Page 55 of Ten Hammers

“Yeah,” I say. “As long as we can make out some more after.”

“I think that can be arranged, Winifred.”

Chapter 20

Winnie

My picnic with Jack is long and luxurious, and I don’t fully realize how exhausted I am, physically and emotionally, until I find myself waking in my bed, morning light streaming through the window. After a moment of confusion, I realize I must have fallen asleep in the truck, again, and Jack carried me inside, tucking me into bed without waking me. This thought is so sweet that it sets off a flurry of butterflies in my chest, which carry on flapping throughout the day, keeping me feeling fluttery and light even after I join the others at Gram’s house for the demolition.

While Jack and I had been picnicking, the others worked hard, removing fixtures and gutting all the cabinetry. I’m not one to be left out. Grabbing my tool belt and a sledgehammer, I pitch in, memories of my turbulent childhood hitting hard. But the guys are never far from my side, ready with a hug or another swing of the sledgehammer, keeping me from falling apart.

Once I begin knocking down walls, it’s hard to stop, and the next couple of days pass in a blur of hard work, sweat, and pure focus.

By the time the sun has dropped, I drop, too. My muscles are too sore, and my body and brain are too drained to do anything after dinner other than pile up with my boys on the couch. They take turns preparing the meals and cleaning up after, a practice from Anna’s family organization days that they slip into so easily it’s as if they’ve never been away. Then we watch movies until we fall asleep, exactly like the old days.

After having a chance to kiss each of them, the fire in my belly and the need between my legs has only intensified, but this is all uncharted territory, and I’m eager to see where everything will go next. The atmosphere in the house since we came to our new agreement hasn’t been awkward at all, as I’d originally expected. Instead, there’s a mixture of nostalgia and anticipation, familiarity and trust.

How do couples who have been best friends for their entire lives start relationships in their thirties without jeopardizing their friendship? I don’t have a clue, especially not when it comes to couples with our circumstances. And yet somehow, perhaps because of all of our years of friendship, it’s working.

By the late afternoon on our third day, the demolition phase is nearly complete. I’m covered in a light layer of dust. I walked face-first into at least two spiderwebs. I either forgot to put on deodorant or it stopped working hours ago.

“What are you still doing over here?” Gavin asks when I come downstairs from where I’ve been pulling out the last of the socket fixtures before taking a sledgehammer to the walls.

“Well, gee, Gavin, I’m so happy to see you, too!” I reply.

“No, I just mean–”

Then I blink real hard and say, “Whoa.”

Gavin is wearing a sharp, tailored suit and tie, which accentuates his height and that ridiculously sexy muscular physique of his.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous,” I blurt out in a too-loud whisper, before clapping my hand over my mouth to keep my internal thoughts in check.

Get a grip, girl. I’ve seen him in a suit countless times…

But tonight he looks like never before. He exudes effortless elegance. His chiseled features and piercings are doing things to me that they’ve never done before. I’m drooling. I feel my panties dampening.

And he’s mine!

“Prince Charming has come to sweep you off your feet,” Gunnar says. “He made reservations at La Douche Baguette, over in Ashbourne. I think you two were going to dine on escargot while discussing the finer things in life and–”

“Bite me, you pleb,” Gavin said. “The restaurant’s actual name is Chez Margeaux and you’re going to love it, Pooh Bear. But I think Gun’s planning on taking you to the Gas n’ Go for their three dollar hot dog lunch special or–”

I clear my throat to interrupt him before someone makes some inevitable comment about weiners.

“BOYS! I think this,” I wave my hand back and forth between them, “breaks some sort of rule. Also it’s not endearing. Also… why are you ready and I’m… not?”

I’m so very not.

“Cruz was supposed to tell you to go to your room at our house an hour ago,” Gavin says.

“Oh, shit!” There’s a thud and Cruz, who is knocking down cabinets in the bathroom, peeks out looking sheepish, and rubbing the top of his head. “Bro, I swear I legit forgot. I wasn’t trying to salt your game.”

“How long do I have before we have to leave?” I ask Gavin.

“Twenty minutes?”

“Oh, my God!”

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