Page 17 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

The early bird gets the worm

A brief hello when they ran into each other, one meal a day at the table with light, parent-friendly conversation, but otherwise Trace rarely saw Cole.

He spent most of his time in the garage or in his room, physical therapy, and occasionally even socializing when Finn or Asher invited themselves over.

Every day, he was busy in the garage, the saw, drill, or hammer announcing what he was up to, but she gave him space.

Her dad had started parking outside to make room for Cole’s creations.

Free from wearing his sling and ankle boot, he was staying busy.

Had he noticed that she was avoiding him, or was he too busy avoiding her?

Saturday morning, six a.m., Trace slipped on her workout gear. Avoidance never paid off, and things were only getting more awkward. She dashed downstairs for a pair of coffees.

Her mom was already at the bakery, her dad just making his way into the kitchen. “I doubt he’ll be awake yet,” Jeremy said as he saw Trace filling two mugs. “He was up late fixing up the sewing room table for me. Apparently, it’s got a wobble.”

“He’ll be awake soon enough,” she said, winking as she backed toward the stairs.

“Now, Trace. Give him time. He’s just doing his own thing at his own pace.”

“What happened to your timelines and guidelines? You never let him, me—or anyone else in this house—flounce around aimlessly.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, and I suspect he’s been to hell and back and could use the time.”

“And back . That’s the key word there. He’s never liked sitting still, so I’m getting him moving.”

Jeremy dropped his hands to his hips. “I suppose six weeks is a while. I’ll see if I can help him find a therapist.”

“That is a fantastic plan,” she said as she began her ascent. Cole had been to more than his share of therapists, and he knew the tools, knew the drill, and yeah, he should go, but she knew he’d need to self-motivate before even starting therapy, or he wouldn’t get anything out of it.

The lights were dim, and she didn’t want to traumatize the night owl too much with a flood of light.

An excessively bright awakening would piss him off, and she needed him to feel a little optimism in her direction.

At the door, she balanced both mugs in one hand and tapped lightly with the other. No response.

Easing the door open, she let a sliver of light in, then a little more, and let it reach the edge of the bed.

He twitched, then bolted up. Eyes wild. Hair wild. Wow, he looked like an old-fashioned mountain man.

“Hi,” she said, waiting for him to fully wake before getting any closer.

“Hey,” he said, blinking it away. Looking around, his brow twitching as he seemed to realize the time, he asked, “Everything okay?”

“Great. I hear you’ve been promoted to full weight bearing and ‘advance activities as tolerated.’” She breezed across the room and sat on the bed next to him, passing the mug of coffee across.

Sleep cleared quickly from his expression, and he inhaled a waft of steam, smiling with one side of his mouth lifting wickedly high as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Which means I need to wake up at this godforsaken hour? What part of unemployed did you not understand?”

She couldn’t help the grin, knowing he was baiting her. Good. Cole messing with her was usually a good sign. “Come on,” she said, rising to her feet and nodding toward the door.

“Where are we going?” he asked, on board without even knowing what she was dragging him out of bed for.

“Exercise. Boost those endorphins and get you feeling healthy again.”

“K. Is there a gym in town?” he asked, savoring a sip of coffee as he watched her. “Or are you referring to what Jeremy calls his ‘ass-kicking’ home gym?”

Trace snorted over her dad’s dislike of the home gym and the regular exercise that had been prescribed. A born-again chef since the prediabetes diagnosis, he was doing well with the veggies and enjoying experimenting in the kitchen, but the man was the sort that didn’t enjoy getting sweaty.

Cole drew in his leg and rested one arm on his knee, holding his coffee casually, as if chatting like this with her was normal and comfortable. As if she hadn’t flirted and said stupid drunk things and nearly kissed him. “At first, I thought he was saying the home gym kicked ass.”

“No. He hates it. They’re finally tearing down that old warehouse in front of the park in town, and some people are saying they might put in a gym…

although some people are saying it’s condos and swanky shops, which doesn’t make a lot of sense in Foothills, so who the hell knows.

Anyway, I’m hoping for a gym so Dad can gripe and moan to a professional trainer rather than his daughter pushing him into the garage. ”

Cole swallowed a sip and considered. “Condos? Has Foothills really grown up that much?”

She shrugged. “We could use more upscale shopping. Tracey’s Apparel’s getting a little dated, and if you’re not getting married or… honestly, dressing like a frumpy redheaded high school French teacher, she doesn’t have anything worth buying.”

He snorted and squinted a look at her. “Huh. Well, it would be awesome to have a gym around here.”

“Until then, you’re stuck with our ass-kicking mini garage gym. Come on.”

“K.” He slid his legs around and set his coffee on the nightstand. Hands gripped on the blankets, he looked up at her. “Are you going to… give me a little privacy?”

“I’ve seen it all, and I don’t trust you to not go back to sleep.”

He laughed under his breath and shook his head. “Were you always this… perky in the morning?”

Winking and backing up a few steps as he started to draw back the blankets, testing, she said, “I am kidding. About the seeing you naked thing. I mean, Cole Junior and I are good pals, but a morning salute might be a bit much.” Wow, she was an idiot.

Could she stop bringing up his penis, even for one day?

At least she didn’t ask to practice on it again.

“Meet me in the garage in five,” she said, teasing a grin as she backed out of the room.

“Ten,” he countered, snagging a gulp of the last of his coffee, his other hand threatening to draw back the blankets before she had a chance to escape. “Unless you want to help me get my pants on again.”

“Ah. No.” Slamming the door shut behind her, she leaned against the wall and huffed a breath. Eek.

Coffee in hand, she made her way down the stairs, checked the clock, and rolled back the tarp to reveal the rubber floor underneath.

Gravel and pine needles were unpleasant additions to a workout, and Ellen—understandably—refused to park outside, so Trace worked with what she had.

She laid out a mat for each of them over the top, the hot pink and electric blue not exactly what she would have chosen, but that’s what she got for taking her mother shopping.

At five minutes on the nose, he strolled in. Well, as much as he could stroll. There was still a bit of a limp. But even with a healing ankle injury, the subtle swagger was already coming back. Which he would deny to his dying day, but Trace had always found the unconscious habit adorable.

He pursed his lips as he perused the mini gym she’d made. “Not bad.” He scanned the garage, her, the colorful dumbbells stacked next to the yoga mats, and back to her again. “I guess I forgot that you were, um, athletic. You used to play volleyball and were on the swim team.”

She scowled, her enthusiasm waning. That was worse than Draven’s shock at her eating salad. “That didn’t sound like a compliment,” she grumbled.

“No,” he said quickly, backing up a step and shaking his head. “That sounded terrible. I mean… shit, there is no way to get out of this without you kicking my ass.”

“I know, I need to lose thirty pounds. I don’t exactly look like I work out. I only started a few months ago, when we learned Dad’s blood sugar was up, and I’m really trying—“

“No,” he quickly fired, folding his arms over his chest and wincing as he adjusted his shoulder to a more neutral position.

“You look great. Not to comment on your body or anything, but, I mean, if you’re thinking I didn’t think you were athletic as a negative comment on your body…

no, that wasn’t it at all. I just… you have a fucking fantastic body. ”

A blush and a smile blossomed faster than she could calm, and she bit her lips together before she melted completely. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

“Do what you want to do and be who you want to be and look how you want to look. Fitness is great because it’s healthy and it feels good.

” He rocked on his feet, adjusting his footing as he seemed to struggle to not offend her again.

“As I’m miserably trying to dig my way out of what came out entirely wrong and could have been perceived as a slight, I will put my foot the rest of the way into my mouth and say you are fucking hot and built spectacularly and if I could change one thing about your body it would be nothing .

I could deliver an entire monologue on your breasts, if that would help.

Like, wow. And don’t get me started on your hips.

Thighs. I mean, not that I’ve seen you naked, but if you want a full, honest review, it would be more thorough if I could—“

“No,” she said, laughing out loud.

“I mean, it would kill me if you didn’t love your body.”

She nibbled her bottom lip and tilted a sweet smile at him. “There’s a reason we keep you around here,” she teased.

He fell into a sheepish grin as he sighed, looking at the ground, the ceiling, the wall, finally back to her.

“Now that I’ve made this painfully awkward and crossed the don’t-talk-about-bodies line, um, I’ll just finish digging my own grave here and say that I’m sorry I implied that you’re not athletic.

I guess I assumed you had become like your parents and didn’t like to… get sweaty.”