Page 62 of Muddy Messy Love

Me:

Hi there. You wouldn’t happen to be in the area, would you?

It’s a long shot, but his reply comes fast.

Cole:

No, but I am back at the office. Why’s that?

Ten thirty p.m. and he’s at work. No surprise there.

Me:

Never mind.

Cole:

Why, Avery?

Me:

It’s stupid. I’m locked out, and Beth left on Monday.

Cole:

I’ll be there in thirty.

A sheepish grin blooms across my face, and I roll my eyes. Only the slimiest of slime would derive joy from someone’s inconvenience, but apparently that’s me.

True to his word, thirty minutes later, Cole rolls up to the kerb, climbs out of his flash car, then saunters up the driveway with a smirk. “Nice pants.”

I look down at the turquoise smiley faces floating in a sea of purple flannelette, then back up to him. I love these pants.Usually. “Thanks. Made them myself.” With a Salvos sewing machine, no less.

“A lady of many talents,” he says, halting at the porch entrance, eyes twinkling like stars.

My cheeks warm along with my heart. He looks ten feet tall from down here. I smile up at him. “Whatever gave you the impression I’m a lady?”

Cole laughs. “Well, not your language, that’s for sure. But your pinkie finger does lift whenever you drink.”

“What?” I chuckle. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Ah, yes, it does. With water and coffee, anyway, so I’m guessing it’s an all-beverage thing.”

I tilt my head. “Is there anything you don’t notice?” Leaning on my hands, I work my good foot under me and manage to stand, bearing minimal weight on the other.

Cole swoops in to clutch my waist as I find balance. “Well, I didn’t notice you were hurt. Christ, what happened?”

“It’s nothing.” Beneath my hands, his biceps are solid, and I squeeze them a little. “Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it.”

His frown softens, and he strokes my cheek with his thumb, his warm fingertips light on my neck. The gesture sends tingles down my spine. “I’m glad you messaged.” He looks down at my feet where one shoe hovers, barely touching the ground. “So are you going to tell me?”

I’d rather he didn’t know how clumsy I am, nor picture the absurd scene, but to hell with it. “I fell off the roof and tweaked my ankle. Locked myself out in the process.”

Cole’s eyes saucer. “You fell off the roof?” He grips me out at arm’s length, scanning for further injury.

I squeeze his wrists, pressing his gold cuff links into my palms. “It sounds worse than it is. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

The line reappears centre of his frown. “What were you doing on the roof?”

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