Page 13 of Off-Limits Mate

“I was born ready, Rayburn,” she teases with a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “To the hardware store, then.”

“Yup. And you’re welcome for making sure you don’t get ripped off by them.”

I smile but don’t respond. Amara doesn’t give a fuck about the money. She doesn’t know the fame. And right now, I don’t care about it, either.

Several hours, and a lot of sheetrock later, we’re pulling up to a small cabin.

Amara picks at the mud flaking on her leg and doesn’t want to meet my eyes. “Well, this is it,” she says.

I glance at her. Is she… nervous?

“I like it,” I say, not glancing at the cabin at all. “It’s very you.”

Amara gives me a look. “How do you know?”

I roll my eyes. “Please. I’ve known you since you were a kid, Amara. I think I can tell when something suits you.”

The reminder of our relationship, and the big wall between us, makes me feel like an absolute asshole.

Amara unbuckles as soon as I park the truck. She practically flies out, and I follow her.

The cabin really is cute. It’s small, but not microscopic. There’s a little front porch with two rocking chairs and a screen door that can use some WD-40, based on the squeak it makes when Amara opens it. I follow her slowly, creaking my way up the porch steps, and cautiously walk inside.

I resist the urge to suck in a breath. The house is a freaking mess. Any drywall has been ripped out about three feet from the bottom, showing the extent of the flooding. Floors and any type of carpet are completely gone, and the bare concrete foundation is practically covered in sawdust and dirt.

I wander through. Amara follows me, and I can sense her nerves growing as she goes.

Finally, I turn around. She looks to the side. “It’s a really cute place when it’s done,” she says, her voice defensive. “The flooding was just really bad, and because it was like sewer water, they had to rip up a whole bunch of stuff, and they…”

She’s babbling.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I reach out and touch her shoulder. The connection sends a jolt down my arm, and my skin prickles. It feels like I just grabbed a live wire, and I resist the urge to pull my hand back. Instead, I look at Amara, who is staring at my hand on her shoulder like… like it’s shocking her, too.

“Amara. This is a really nice place. I think it’s really great,” I say softly. “You should be proud of it.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and they’re wide. “You like it?”

“I do. I really do. And it’s really awesome that you kick ass at your job and could buy it,” I add.

Amara flushes. I watch the red of her blush creep up her cheeks, and I drop my hand from her shoulder. I look away, because if I keep watching, I’m going to wonder how far that blush will spread, or what else would make her blush like that, for way, way too long.

“It just feels so… ruined,” she mumbles.

“It’s not,” I respond. “It just needs to be rebuilt.”

Amara laughs. “You make that sound like it’s not a big deal.”

“It is. I’m not saying it won’t be a ton of work. But I can see why this is so hard for you.” She gives me a curious glance, and I shrug. “Rebuilding is hard,” I clarify. “It’s a whole different skillset than building. You have to look around and decide what to preserve, and what you want to be different in the future. It’s different than dreaming something up for the first time. It’s looking at the reality, and then going from there.”

“That is… awfully wise, for someone who just nearly broke their truck on a rock,” she responds.

I laugh. “I’d rebuild that, too.”

“I see. Well, master repair-person, where should we start?”

I look over at her. Amara’s nibbling on her bottom lip. She has her long braid in one of her hands, and she’s running her fingertips through the strands at the bottom. It’s a nervous gesture, one that I remember her making as a kid. This place really does matter to her.

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