Page 14 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)
It all happened so fast, I’ve barely had time to process that Hudson Landry is putting out a fire in my house.
A fire that started because I tried to recreate a pizza he made for me.
If that’s not humiliating, I don’t know what is.
Poppy shivers next to me under the blanket, though the air outside isn’t cold, and I realize I’m shivering too as the adrenaline wears off.
My pulse picks up again as Hudson steps out of the house and lifts off his helmet.
His sandy blond waves stand up, all mussed and slightly sweaty.
His cheeks are flushed, and I can tell he’s out of breath.
The sight of him like this transports me back to the night we shared on grad night.
He was sweaty and flushed, and breathing hard then, too. We both were.
His eyes flash with something I can’t decipher as he nears us. His mouth quirks up to the side, dimple flashing, and I recognize the playful teasing expression now.
“Care to explain what happened, ladies?” he asks. I square my shoulders, getting ready to defend myself and regain the upper hand.
“Not really, no,” I say, tugging the rough blanket around me tighter.
But at the same time, Poppy blurts, “We were making pizzas and got distracted.”
I cringe while Hudson’s smirk widens into a grin, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, his irises sparkling with mischief.
“Why don’t you leave pizza to me from now on, Miller?”
Miller . He says it the way he used to, the way we used to address each other by last name only. It was part of our playful games, like two rival hockey players on opposing teams.
“You get off on this, don’t you?” I snap.
And without missing a beat, Hudson fires back, “You should know how I get off. ”
Anything I was about to say comes out as a squeak in my throat, and my cheeks heat from the flush spreading up my neck.
“Is the damage bad?” Poppy asks.
“Not too bad,” Hudson says, his tone returning to something resembling professional. “You’ll need to replace the tile behind the oven. But you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
“My dad’s going to kill me,” I mutter, dropping my head into my hands. A heavy, solid hand lands on my shoulder, and when I look up, Hudson’s teasing expression is replaced by a softer, empathetic one.
“No, he won’t,” he says. His voice rumbles through me, warming me and making me feel something I haven’t felt in years.
Support? Comfort? All I know is the look on Hudson’s face, the warmth behind his eyes, and the soft reverberation of his voice makes me feel like everything will be okay.
“I’ll help you fix up the kitchen before he gets home. It’ll be as good as new.”
I don’t know why Hudson is offering to help me now, or what has shifted within him, but the way his blue eyes are pinning me in place has me transfixed, and it makes me believe him. I can only nod back. Poppy thanks him for me since my brain has suddenly forgotten the English language.
“I gotta get going,” Hudson says, and I nod again. “I have a date to get back to.”
A date. The words feel like a physical blow.
Poppy was right. The blonde bombshell in the coffee shop was more than a friend, and Hudson has well and truly moved on after all these years.
It doesn’t matter how he spent the last decade, whether he was completely celibate, thinking about me, or not.
What matters is after all this time, he’s decided once again that I am not who he wants. That I’m not enough.
Hudson walks back towards the firetruck where his colleagues are packing up the hoses they’d gotten out, even though they weren’t needed, thankfully.
When he gets halfway across the lawn, he pivots on his foot and takes a few steps backwards.
“Don’t forget to be in touch about the repairs, Miller.
Why don’t you send me an e-mail?” He winks as he says it, turning my previous boundary into an inside joke.
If I had to guess, I’d say Hudson likes e-mailing with me.
I wonder if my name on his screen gave him the same reaction that I get—that flutter behind my ribs.
I’m going to get whiplash. One moment, Hudson is joking with me, maybe even flirting with me, and the next, he’s reminding me he’s dating someone new, and I have no idea what to think.
“Sure. Whatever. I’ll e-mail you,” I say, my tone flat, almost icy.
Poppy and I retreat into the house, and I peek through the crack in the curtain beside the door to make sure the neighbours are dispersing.
After the commotion, neither of us feels like cooking dinner, so we order a couple of burgers from Jack’s and eat them on the couch, watching one of Poppy’s favourite horror films with the sound off.
Always with the sound off and subtitles on.
The soundtrack is what makes the jump scares so scary, so I tell her if she wants me to watch with her, this is how it needs to be.
She doesn’t mind—she’s seen this one a million times and it lets us talk through it anyways .
I steer the conversation away from anything that could lead us to discuss Hudson.
Over the course of the night, I decide that him dating someone new is a good thing for both of us.
It won’t leave anything open for misinterpretation or let anyone get any ideas of us potentially rekindling things.
We will work on the arts centre together, and Hudson will help me repair my house before my parents come home, and that’s it.
Later, Poppy is asleep next to me on the air mattress beside my twin bed, but I can’t sleep. The image of the fire breaking out in the kitchen replays in my mind. Not because it was terrifying—although it was—it was the sickening feeling that Mom and Dad are going to find out.
Ever since being back in their house, I’ve reverted to my teenage self. The version of me who could never get anything right. I could never be perfect enough. I was always making mistakes. I wasn’t Claire-bear .
The only time I saw something remotely resembling pride on my dad’s face was when I told him I got into the engineering program.
Despite that, they still see me as the teenager who wasn’t driven, who wanted to be a free spirit, who goofed off with Hudson at every opportunity.
This whole situation with the fire won’t help.
Dad will find out that Hudson was here and, although he was the one who put out the fire, the story he’ll hear is how it looked like Hudson was flirting with me on the lawn.
I have to fix this before my dad has the chance to even form an opinion about it. I pick up my phone and open my e-mail app, finding Hudson’s address in my contacts. My gaze lingers on it for a moment before clicking it .
He was out with Emma tonight. He might have even taken her back to his place. The e-mail could come through while they’re together, and I can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction at that. Play nice , I remind myself. Hudson doesn’t even have to help you .
I type out the most polite and respectful e-mail I can.
Hudson,
Thank you for your help with the unfortunate situation at my house tonight, and for your offer to help with the repairs. Please send me an estimate at your earliest convenience so we can begin the work ASAP.
Regards,
Wren Miller
P.S. I would love to make a donation to pay it forward. Please send me Cole’s information so I can send him some money for his boot drive fundraiser (if I’m not too late).
I had to. I can’t not get a jab in there. After his e-mails tallying the score against me, I have to fight back. I hit send and place my phone back down on my nightstand. Sleep still evades me, and I lie in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, listening to Poppy’s rhythmic breathing.
A few moments later, my room lights up with the soft glow of my phone screen when a notification comes in. I grab my phone quickly, and the noise makes Poppy shift and roll over, the air mattress squeaking beneath her.
There’s an e-mail reply from Hudson already.
Miller,
I don’t even get past the introduction before my heart rolls forward in my chest. There’s a certain familiarity in the way he’s reverted to using my last name, and a warmth blooms within me thinking about the way it sounded on his lips earlier this evening.
No estimate needed. If you pay for materials, I’ll do the work. Call it an act of charity.
Best,
Landry
P.S. I’ve attached some links to good fire extinguishers and instructions for how to use them. They aren’t complicated and could come in handy if you ever try your hand at making pizza again.
Sure enough, there is a list of links and an attached PDF document with instructions—and pictures—explaining how to effectively use a fire extinguisher. I grind my molars together as I click it closed.
P.P.S. Pizza: 1 Wren: 0