Page 49 of Tough Nut to Crack

And that may hurt more than him actually trying to manipulate me. I can't count the number of times I've been overlooked by more than just Mac. I learned not long after leaving Lindell to go to college that there are a lot of men out there who feel like they can treat certain women with less respect because of their size. I've borne witness to it, been on the receiving end of it.

It's not fair to put any of that on Mac, but it does make me feel a little more cautious around him.

I pull a long-sleeved Henley from a hanger and pull it over my head before grabbing a sweatshirt and putting that one on as well. Layers are my friend, especially when there's any sort of manual labor coming my way.

I decide not to bother with makeup, knowing I'll probably just sweat it off in a handful of minutes. My hair ends up in a messy pile on the top of my head because I'm all up in my feelings and hating the world as I leave my room.

I know I need to work on my self-esteem, but that isn't going to start right this minute despite wanting to go out and find Mac and tell him that I won't be going along with him today. I told him I'd do it, and I always do my best to stick to my word.

"Ready," I grumble when I make it back into the living room to find him standing at the front window.

Instead of turning back to look at me, he continues to watch out the window. "Your neighbor is sweeping their driveway."

I pull in a deep breath. How could I have possibly forgotten about what a rumor mill this little town is?

"We'll be the topic of discussion in the town social media group," I say, irritation forming on my tongue as bitterness.

Mac turns to face me, letting the curtain drop closed.

His smile seems genuine, and I sort of hate him a little for it.

"I can go across the street and explain that we aren't hooking up. I'm sure they know about your house fire," I say.

"Why would you do that?"

I tilt my head and stare at him for a long moment, unsure of how he wants me to respond.

"So they don't think we're sleeping together," I mutter.

He steps in front of me, blocking my path before I can reach the front door. Mrs. Easter is one of the biggest gossips in town, and she prides herself on being the first one to start whispering. Her posts always get approved in the online town group.

"Are you embarrassed by me, Riley?"

My eyes dart across the room, trying to find a place to look that's anywhere but on his person. He pulls in a deep breath when I don't answer.

"I guess that's something I'll have to work on then," he says before stepping out of the way.

When we make it outside, I head straight for his truck rather than across the street to clear things up with Mrs. Easter, and I know she gets an eyeful when he opens the passenger side door for me and waits for me to settle inside before closing it. I can't figure out who he really is. Is he the gentleman that he just acted like or the man who asked me if I wanted to walk home after that first night we spent together?

Chapter 20

Mac

I have no idea how long it's going to take me before I stop hating her just a little when I step inside my house.

There's no point in trying to avoid looking at the mess in the kitchen because it's the entire reason we're here.

I knew the second that the words came out of my mouth that it was going to be a very bad idea to have her here. She's a distraction that I don't need, and that distraction is why my kitchen went up in fucking flames.

I'm not a narcissistic asshole. I know I played a large part in what happened. Hell, I'm man enough to admit that it was probably ninety-five percent my doing, but what angers me the most is that she has the ability to even make me lose my head in the first place.

Riley Wilson wasn't even on my radar several weeks ago, but now she's all I seem to think about. Thoughts of her take over my day, and they trail into my nights, my mind conjuring up all sorts of things we could do together.

I growl in annoyance as I walk past her toward the mess in the kitchen.

"Gosh," she says as if she wasn't here the night the damn thing caught on fire.

I've been back herea couple times, but I could never get past bringing my toolbox inside. I feel gutted when I think about the amount of work that went into making this kitchen perfect, and it's almost enough to make me not want to tackle those same jobs again, but the house deserves more from me than the level of energy I have for it right now.

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