Page 48 of Something that Could Last

“We’d better get something to eat and rest for a few minutes before we get started,” I announce once I catch my breath.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob declares, wiping the sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt. I’m momentarily struck speechless by his rock-hard abs, now on full display. My mouth waters in anticipation of running my tongue between each and every ridge. He finally pulls his shirt down and I snap my gaze back up to his face. If he caught me ogling him, he doesn’t let on. “How can you have the energy to do yard work after that? I’m beat.”

“Oh, well… um.” I stumble over my words, feeling guilty for expecting him to help out after subjecting him to that long, grueling run. It’s already above eighty degrees and the sun is blazing hot. It's going to be sweltering today. “You don’t have to stay. I can take care of the yard. I’m used to it,” I maintain with a shrug.

“Hell, no. I’m not leaving you here to do all this by yourself!” he proclaims. “I’m just amazed that you have the energy left to doanythingafter what we just did. You must have an insane amount of endurance.” His praise causes me to blush. Thankfully my face is already flushed, so he doesn’t notice.

“Okay, well, if you’re staying, we need to get some food in us. Can’t have you passing out on me.” My needling earns me a cocky smile.

“Never,” he promises before placing a quick peck on the corner of my mouth.

Jacob follows me into the house and I instruct him to sit at the table. He’s so exhausted, he doesn’t even argue with me. I hand him a knife and a large, shiny red apple to slice while I toast some whole grain bread and spread almond butter on it. Better keep it light. Full bellies, manual labor, and humid, Appalachian heat don’t mix.

After breakfast and a short rest to let our food digest, I change out of my sweaty running clothes, swapping my compression shorts and tank for my usual lawn mowing attire: a pair of cut-off jean shorts and bikini top. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and work on my tan. Jacob’s eyes widen when I step out of my bedroom, surprised to see me so scantily clad. I grin to myself, relishing my ability to cause such a reaction. “Ready to get started?” I ask as his eyes roam over my body.

“On what?” He raises one eyebrow suggestively. “You, or the lawn?”

I giggle, swatting his arm as I attempt to slip past him. He grabs me before I can get by and pulls me against his chest.

“You really are trying to torture me today, aren’t you?” he whispers in my ear, pressing my body up against his. The fire in his eyes nearly consumes me, weakening my legs and my resolve not to pounce on him. He lowers his head and kisses me chastely before taking a step backward. “Two can play this game, you know.”

He smirks and pulls his t-shirt over his head. I stand there, helplessly entranced, as he strides leisurely to the kitchen table and drapes it neatly over the back of a chair. My eyes drink him in, his muscles flexing with every movement. “Better get started.” He grins and holds his hand out, motioning for me to lead the way. I command my brain to pick my chin off the floor and force my feet to move.

When my limbs begin to function on their own again, I lead Jacob out to our shed and unlock the weathered, wooden double doors. They creak in protest when I push them wide open, allowing sunlight to flood the interior so I can check for snakes. Copperheads love hiding in there, but luckily, there are usually enough black snakes around to keep the venomous bastards away.

Satisfied the rickety building is momentarily snake free, I pull the archaic push mower out, followed by the only slightly newer weed eater. I grab the rake and gas can before closing the old doors back into place.

“Ready?” I ask Jacob, handing him the weed eater. I’ll let him start with that since I’ve already pushed him to his physical limits today.

“Yep. Where’s your mower?”

I glance down at the rusted old hunk of junk in confusion. “It’s right here,” I point out, grabbing the handle.

He looks taken aback for a moment. “That’swhat you cut your grass with?” he asks incredulously. “You don’t have one of those ride-on mowers?”

Oh, bless his heart.

“Nope, this is all I’ve got.” Riding mowers are expensive and something I don't have the money for. It's a luxury we just can't afford. Besides, we’ve only got an acre and a half of non-wooded land on our property. It’s not so bad to push mow.

I guess my earlier assumptions were right. He’s never done this type of work before. I sometimes take for granted that his life is much different from mine. Most of the boys I grew up with could cut grass, clean a shotgun, and skin a deer before they hit puberty. But Jacob is looking at the old Cub Cadet like it’s some kind of primitive relic.

“Have you ever cut grass before?”

He lets out a humorless laugh in response to my question. “Yeah. Once.” A pained look flashes briefly across his face. “I got in a lot of trouble for it.” He takes a deep breath before adding, “Damn near got someone fired, too.”

“What?” I ask, perplexed.

“It was a long time ago,” he explains. “My mom was still struggling with Peyton’s death.”

A sense of unease creeps into my mind and settles in my bones. I know how much his sister's death still affects him. There's so much pain in his voice when he says her name. I’m not sure I should ask him to elaborate, but judging by his tormented expression, this isn't something he's been able to share with anybody. Plus, I have a feeling his despair has been trying to claw its way out for a long time.

I place my hand gently on his arm, but he won’t meet my gaze. “What happened?” I ask softly.

His pensive countenance tells me he's debating whether he should proceed with this story. He places his hands on his hips and lets his gaze roam over my backyard, squinting against the sunlight. Patiently, I wait for him to reveal what he’s been holding in.

After a few beats of silence, he takes a deep breath and begins. “It was the first week of summer vacation and I was restless. I needed something to do to occupy my pre-pubescent mind.” He smirks, briefly meeting my gaze. “Ray, the head of lawn maintenance and gardening for my family’s estate, was there with his crew that day. Ray was a cool guy. He never treated me different because of my family name or because of my dad’s position. He even taught me how to hit a curveball and sink a free throw every time.” He smiles at the fond memory before continuing with his story.

“Anyway, one day I was bored out of my mind, so I asked Ray if I could help him cut the grass. He immediately shot me down, saying that if I did his job, then he wouldn’t be needed anymore. He ruffled my hair and turned to walk away, but I just wouldn’t leave it alone. I had this grand idea that learning to drive his monstrosity of a mower would be like driving a car, and what twelve-year-old boy doesn’t want to drive a car?”

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