Page 10 of The Love Shack

“I like organization. I like things to be bright.” His gaze met hers. “I shook off the grime and stench of the past long ago.”

She’d tried to do the same, damn it, but for her, that big scandal had left an indelible mark, a jagged scar—whether he could see it or not.

As if she weren’t standing there ruminating about the past, he walked on. “Down here are two other bedrooms, although they’re empty right now and will probably stay that way until everything else is done. Not like I have overnight guests.”

Was he, like her, without family now? The things they had in common were starting to add up. Yet, the ways in which they differed were vast.

“These stairs lead to my bedroom and a much smaller private bathroom. Those are already done.” Watching her intently, he asked, “Want to go up?”

Hero hurried forward. Clearly, the dog was all for more exploring, yet she held back. She shouldn’t want to see the rest of his house, but she did.

It disconcerted her how Lawson made talking about the past seem so easy, just tossing it out there like a grocery list or the weather from last week. She’d never been able to do that. For her, any mention of the past, even thinking of it, still caused her pain. Avoidance had been her way of coping.

Bury it, plant a tree on top, move on.

Only now, with Lawson here in Cemetery, it appeared that option had been snatched away.

Hero paused by the stairs and looked at her, probably unsure why they were standing in the hallway. Lawson waited calmly while she stood as motionless as a rabbit just sighted—before it bolted away.

Only she didn’t want to bolt. Not this time.

Something about Lawson’s approach to life, his “let’s just move on without making a thing of it,” helped to blunt the edge of her uneasiness. For the first time since arriving and finding him as a neighbor, she drew a full, deep breath.

When she released it, she said, “Lead the way.”

Damn, she impressed him.

Like a movie playing before him, Berkley’s thoughts had flitted over her face with picture-perfect clarity. She’d been tense since discovering him. Her expressive features were easy to read, but there were other clues as well, especially the rigid way she held her shoulders, as if bracing herself for negativity.

He still didn’t know what she’d been doing in the woods, and her obvious wariness pained him.

But he sure liked the look of her this morning.

Fresh, a little messy, her face clean of makeup and her cheeks flushed from her walk. Sometimes she seemed bold and confident, but then there were moments when she reminded him of the young girl she used to be, stuck in a horrid situation with a dying mother and public humiliation hanging over her head.

Acutely aware of her and Hero trailing behind him, Lawson reached the top of the open stairs and stepped aside. This room, along with the connecting bath, was the first he’d finished. He could deal with the construction mess below, tackling it day by day, envisioning how it’d look in the end.

But he’d never again sleep in a cramped, dingy space, with scratchy sheets that stunk of smoke and sweat.

“It’s not white,” she teased as she stepped into the room and looked around with awe. “You’re like a designer or something. Everything looks amazing.”

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, mildly uncomfortable with showing her his private dwelling. In fact, he wouldn’t have, except that he’d needed to do something to remove the shadows of sadness in her eyes. Why the hell had he taken offense at her “neat freak” comment? Dredging up the past hadn’t been his intent, and yet the words were out there before he could censor them. He didn’t discuss those days with anyone. Ever.

So why did it feel so natural with Berkley? Maybe because he knew she’d understand.

She meandered to the custom wall of windows and gazed out. “Such an incredible view.” Glancing back at him, she asked, “This is all new?”

He nodded. “The two standard windows didn’t cut it for me.” Now custom windows, cut to fit together, filled the entire wall all the way up to the peak of the cathedral ceiling. This space, more than any other, was strictly for him. His comfort, his retreat. It was all geared to match his personal preferences and habits.

“It’s like you’ve framed the lake.”

Exactly how he’d envisioned it. Smiling, he said, “At night I can see the stars.”

“And in the morning the sun blinds you?”

Teasing again? He did like seeing her in this mood, less defensive, more relaxed. “I’ve always been an early riser, so I don’t mind.”

“You’re awfully handy. You worked in construction?”

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