Page 1 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

HUDSON

“You need to get laid,” Jett calls from the couch.

This is the response I get after telling him to cool it on bringing women back to the apartment.

The walls here are too thin for his nightly conquests—and I have a big day ahead.

I roll my eyes at my little brother’s comment.

It’s nine in the fucking morning and I am not having this conversation right now.

“That’s the solution to everything in your world, isn’t it?” I remark from the kitchen. Whatever snarky response he gives me is drowned out by the whirring and grinding of the blender as I make my morning smoothie.

“I’m just saying, you’ve lost your edge,” he says once the blender stops. He’s only half in the conversation, more absorbed in his ski racing video game than whatever I have to say. “You’re in a rut.”

“I am not in a rut,” I protest, pouring my smoothie into a tall glass. “My life might not be as exciting as yours, but at least I don’t need to fuck a different woman every night to feel something.”

He wins the race, the screen flashes with a big First Place sign, and Jett sets his controller down on the wooden coffee table.

He’s made himself right at home in my small, two-bedroom apartment during the summer when he’s not in training for the next ski season.

He and I have always been close, and I like having him stay with me, but this conversation is making me rethink my decision.

“Look, that’s great and all, but you also need to let loose sometimes. Get out there and have a social life. Date around. When’s the last time you had any action?”

Action? I bring a hand up to rub the back of my neck, my jaw going tight.

I have a social life. I hang out with the guys from the firehall.

We workout together, grab beers after drill—I don’t need much more.

Besides, work occupies most of my time right now.

Between my on-call position at the firehall and my full-time construction gig, my social life can take a backseat.

Once this next construction project is completed, I’ll think about getting back into the social scene and dating around.

“I don’t exactly have time to worry about that right now,” I remind him. “The contract we signed is going to take a lot of my attention.”

It’s not just any project. It isn’t like anything we’ve ever done before, and getting to oversee it means I’ll be able to honour our mother’s memory. That’s why it’s imperative for the meeting today to go well.

So whatever opinion Jett has regarding my dating life, or lack of one, it’s not high on my priority list. Still, his question brings up answers I don’t want to think about. Can you call it a ‘dry spell’ when it’s been a complete drought for years? Almost a decade?

I finish the last few sips of my smoothie and put the cup in the sink with a clink before heading to the front door. I slide my brown leather boots on while my golden retriever, Ruby, eyes me, wagging her tail.

“You’re not coming with me today, Rubes.

Sorry.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but Ruby looks disappointed.

She works the occasional shift with me at the firehall, and she loves it.

She had such a gentle demeanour when I first got her that I had her trained and certified as an emotional support dog.

She has a special way of comforting people when they need it, which makes all the difference for someone in a crisis.

That, and she’s a hoe for attention. Today, though, it will be too hot to have her standing on the pavement with me.

Jett gets up from the couch and studies me with his almost black-brown eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

His dark hair is still mussed from sleeping in, and I doubt he’s planning on changing out of his blue plaid pajama bottoms any time soon.

He looks so much like Dad, his floppy chestnut waves.

All my brothers look like Dad, except me.

I took after our mother, Cora Landry; I got her sandy blond hair that gets lighter streaks in the summer sun, her olive-toned skin that tans easily, and her bright blue eyes. I’m nothing like my tall, dark, gruff brothers, and ever since she died, I’ve felt like the odd one out of the family.

“Listen, I know it’s been years and all—” Jett pauses, thinking about his next words in a way he normally doesn’t. “ But are you sure this has nothing to do with Wren?” My palms sweat at the sound of that name. I turn my wrist up to check my watch, flashing the face of it towards Jett.

“I gotta get going,” I say, placing a hand on the doorknob.

“Avoid the conversation all you want, but I’m going to continue giving you shit about it until you find a girlfriend.”

I slide my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans.

“It would be weird if you stopped now,” I say.

But I don’t want to talk about my non-existent dating life, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about the reason I struggle to connect with anyone else, so I change the subject.

“Hey, I’m not going to be home until later this evening.

I’m heading to a work meeting after the food drive, so can you take Ruby for a W-A-L-K later?

” I spell it out because she’s listening, and as soon as I say the word ‘walk’ she’ll lose her shit.

This way, she peers up at me without one singular thought behind those big brown eyes.

I lean down to give her a loving pat on her rust-coloured head. Some days, I’m convinced Ruby is the only companionship I need. She keeps me steady, grounded, even-keeled. And frankly, if I had the choice between going out to the bar or staying home on the couch with her, I’d choose her any day.

“Sure, I’ll take her to the Beck’s with me,” Jett says. “I’m heading out to the ranch in the afternoon.”

“Great, she’ll love that. Thanks.”

“You cheater,” I jeer at Cole, already standing on the corner of Main Street in front of the grocery store. “You can’t show up at the ass crack of dawn to get a head start. That’s not how this works.”

The firehall sets up an annual boot drive for the food bank, and each year, Cole and I face off to see who can bring in the most donations.

We collect cash in a fire boot, and non-perishable food items in a large bin, and it feels good to give back to the community.

It also feels good to beat Cole. Loser buys a round of beers, and I haven’t been on the hook yet.

Today, he’s dressed in his navy blue collared shirt with our firehall emblem on the shoulders. He’s gone with the man-in-uniform look, and he has fresh flowers he must have purchased from the grocery store to hand out to anyone who donates.

I went with a different strategy, wearing my turnout thinking the yellow fluorescent pants and jacket might garner attention. But I’m already sweating under my bulky gear by the time I join him.

As I approach, I can see that his cardboard box is already filling up.

“It doesn’t matter how early I start, or how late I stay, you’re still going to beat me,” he says.

No sooner do I pull out my boot and a kind-looking middle-aged woman leaves the grocery store and throws in a toonie.

Cole rolls his eyes playfully. “See? It’s already started.

It’s those damn dimples, gets the ladies every time.

” I flash him a smile, making my dimples pop and putting them on show.

“Shit, you look like Bradley fucking Cooper, I swear.” He laughs .

I shake my head with a smirk. I’ve heard that comparison a million times. That, or a blond Mario Lopez because my face is more boyish than Bradley’s. But today, I’m going to use my dimples to my advantage.

The morning slips into early afternoon, and both of our boxes are almost overflowing with everything from cans of soup to kids’ cereal to diapers and formula. My heart squeezes for a moment, thinking about the families who will receive the items.

The town of Heartwood takes care of their own, and seeing the donations at the annual firefighters’ boot drive is always a heartwarming display of generosity. I love this town, and I love my job because we get to give back to the community.

That’s what matters at the end of the day. But a close second for things that matter to me is beating Cole.

He’s disappeared inside the store to buy us a couple of water bottles, and I use the opportunity to peek in his boot. He’s ahead of me by a smidge, but I only have another hour here before I have to get going.

It’s time. Time to pull out the big guns.

My strategy has never been done before in the history of the boot drive competition, but it’s worth the risk. I ditch my turnout coat—it’s stifling in the heat of the noon sun anyway, and I’m sweating through my snug grey T-shirt. Just as I planned.

As Cole walks out of the automatic sliding doors, I peel my T-shirt off over my head, leaving me shirtless in my turnout pants, my red suspenders hanging around my hips.

I look down at my tanned chest, my skin glistening with the right sheen of sweat.

The expression on his face when he sees me is priceless. Shock, and awe, and defeat.

“What the hell, dude! I thought we agreed to keep it PG.” He groans.

“You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.” I smirk and grab my suspenders, stretching them and letting them snap back on my shoulders. I reach for the water bottle he reluctantly hands me, opening the cap to pour the cool liquid down my face, and shaking my hair like Ruby does when she gets wet.

Is it overkill? Maybe. But as anticipated, onlookers on the sidewalk have stopped to stare, and it’s drawn enough attention to me that I might win this thing. It’s not exploiting your body if it’s for charity, right?

I flash Cole another one of my dimpled smiles as a small crowd of people have formed around my outstretched boot, rooting around in their wallets for change.

My attire, or lack of it, has caused a stir because not only have I received a few more donations, but Alma Rose has emerged from her antique shop and is wandering down the street, cane in hand, beelining at a slow but steady pace straight towards me.

“Look at these handsome young men out here fundraising for such a worthy cause,” she croons as she nears us. The lines on her wrinkled face deepen when she smiles. “Heart stoppers, both of you.”

“Not to worry, Alma, we’re also trained in CPR,” Cole jokes. But Alma has stopped in front of me and is digging around in her purse for what I discover is not a donation, but a small piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.

“Hudson,” she starts, her hand shaking slightly from age as she holds it out towards me, “my granddaughter, Emma, is going to be moving back to town soon to help me with the store. Pretty young thing. Blonde, sweet, bangin’ bod.

I want her to feel welcome and have some contacts when she arrives, and I immediately thought of you.

You have such a warm and inviting nature about you.

You’re charming.” Her eyes flick across my bare chest, and linger a little longer than comfortable on my abs.

I’m starting to question my decision to do this. “And single,” she adds with a wink.

I take the phone number from her and pocket it, remembering the conversation I had with Jett this morning, and weighing the opportunity in front of me.

On the one hand, this is might be what I need—it would certainly get Jett off my back for a while.

On the other … I’ve been closed off from the idea of dating for so long now, I don’t know where I’d start.

At this point, as a twenty-eight-year-old guy, I’m set in my ways. I’ve lived on my own for a long time, and I like things the way they are. I like my job, and I like going home to my Ruby-girl, to peace and quiet. Why shake things up now?

“Thanks, Alma. She sounds like a great girl,” I say, and she does, I just have no real intention of following through. But I try to appease her by saying, “I’ll get in touch.”

“I hope you do. How are your brothers these days?” she asks, reaching out a shaky hand to grasp my forearm, her eyes earnestly scanning my face.

My gaze flicks over to Cole, who has now had multiple people stop and drop money into his boot while I’ve been monopolized by Alma. I might have lost my lead .

“They’re fine,” I answer curtly, glancing over the top of her head to catch more people lining up to give Cole their money. I’m officially fucked. I’m the one who drew the attention with my washboard abs, and now Cole is reaping the rewards. Awesome.

Alma stretches her free arm up, the other supporting her on her cane, and she gently pinches my cheek.

“You boys are all so sweet. Your mama raised you right, God rest her soul. I’ve heard you’ll be working on the new arts centre. Your mother would have loved that. She would be so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Alma. I appreciate it,” I say past a small but present lump in my throat.

“You know, I think about her all the time,” Alma continues. “She used to love coming into the store. We used to chat while she browsed the antiques.”

I absentmindedly nod and offer her a simple smile in return to not drag out this conversation any longer. Yes, I have an important meeting to discuss the new arts centre, and yes, it certainly means a lot to me, but I also have an important fundraiser to win.

Alma is still reminiscing when I glance over her head, this time my eye catches on a woman across the street. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t be sure at this distance, and I can’t see her face. Her head is down, checking her phone.

The dark chestnut hair, the way she’s leaning on one leg with her hip popped.

When she finally looks up, I see the olive skin of her cheek, the thick lashes framing dark eyes I’d be willing to bet have flecks that glow amber in the sun.

She turns her head towards the grocery store.

Right towards me. My heart rolls forward in my chest, stuttering and then coming to a complete stop.

I’m suddenly hyper aware that I’m standing on a street corner, shirtless but for suspenders, having my cheek pinched by a sweet old lady.

Because when I realize who I’m staring at, it’s the one person I never expected to see back in Heartwood.

It’s the woman I have thought about every day for the last decade.

The silly, carefree girl who raced bikes down the street with me growing up.

The girl I sat next to for hours while she sketched or painted, happy to be near her.

The teenager I shared my first nervous kiss with. The woman I gave up everything for.

Wren Miller.