Page 11 of Suddenly Entwined

He-llo.

There’s a garage door open behind him, and when I take in the equipment and the distinct lack of clothing, I can guess he finished a workout in the last few minutes. But the absolute best part? Colourful clips completely cover his beard.

I should tell him.

It would be the polite and neighbourly thing to do. But I don’t. Instead, I fight back a smirk as soon as I remember that this guy no-showed to our appointment earlier and that because of his shitty water-logged door, I’ve been standing in the rain for fifteen minutes. Does that make it any easier to stop staring at buddy’s biceps? No. I narrow my eyes in annoyance. Perhaps reducing my field of vision will lessen the very visceral reaction I’m having to this delightful dad bod.

Chapter six

Berg

The workout in my home gym helps clear my mind, but when I smack the button on the garage door to cool off and spot a strange car in my driveway, I’m not impressed. I’m immediately on high alert and when I round the corner and spot someone banging on the door to my suite? Well, they’ll have to excuse me, because I’m not in the mood for this. A woman is wearing a short rain jacket and a pair of jeans that fit her so well it’s hard not to notice.

“Damn door…come on,” she says.

She hits the door with impressive force, immediately withdrawing her hand with a hiss and clutching it against her chest. “Ouch.”

Even then, she clenches her fists and I’m fully ready for her to go another round with her wooden opponent.

“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and low, wanting to avoid spooking her.

She shoots a look over her shoulder that might start at my eyes, but definitely wanders downward for a moment. And, okay, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t stroke my ego a bit. Especially after a workout.

Because I fell asleep during bedtime, I had to pull off an elite military extraction to get the hell out of my daughter’s bunk bed. I’d woken sweaty and disoriented from one of those shitty dreams again. They’re farther and fewer between lately, but they still rattle me. The scent of the hospital, the monitors beeping, Louisa’s endless newborn wails and Natalie’s painful questions about where Mommy was. I’ve made so much damn progress on healing and grieving, but one vivid dream like that and I’m transported as if by black magic to my family’s darkest days. I laid there for several minutes, staring at glowing sticky stars while my breathing slowed, running my fingers through my daughter’s hair.

Middle of the night gym sessions aren’t really my thing, but if the universe is going to deliver pretty rain soaked women to my driveway, I’d be willing to adjust my schedule. She has chaotic blonde curls protruding from her hood and fair skin that is turning pink from the cold. I may be shirtless in the winter, but I bet I could warm us both up.

“You’d have to stop staring at me if you’d like to help,” she says.

“I wasn’t–” I sigh, not needing to explain myself to this random woman.

“I’m Carolina.”

A smile plays across her lips for a moment, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to add on to that introduction, but she presses them together again.

“Carolina…”

This spitfire who is glaring me down better than my daughters can on their grumpiest days is Chris’s sister.

I clear my throat, determined to erase all images of her butt in those jeans from my mind.

February 1st. The nagging suspicion that today meant something. Chris’s sister moved in today and I’m the lovely welcoming committee, marching out into the dark to demand who she is. I feel like a jerk. A half naked jerk. I look down at the sweaty cotton tee in my hand that’s getting wetter by the minute from the rain. Putting it on right now would be super gross. I toss it into the garage behind me.

“I would love, love so much,” she clasps her hands over her chest, voice laden with sarcasm, “if you would help me open this shitty, broken door.”

“The door is not shitty,” I say, stepping closer as she moves aside. “It’s easy. You just have to push–” I jiggle the handle and shove.

“Please do not mansplain the mechanics of opening a door to me.”

“Push on it at the right angle,” I grunt, pressing my left shoulder against the door for leverage.

“Hmm, interesting. And do we happen to know that angle so that I can go to bed sometime soon?”

“Can you be patient?”

It’s cold as fuck out here, and her sniping at me while I try to sort this out isn’t helping in the slightest.

“I’ve been patient. I knocked on your door already.”

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