Page 20

Carson

“ H ey!” Wren offers a small wave and a big smile from the doorway. Her cheeks are a rosy hue, possibly from the heat, but more likely because I caught her checking me out.

“What are you doin’ here? Everything alright?” I ask, placing the brush down on the paint tray and stepping toward her.

“Oh, yeah. Uh—I just—I uh…” Her eyes close as she takes a deep breath to collect herself before continuing.

“I saw your truck out front and the lights on.” She points to the small work lamp I have hooked up to the portable generator.

“I was on my way home and thought I’d stop by and say hi. See what you were up to.”

She seems flustered, and I’m sure my shirtless appearance is the reason.

I usually do my best to remain clothed around this woman, but with the humidity outside and the A/C not working in the building for now, I was sweating my balls off in here—even with the small, battery-powered fan I managed to find.

“Just doin’ some paintin’ while there’s still a little light outside.”

She nods, glancing around the diner. “You’ve gotten a lot done in here.”

“It’s amazing what determination and a case of Red Bull can do for you.”

She smiles again, and I find it hard to look away. Wren has always had the most captivating icy blue eyes—the color is so cold, yet it contradicts her personality; she’s nothing but warmth.

The silence grows, and I hear the thoughts I keep pushed down to the lowest abyss start to surface—the ones that begin to transform into hopes. All of which are about her, and none of them are a good fucking idea.

“I gotta?—”

“About earlier—” she starts at the same time.

“Wren, we really don’t need to talk about that.”

It’s embarrassing as hell that I was caught red-handed checking her out. But what man with a set of functioning eyes wouldn’t have? Her tight little ass was right fucking there. I drove the rest of the way to the hardware store repeatedly adjusting my pants.

I’ve always done my best not to let those types of feelings come to fruition.

Always told myself that I wasn’t enough and never would be.

That Wren was off-limits. But ever since my mind got word that I was finally ready to prove I could be enough—that I didn’t want to fight my interest in this woman anymore—my body has been more than happy to show its approval of that thought.

“Okay.” A blush creeps to the tips of her ears as she rolls her pink lips between her teeth.

I run my palm over my nape. “I gotta get back to this before I lose the daylight,” I state, motioning to the wall behind me. The sun is practically gone at this point, but I’m not leaving until I finish this.

“Oh! Right! …Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you. Do your thing.” She motions for me to go back to work.

“You don’t have to stay. It’s hot as hell in here.”

I grab the roller this time and coat it in the paint tray, rolling off the excess on the slanted edge of the tray. Just as I look up, thinking she’s gone, she steps up beside me and takes the paintbrush that I set down earlier.

“Wren…” I give her a look. “ That would be helping someone. That’s breaking the rules.”

“No, it’s not. This is painting… Which is a hobby. Which was on my list, thank you very much .” She shoots a smug, satisfied smile my way.

I let out an irritated sigh. I hate that she thinks she always has to step in and help everyone.

“Wren, I didn’t ask?—”

“I’m testin’ out a hobby,” she states, cutting me off without even glancing at me. “Please don’t interrupt.”

She keeps her focus on the wall as she runs the brush along the blue painter’s tape that lines the trimmed edge.

Her eyes briefly peek over. “This was next on my list, I swear.”

I continue to stare at her, debating telling her that she needs her ass spanked. Wren is a people pleaser through and through, but she has always had a slightly more defiant side with me.

She glances up at me again from her kneeling position. The sight hits me like a freight train, all the air leaving my lungs.

“You’re such a brat,” I mutter, shaking my head.

She grins and goes back to painting. “I really love this color. Nothin’ wrong with the color before, but this feels more inviting.”

“Hmm,” I hum. “Glad you approve.” And I am. I don’t know anything about interior decorating, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask anyone.

If I were going to seek advice, though, Wren’s opinion is the one I would have sought. But I’m not asking her for help while she’s finally doing things for herself for a change.

“Before I get too into this, I should probably use the restroom. Is it functional?”

“Yup. Go ahead.”

While she’s gone, I keep rolling paint over the wall. A lot of people don’t enjoy this tedious task, but I’ve never minded it. While most would hire someone to do it, I prefer to save money wherever possible. I suppose that’s a trait I inherited from my dad.

Wren’s phone lights up with an incoming call— Maggie . The internal debate only lasts a split second before I hit the decline button. Once the call goes to voicemail, Wren’s screen shows the last thing she had open… It’s a list. A very… interesting list. One I really shouldn’t read.

But I do.

When she returns, I tell her she missed a call. She checks her phone, then surprisingly ignores it, putting it back down on the floor beside her. I want to ask her about the items she’s been adding to her list—badly—but I don’t want her to think I was snooping through her phone while she was away.

We work side by side for the rest of the time, talking about our day.

The sun’s long gone, but with her help, I actually got it done.

When I came in this morning, I bit off more than I could chew.

After a long day of restoration, I thought I’d have plenty of time to give the walls a fresh coat of paint before the light faded.

I know I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her, though.

“Thank you,” I say, wiping the tiny speckles of paint off my arms with my old T-shirt.

“You’re welcome,” she beams. “You know I don’t mind helpin’. You just have to ask, Carse.”

I give her a look, and she quickly amends her response.

“I mean… I enjoyed testing this hobby. It definitely wasn’t the worst one I’ve tried.”

“ Mmhhmm .” I nudge her shoulder. “And what would be the worst so far?” I ask as I gather the supplies to put them away. I hate messes and don’t want to walk into one tomorrow when I’m back in here.

“Definitely outdoor yoga. Maybe next time I’ll try goat yoga.”

I pause. “ Goat yoga?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “I’ve seen some videos. People let their goats climb on their backs while they balance.”

What the actual fuck.

“…Okay. Couple things. One, you don’t have a goat,” I state the obvious. “Two, you wanna let an animal walk on your back? What if it shits on you? You seen how much those things drop?”

Her lips purse as she looks to the side in thought. “You’re right. I’d probably be better off just goin’ and pettin’ some goats,” she admits with a chuckle.

“Besides, it’s way too humid this time of year for outdoor exercise.” She groans and stretches her body to the side. “And it made me use muscles I ain’t used in years today.”

My pulse starts to skip when she runs her hands over her ass and down her thighs.

“I could feel every muscle I forgot I had. It is now very clear that I need to stretch more.”

My eyes track her hands as they rub over her lower body. She’s still in her work scrubs, but bending the way she is, I can see everything she’s touching… very fucking well.

“I had sweat in places—” She cuts herself short and shakes her head. “Sorry. TMI, I know.”

“You gotta rub it out,” I offer, tossing the shirt to hang over my shoulder and grabbing my keys from the counter. It’s still too damn hot to be fully clothed.

She snorts. “Is that what you do? Rub it out?”

“I will tonight.”

Shit, shit, shit.

How the actual fuck did that slip out?

Wren’s cheeks flame, and a small laugh escapes her. “Oh, okay then.” She shyly tucks a loose blonde strand behind her ear.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, Tink.” I nudge her arm and nod toward the door. “Let’s go. I’ll cook us dinner.”

“You don’t need to do that. I’ve got somethin’ at home.”

I study her briefly as we walk out the door and toward our vehicles. “Does it have to be cooked in a microwave?”

Her icy blues duck, and I get my answer.

“My house, Tink. If you can insist on ‘ testing a hobby ,’ I can insist on repaying you for your help.”

She bites her cheek in thought. “Spaghetti?” she asks, pointing a finger at me.

This woman and her damn pasta.

“If that’s what you want.”

A satisfied smile lights up her eyes before she spins around and gets into her car. “I’ll see you there.”

Her door shuts, and she’s out of the parking lot before I even get into my truck.

Lucky me, I always keep a good supply of ingredients for her favorites on hand.