Page 36 of Somewhere You Belong

And you don’t find a lot of those where I live.

“Contrary to what you think you know about me, I help those in need.” His voice is solid now. “It’s ingrained in me. Twelve years in the Marines will do that to you. And despite our irritation-fueled conversations so far, a part of me is hoping that you’ll change your mind about the house if you see I’m not a complete asshole.”

“At least you’re being honest.”

I watch his eyes dip down to my lips briefly, but then he takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m always honest, Willow. And that goes for my offer. I can put the chair together for you…if you want. Or I can leave. It’s your call.”

With no other options, I accept his offer. It definitely has nothing to do with the way his ass looks in those jeans. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

With a quick nod, he heads downstairs and I hear the door open and shut. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I run into my bathroom to check my appearance. Smoothing down any flyaway hairs from my bun, I spritz hairspray over my head and then put some clear gloss over my lips.

Everything seems to be put in place on the outside, but inside? I’m squirming. My heart is racing. My body is humming with nerves at the thought of being around this man for a significant length of time.

Who knew that lust and hate could feel so very similar?

Ican’tlike him. Ican’twant him. Getting involved with someone to that degree—especially a man who has openly admitted he’s being nice to me because he wants me to sell him my house—isnota rational decision. But I know damn well that Shauna would approve. She’d push me into him and hope my face falls on his penis.

Sighing out loud and muttering to myself about what an idiot I am, I completely miss the sound of Dallas coming back up the stairs.

“Talking to yourself?”

I spin on my heels, clutching my hand to my chest with surprise. “Jesus Christ. Warn a person, will you? Did you pick up that skill from your brother?”

“I thought that’s what I was doing.” He steps further into the room and wields a pocket knife from his jeans as he sets a bag of tools down on the carpet. “And when did Penn scare you?”

Slicing open the cardboard, he extracts the pieces of the rocking chair from the box as I take a seat on the edge of my bed, grateful I had one delivered while I was back in D.C. “At the hardware store last week.”

“So how long are you staying?” Dallas asks as he gets comfortable on the floor and starts reading the instructions.

For a man to do such a thing—I’m impressed.

“Two months as of right now. Potentially three. Your brother seems to think that will be enough time.”

He nods. “With a new roof, flooring, fixtures…that sounds about right.”

“How did you—” I stop talking once I realize he probably spoke with him. “He told you?”

He nods again. “Yup. I was curious in case I could convince you to let me take the place off your hands.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between us. I’ve already made it clear to him that I don’t plan on selling right now. But each time he brings it up, it makes me more uneasy.

“So you’ve lived here your entire life?” I ask, changing the subject while I watch his forearms flex each time he tightens a screw, assembling yet another piece of the chair.

“Except for my time in the Marines, yes.”

“The Marines, huh? That must have been interesting.”

He scoffs. “Interesting is one way of putting it.”

“Why do you say that?”

Shaking his head, he grabs another tool and keeps putting pieces together. “War isn’t interesting, Willow. It’s violent. Risky. There are days when you don’t know if the sunrise will be the last one you ever see.” His words falter, but I hang on to each one of them as they dredge up emotions I’ve been fighting to keep at bay.

I wonder if my parents ever thought the same thing while they were overseas.

“I take it you were in Iraq then?”

“Afghanistan, mostly.” He searches on the floor around him before finally looking up at me. And his eyes are darker somehow, but with pain laced in the edges of his irises. “Can you hand me the hammer in my bag, please?”

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