
“He’s quite a carpenter.”
“I mean, about Cole. Emotionally. Think he’s going to be okay?”
Jeremy beamed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
“More than okay. For all that boy’s been through, he’s got a level head and a good heart.
He’s got a long road ahead, but he’s more than just a survivor.
We’ll make sure he knows he has stability and people who care about him, like always.
” Her dad kissed her temple as he released her.
“You, Trace, are going to be okay, too.”
“What? I’m fine,” she said, scoffing at the implication that she might not be doing great at this very moment. “Cole’s recovering from trauma I cannot even imagine. I’m in a transition. Completely different.”
“Take all the time you need to get your head on straight and figure out what you want.”
“Dad. I really am fine. Head is firmly attacked to neck.” She exaggerated a shrug to prove her point. “See? Fine. Let’s focus on Cole.”
“Not all rough patches are obvious, nor are they equal in intensity, but I’ve got plenty of room to worry about you both,” he said gently, backing up a few steps ahead of her.
“Your mother and I are so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.
But… now don’t get offended. You’ve got a hell of a spirit.
A confidence we like to credit ourselves for having a small hand in building,” he said with a wink.
“But you haven’t been shining as vibrantly these past few years.
” Before she could respond, he shook his head.
“Nope. I know it. You know it. She’s right there, under the surface, brighter and bolder even than the girl who left ten years ago. You’ll find her, but that’s on you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I only realized it a few weeks ago. Mojo lost. I’m cranky about it.”
“We know you better than you think. Just saying. Now go get all set up for a relaxing evening.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling as she followed him out of the garage.
Upstairs, she slipped into her bedroom and threw open her closet. She glared down at her standard ensemble. Baby blue ankle pants today, with a simple navy sweater and beige ballet flats. Seriously, it was a cute look. But it was the same look. Every day. Boring Trace in her uniform.
Not even boring guys were into her these days. Even her students noticed. As her students were bailing for Friday night fun tonight, she overheard a cluster whispering over whether they thought Miss Perry was a virgin. How sad, to be a middle-aged virgin.
Ugh. Trace yanked off the blouse. Tension boiled in her hands as she crumpled it, wrung it, and chucked it. For fuck’s sake, she wasn’t even thirty. And she’d had a lovely sex life since she was… their age.
Yeah. She probably wasn’t the best example for her students. Not back then nor now.
The point was, if a bunch of fourteen- and fifteen-year-old kids were noting her pathetic sex life and mature image… her unintentionally but solidly constructed bubble of don’t-notice-me had failed so badly that people now noticed how unremarkable she was.
Stomping out of her pretty ankle length pants, she growled at herself and glared into her closet.
Multi-pack of bikini cotton panties neatly rolled in the basket next to the comfort-fit bras.
Pastels. Neutrals. No graphic tees, no leather, no lace, only intact denim and not much of it.
Who was she? Wasn’t she telling Haley to remember that little girl who climbed trees higher than houses and didn’t own a pair of jeans without grass stains?
Argh. Own fucking medicine. Choke on it.
Under the row of neatly hung blouses and sweater sets, she found a handled paper bag peeking out. Giddiness fluttered under her skin and she knelt down, pulling out the bag. At the sporting goods store, she’d picked up some workout clothes.
Tags still on, as she hadn’t worked up the guts for even her parents to see her daring attire, she drew out a pair of black leggings with a funky mesh pattern on each of the legs, sexy but tasteful, and grinned as she held them up.
Absolutely not a gym person, she had indulged and purchased workout clothes that made her happy.
Trace snapped off the tag and slid her legs into the smooth, flexible fabric.
Grinning at her genius, she wiggled her butt and did a little dance as she reached into the back of the bottom shelf, into the stack of play clothes.
Like painting, hiking, or, most often, alone time.
She found a favorite sleeveless heathered gray tank with her alma mater’s mascot on it, plus some splashes of paint from various projects.