Page 15 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

HUDSON

The clang of the weights echoes through the gym as Jett lets his bar drop onto the pads beside him. He wipes his face with the towel slung over his shoulder as he wanders over to where I’m seated, having finished a set of bicep curls.

Jett and I have been working out together all summer, but there is no way I can pretend to keep up with him. His coach has him following a strict training regimen before they start gearing up for ski season in the fall. I tried to get through one of his workouts and almost died.

No amount of protein smoothies is going to give me the level of stamina Jett has. His body, while smaller than mine, is pure lean muscle—the dude’s quads are ripped; they have to be to absorb the impact of the jumps he takes.

“How’re things with Emma?” Jett asks, only slightly out of breath in between sets.

When we’re at the gym is the only time Jett and I have serious conversations.

It’s become like therapy. Though sometimes, when we’re going through it, we work out in silence, taking our anger or whatever other pent-up emotion out on the dumbbells.

“Good,” I say before throwing my head back and squirting water into my open mouth.

“Good as in …” Jett’s voice trails off.

“We haven’t hooked up or anything.” I’m not too sure why, but I haven’t felt a physical connection with Emma.

Not that she isn’t gorgeous. I’m attracted to her—anyone would be—I just haven’t felt a spark.

The electric energy. I’ve only felt it once before—that magnetic pull, that static electricity crackling in the air—and I fear that one time ruined me for all other women.

“Dude, come on . Is it getting serious? Like do you have feelings for her?”

My mind stalls.

“I don’t know, I don’t—no.” Fuck, what am I saying? “I don’t mean no . It’s too early to tell. We’ve only been out twice, very casually. We went for dinner last night and it was good, it’s just too early.” I don’t want to write Emma off yet, and I can’t think of any good reason why I would.

“You better make up your mind soon, otherwise she’s going to have needs only I can fill, if you get what I’m saying.

” Jett punches me in the arm as he moves past me to get on the treadmill.

The guy lifts for an hour and then finishes his workout with casual interval sprints.

I’m tired thinking about it. The firehall keeps me fit—I have to maintain a certain level of fitness to do my job—and I like the way I look, but Jett is on another level.

He also has no problem picking up women. His body is 65 percent muscle and 30 percent charisma. The other 5 percent is straight up cocky asshole.

I doubt Emma would even be interested in him, but who knows for sure. I’m sure Jett would have some pick-up line that would do the trick. For some reason, the thought of them getting together doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t make me jealous, it doesn’t make me angry, there’s … nothing.

I think back to a few months ago, when Jett and I were at Grady’s house and he teased me about still having feelings for Wren, the way he always does. He crossed a line and said if Wren ever came back to town, he might see if he’s got a shot, and it made me see red.

Why I’ve defended Wren for so long is beyond me. Why I agreed to help her is also beyond me. But being in Wren’s presence throws me right back in time, and seeing her so dejected, so distraught, I revert back to the boy who would do anything for her.

Poppy’s words have been an endless loop in my brain ever since our conversation outside the café.

I can’t shake the thought that perhaps Wren still feels something …

even if that’s anger, Poppy might have a point.

Anger is very different than feeling nothing at all.

Anger means there’s still a part of you that cares.

If that’s true … I pick my phone up off the floor next to the bench I’m sitting on and check it for an e-mail notification.

I’ve checked it a million times today. I worry my teasing has pushed Wren too hard, that if she has changed so fundamentally, in so many ways, maybe she’s changed in this way as well.

She might not get the same thrill I do over playing games.

But th e look in her eye when I suggested we compete for the project lead role was enough to tell me that deep down, Wren is still Wren.

And she’ll never back down from a good challenge.

It’s that spark she’s always had that has gotten her so far in life and in her career. Her competitive nature has spurred her on all these years. Her drive to prove her worth.

I, on the other hand, poured my competitive nature into games, trying to one up Cole or Jett, but never at anything serious.

It’s not that I never cared about bettering myself, but it’s hard to stay motivated when you don’t have the means to get to where you want to go.

It was easier, and less stressful, if I didn’t take things too seriously.

I allowed myself to be content with what I had instead.

Sure, I didn’t go to a prestigious university—I worked my way up the ladder in a reputable construction company, I trained with the firehall.

I help people in all sorts of different ways, whether that’s building them the home of their dreams or saving it from a raging fire, and that makes me happy.

There are no new notifications on my phone when I pick it up, and I don’t bother trying to decipher why my heart sinks in my chest. It’s not worth the mental energy of trying to figure it out.

I’m supposed to be getting over Wren. I have a great opportunity to make something work with Emma.

Wren has not given me any indication of wanting to explore our past feelings.

So why am I about to sabotage this new relationship?

I get up to leave the gym and let Jett know on my way past his treadmill that I’m going to shower at home.

Usually working out helps me clear my head, but today I’m leaving even more confused, even more conflicted.

My energy is uneasy the whole walk back to my apartment, and the quiet is unnerving once I finish showering.

It doesn’t help that Ruby is giving me the stink-eye from her cushion because I haven’t taken her for her walk yet.

“Message received, girlfriend,” I say. “Walkies?”

Her ears instantly perk up and her head tilts to one side—I love it when she does that. Like she understands me, like we’re communicating. I always joke that Ruby is the only girl I need in my life, but it’s the little moments where we understand each other that I think it might be true.

I’m about to clip her leash on when I get a notification makes my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I hold my breath for a moment while I fish it out.

My shoulders sag slightly when I see the name on the screen.

EMMA

How’s your day?

On paper, Emma is the perfect woman for me.

So why did I get a sinking feeling in my gut when I saw her name on my phone?

Give it more time , I tell myself. I told Jett that I didn’t know if I had feelings for her because I didn’t have enough time.

I haven’t had a real chance to get to know her yet. So, here’s my chance.

About to take Ruby for a walk. Want to join?

Three little dots swirl around before a response finally comes through.

Sure. Meet me on Main Street in front of Rose Antiques in ten? I’m closing up now.

“Okay, Rubes. Put your best paw forward, you’re going to make a new friend today,” I tell Ruby as we head out of the apartment and down the street towards Main.

The sun is low in the sky, the afternoon bleeding into evening.

But the air is warm and sweet, and birds trill happily in the trees overhead.

Emma is standing out front of Alma’s store when we approach. Her dog, Murphy, is sitting calmly by her side but hides behind her legs as Ruby approaches. He’s cute, not even half the size of Ruby, with curly, cream-coloured fur and floppy ears.

“Sorry, he’s shy with bigger dogs,” Emma explains.

“No worries, Ruby doesn’t know how to read a room. She wants to be friends with everyone.”

“Kind of like you.” Emma smiles, a bright, pink-lipped, blindingly white-toothed smile. “Not like that. I didn’t mean you don’t know how to read the room. I’m sure you do. You’re friendly, is all.” She backtracks, and I sense a little bit of awkwardness on her part.

It takes me a moment to realize why she’s suddenly feeling bashful around me when our last two dates have been nothing but comfortable.

It’s our third date—if you’d classify a casual dog walk as a date.

And our dinner date the other night was nice, nothing special.

No sparks. But by the third date, something usually progresses, whether clarifying exclusivity or …

something physical. The thought of either of th ose two progressions in our relationship makes my palms sweat.

“I know what you meant,” I reassure her, although inside I’m feeling the opposite of reassured myself.

We walk the first block in silence, the dogs gently tugging on their leashes as they walk a few paces ahead of us. It’s not a totally comfortable silence. When we do finally break it, we both speak at the same time.

“You go,” Emma says.

“I was going to say that I love this walk. I bring Ruby to the river almost every day,” I say as we reach the end of Main Street, where the storefronts turn into front lawns and the street breaks off into side roads.

There’s a short trail through the trees at the end of a cul-de-sac leading out to the river and then follows alongside it.

When we reach the trail, I let Ruby off her leash, and she moseys off to sniff in the bushes on the side. Emma unclips the leash from Murphy’s collar too, and he bounds off after Rubes, obviously having warmed up to her.

The rushing of the water drowns out my thoughts when I need it to, and today it has the same effect. I find my shoulders relaxing once we see the pristine blue glacier water weaving it’s way through the valley.

“Heartwood is beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never made the effort to visit before now,” Emma says, and from there we fall into an easier conversation.

“Yeah, why haven’t you been back? I’ve been meaning to ask. You said you and your grandmother have maintained a close relationship, so I’ve been curious.”

“Her and my mother didn’t see eye to eye.” Emma turns to look off towards the river. “I had to keep my relationship with Alma a secret for a long time, but she helps me feel connected to my roots. It’s complicated.”

“I get that,” I say, unsure how to keep the conversation flowing. “Have you enjoyed your time here so far?”

“I have.” She turns slightly toward me as she walks, flashing me another smile. She does have a killer smile. “People here have been so welcoming. It feels good to be forming some new relationships.”

“Good, I’m glad,” I say, turning my gaze towards the mountains. Awkwardness creeps back over me as I consider how I might veer the topic away from talking about whatever our relationship is, and how, by ‘people’, she might be referring to me.

“It’s okay if you just want to be friends, you know,” Emma says, and it nearly halts me in my tracks. Whatever I expected Emma to say next, it was not that.

“I, uh—” I stammer. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know how to tell Emma that her being the one to say it feels like relief … it feels like permission.

“Sometimes it’s obvious when there isn’t a spark, you know?”

I nod. I do know.

“I’m sorry” is the only lame response I can think of to say. I glance over to where the dogs are happily sniffing as we walk along the river, unaware of the awkward conversation happening here.

“Don’t be, Hudson. I’m not looking for a relationship right now, anyways.

” By the wistful way Emma looks off towards the setting sun behind the mountains, I can tell there’s more to the story than she’s letting on.

“I’d be happy if we could be friends while I’m in town, though.

It’s nice to have someone here to talk to, to do normal, everyday things with. ”

I nod and turn my head now to look at her. A soft smile forms on my lips.

“We can definitely be friends, Emma. I’d be happy with that, too.”

The rest of our walk is pleasant, and we have a great time. Better than when there was this strange pressure to figure out if we could date. If we could be more. We walk until the sun goes down, and I accompany her back to Alma’s to make sure she gets back safely in the dark.

The light from Alma’s porch light illuminates her hair in a warm shade of gold. She lets Murphy in the house and then leans on the post at the top of the porch stairs, looking down to where I’m standing on the front lawn.

“What are your plans for the rest of the week?” she asks, no expectations behind the question.

“The public forum for the arts centre is coming up.” I scrub a hand through my hair.

“Yeah, Nan mentioned something about that.”

“Are you going?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

“Only if you want me to,” she says tentatively. I can tell that even though we’ve agreed to be friends, we’re still figuring out where we stand with one another.

“I want you to come. It’ll be a great way to get to know the town. And all the quirky personalities here.” I’ve attended several public forums throughout my career, and they’re always an interesting study in human behaviour .

“Okay, maybe I will.” Emma smiles softly. We say goodnight, and I make my way back to my apartment with Ruby.

There’s a chill in the air without the sun beating down and heating up the valley, but it feels good. For the first time in a few days, I’m unencumbered. I’m lighter.

I’ve been dreading the public forum. But now, without the pressure of trying to parse out how I feel about Emma, I’m not dreading it as much anymore. I might be looking forward to it. The only explanation I can come up with is that I’m looking forward to seeing Wren.

Every time Wren and I have seen each other in town, we’ve been at each other’s throats. And every time, it’s turned me on. I like competing with her. I always have. The other night outside her house, she was right about one thing.

I’ve always gotten off on teasing her until she fights back.