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Chapter three

Anna

“ W hat do you mean I don’t need to bring anything?” I cradle my cell between my shoulder and cheek, clicking the print button on my laptop screen.

“We’ve got it under control, bring yourself. It’s probably one of the last BBQ nights we’ll have, so I’ve got everything taken care of.”

“If you insist. Who’s all coming?”

“Berg and the girls, Isaac and I.”

“Perfect. This week was so busy. I need a chill comfy night so bad.”

“Oh, and Chris will be there too,” Ashlyn adds.

I close my laptop abruptly at the mention of Isaac’s best friend, warmth travelling up the column of my throat. It’s been months since I’ve seen him.

“Anna?”

I twist away from my kitchen on my barstool to face my bed, “Yep, I’m here. That sounds…”

It sounds like anything but a chill comfy night.

I groan. “Now I’m nervous.”

My phone buzzes against my ear as Ashlyn requests to add video to our call. When I click the button to accept, she pops up with her eyes as round as saucers.

“Oh my god, you’re blushing.”

“Stop. You know I have a crush on him.” I hop off the barstool and throw myself down on my murphy bed, covering half my face with a pillow. I hate how juvenile that sounds. A crush .

One I’ve been harbouring since the day I met him. Patiently waiting for the moment when I wasn’t an inexperienced “prude”.

“Don’t be nervous. Be excited! Wear something cute.”

“I wanted to wear sweatpants!”

My cousin laughs. “You can wear whatever. I’ll stop bugging you.”

“I’ll be over here figuring out how not to turn beet red every time he looks at me. ”

“I gotta go to the store to get some drinks. See you tonight.”

“Buy a lot of them!” I yell right as she hangs up.

I still remember meeting Chris last year when he was all dishevelled after a day at work with a t-shirt that clung to his chest and work pants that showed off every damn hill the guy had ever hiked. It’s a scene imprinted in my brain. On the inside I was melting, on the outside I shut down that broad smile and firm handshake as soon as possible. It was around the same time I stopped seeing Darren. That’s the non-mortifying way to say, ‘was humiliated by.’ It took me twenty-eight years to get intimate with a man and only two minutes for him to tear me down. Mushing my face into my pillow doesn’t prevent the memory of that night.

“Am I doing it right?” I asked.

“What? I need to teach you to jerk a cock? Are you a virgin?”

I nodded.

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “You want me to go slow or something?”

When Chris walked in the kitchen that day, I was raw from the recent reproach, and I haven’t been on a date since. My general disposition during that period of my life was cold, served over ice, with a side of chilliness. Darren took all the progress I’d been making toward owning my sexuality and putting myself out there and punched a hole right through it with a handful of hurtful words. Chris, reading my vibes loud and clear, never asked me out and I only have myself to blame. Since then, I’ve watched him from a distance, wishing things would have been different the day we met.

Later, I stand next to my bed and glare at the mountain of clothing staring back at me. Black pants. Black jeans. Black sweater. Black skirt. I’ve been in chic business owner mode for too long and now ninety-five percent of my wardrobe reflects that. Normally, I wouldn’t care what I wore to go hang out with my cousin and her boyfriend. But now that the guest list has changed, none of the outfits sprawled over my bedspread feel right.

“What are you doing?” I groan, embarrassed at myself for the effort I’m putting into this choice.

Chris isn’t a fancy guy. He’s usually in filthy work clothes or dressed for the outdoors. And yet, I can’t seem to shake the idea of turning his head. I dig in the back of my tiny closet, pausing as my fingers slip across smooth fabric. A floral sundress with the tags still attached. Guys like those, right?

The drive to the old house Isaac inherited from his grandmother takes less than ten minutes. He’s worked his ass off to bring the Craftsman back to its former glory. Ashlyn’s touches are everywhere. Namely, the gorgeous flower beds in the front yard and the eye-catching flower stand with a Sold Out sign at the end of the driveway. I’m the last to arrive and I battle with the urge to adjust the neckline of my dress and mess with my hair. Berg is off in the grass playing with some hula hoops with his daughters, but Ashlyn, Isaac, and Chris are seated on the deck around a low table. I can make out the smoky waves of heat rising off the grill.

“Hi,” I set my purse down next to the only available seat, a folding chair.

Everyone returns my greeting, Chris’s deep voice standing out the most. I smooth my dress under my bum before sitting. As the chair brushes the back of my thighs, it tips sideways, and suddenly I’m tilting too.

“Shi—”

I brace for the fall, knowing that the wood deck below is gonna hurt like a bitch, when I jolt to a stop, an arm scooped under my side to catch me.

“Gotcha,” Chris’s voice is soft in my ear, his muscular arm holding me inches off the deck with ease.

Ashlyn stands to right the chair that fell over behind me. “Are you okay? I hate these stupid things. ”

“Yep,” I say, wincing a bit over the spot on my ribs where Chris broke my fall and a lot over the embarrassment that’s coursing through my veins.

I get my footing and peel my ponytail out of my pink lip gloss, murmuring a thank you. The spot where he’d held me cools rapidly in the evening air.

Isaac stands too. “I’ll get a dining chair from inside.”

“That’s okay!” Ashlyn’s voice is high. “Chris can shove over.”

His seat is a teak sun lounger with a soft pillow running the length of the wood. I send Ashlyn my best, ‘you’re trying too hard’ stare but settle onto the lounger with him all the same. On any other day, I would have rolled my eyes or chosen to sit on the stairs over sidling next to Chris. Tonight, though, I give in.

After we finish the grilled chicken and vegetables, Berg’s daughters don’t have to beg very hard to get the guys to chase them around the yard. A dreamy look washes over Ashlyn’s face every time Isaac hoists a little girl over his head. Honestly, I don’t mind the way Chris looks when he hauls a child onto his shoulders with the same ease as he would a loaf of bread.

When the night turns dusky, Berg herds the kids toward their car. With the kids gone, I can hear crickets chirping in the long, dry grass behind the workshop and a float plane droning above me. I let my ponytail drape over the back of the teak patio chair I’ve claimed for myself. A pergola stretches overhead, honeysuckle emanating a sticky sweet scent as they creep along the slats of cedar.

“More dessert?” Ashlyn holds out a tray of lemon tarts.

I groan.

“I’ve got to make smaller batches. I'll put them away. Can you help me clean up, Isaac?” Ashlyn calls over to where the guys are hanging by the garage.

We already cleared almost every dish, so I know Ashlyn is simply providing an opportunity for me and Chris to be alone. Jury is still out on whether I love or hate her for it.

“Yep! Coming.”

Chris jumps two footed from the bed of Isaac’s black truck, landing so easily that he may as well have stepped off a city curb. He heads straight for me. I swallow, straighten up in my chair, and pull down the hem of my dress. Or should I pull it up?

Jesus, Anna .

“Anna is right here. Just ask her,” Isaac says, nodding toward me with a smile.

Ask me what?

I look up at him expectantly, and I swear his eyes are hovering somewhere around my thighs.

Damn, this sundress is really working .

“Hmm?” I look between them at the mention of my name.

“Chris was just saying how he needs his hair cut, but his barber is out of town. I told him to go see you.”

Isaac heads inside to help Ashlyn and Chris plucks a beer from the cooler of melting ice and twists the cap, lowering himself into another teak chair with a laugh. The warm rich sound feels like a heavy plush blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I already had problems keeping my cool around Chris and now I have the knowledge of what his stupid bicep feels like.

“What’s so funny about it?”

“Imagining whatever trendy haircut you’ll give me, Annie.”

I grit my teeth at the childish nickname and figure sundresses probably aren’t Chris’s thing. I think of all his sporty pics online. He’s probably more into fleece. Why did I think a pretty dress would turn his head?

The urge to reach out and run my hands through his longer than normal hair, a hairdresser habit, is strong. He’s been fussing with it all night. Usually, his dark brown hair is cropped short and smoothed down with a touch of product. With it natural and tousled, he looks boyish, more approachable than he has in the past. Or maybe that because I’ve already nearly landed on my face in front of him, so the nerves have passed.

“Yeah, you should come into the salon. I’ll take care of it.”

He makes a face. “I don’t know. My barber is good.”

I arch a brow. “Fine by me, you could always buzz it if it’s bothering you.”

His eyes go wide. “Absolutely not.”

My laughter rings out through the yard. “How can I mess it up? What is it? Two, three inches long?” I flick my eyes down, khaki shorts cling to his thighs and notice how the fabric hugs his crotch. “Not much to work with.”

I smirk at my play on words, pleased with myself. Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t have a dirty mind. In fact, I’d say my curiosity and constant base level of horniness only enhances it. He takes a swig of his drink, a tan hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, mulling that over.

He sucks in a slow breath. “Probably a measuring tape in the workshop. Wanna check?” His eyes bore into mine.

Oh my god.

My stomach flutters and it takes a concerted effort not to break our eye contact and examine the daisy pattern on my dress.

“Sure, let’s go. ”

Without pause, he lifts his muscular legs off the lounger. I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to head over to the workshop to, I don’t know, do something but he only faces me, spreading his knees wide to lean in.

“Anna. C’mon.” He smiles.

I rotate to mirror his position, my bare knees mere inches from his. Dark hair covers his legs, the skin beneath tanned. Pink and white scars of various sizes pepper his shins and kneecaps.

“Come into the salon. I’ll get you sorted.” I fail to control the tremble in my voice.

He sets his drink down on the freshly stained decking beneath our feet then settles both hands on my legs, thumbs on the inside of my thighs. The tone of his skin is in stark contrast to my paleness. My heart thumps, skipping a beat before resuming its rhythm. His right hand, the one that held the cold bottle, is frosty on my heated skin. His left hand is on fire. That warmth spreads like a fever up my leg as goosebumps sweep across my skin. He tilts his torso, so our heads are inches apart. Above us, strings of amber lights on the pergola click on with a barely audible hum. His dark eyes reflect the twinkly lights.

“Okay. ”

He lets go of me, kicking his legs back up and folding his arms behind his head to get comfortable in the wooden chair.

“Okay?”

That’s it? He looks cool as a cucumber over there and I’m about ten seconds from combusting. I shift in my seat, noticing my dampening panties and mourning the loss of his touch on my legs.

“I’ll call you to make an appointment then.”

I swallow, acutely aware of the fact my drink is empty. “Yeah, I’ll give you my card later. Call the salon and they’ll schedule you for your highlights.”

“I don’t want your card. I want your number.”

Our hosts emerge from the house and Isaac settles onto a loveseat with overstuffed cushions, pulling Ashlyn onto his lap. Could I ever feel comfortable climbing onto someone's thighs like that? Nestling in for some human contact whenever I need it?

“You guys get it sorted?”

“Yes,” I say, reaching into my purse by my feet and pulling out my business card.

When I hold it out to Chris, he narrows his gaze ever so slightly at the rectangle with my business number and then at me. My cousin and Isaac have their heads bent together, not really caring about their last two guests .

My breath catches as he deliberately runs his thumb over my knuckles.

“I’ll take the real number after my haircut, Annie.”