Page 15 of Barbed Wire Fences
“Because I just replaced this for her three months ago.”
Well, shit.
“Um, is there anything you can do to fix the porcelain today? We aren’t exactly on speaking terms and I’m trying to avoid changing that unless I have to while I’m here.”
His brows lift slightly as he works but he doesn’t press. Rhett knows better than anyone else the reasons for the complicated relationship that I have with my mother.
“We have porcelain repair kits we can use to epoxy it. It’ll look just like new. I'll have someone come out tomorrow to fix it, but I can’t guarantee she won’t notice it before we can get to it in the morning.”
I nod as he continues to work and then watch as he presses the handle, latching onto what I hope is the bone and then slowly reversing and weaving its way back out.
The muscles in his biceps flex deliciously as he works and I can’t help but stare at him, noticing the new ink it looks likehe got tattooed there, the strong veins that pulse just under his skin and the way that he’s grown into his body with even more confidence.
Everything about him seems different from the last time that I saw him. Partially because of his physical appearance, but mostly because for now, he doesn’t seem angry with me for leaving.
When the bone finally comes into view my gaze drops to it and I let out a sigh of relief.
“Ah, you’re a life saver.”
“Here you go,” he says, holding it out to me still clasped in the jaws of the claw.
“Absolutely not.”
He laughs heartily, wraps it in a paper towel and then tosses it in the trashcan next to the bowl. He then packs up his tools and moves to the sink to wash his hands while smiling at my reflection behind him in the mirror.
“You look good, Jael. It’s good to see you again.”
I smile at him. “It’s good to see you too, Rhett.”
“So, what have you been up to since you ran out of here ten years ago?” he asks, squeezing past me in the cramped bathroom doorway.
Our bodies brush as he slips past me into my mom’s kitchen, and the faintest whiff of him clings to me. Definitely not the overpoweringCurvecologne that Owen had drenched himself in earlier. Rhett smells better. Rawer. It’s this woodsy, masculine cologne threaded with the faint tang of sweat, and it hits me low, unexpected.
I’ve never thought body odor could double as an aphrodisiac, but apparently, I was wrong, because the combination of cologne and hard work is making me dizzy in the best way.
He walks over to the fridge, grabs a cold beer, and moves to the counter's edge. Without looking, he smoothly uses the under-the-counter bottle opener that my dad installed there fourteen years ago when we first moved into the trailer park. The top pops off and falls into his other hand smoothly.
Something about the whole situation feels a little too...comfortable.
“Sure, make yourself at home and drink my dad’s beer,” I say, waving my hand dismissively as I walk over to one of the empty bar stools and sit down.
He grins at me. “Your dad’s dead and not here to bitch at me for drinking it anymore. Plus, your mom owes me. I fixed that toilet three months ago for free.”
“Uh, why would you do that?”
He takes another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the countertop gently. Grinning at me, he shrugs and says, “She’s always looked out.”
My brows bunch together. “So, you see her often?”
He shakes his head. “Usually only when I need to make a trip to the bank for my business, or when I come around the trailer park to visit my mom. We still do Sunday dinners together as much as I can.”
“She still lives here?”
He nods. “That she does. Refuses to leave.”
We sit in silence for a few beats while he takes another pull from his bottle. My eyes snag on the movement—his strong jawflexing as he swallows, full lips wrapped around the rim, that big Adam’s apple of his dragging up and down like it’s got a mind of its own.
“You know, you would end up in a job that causes you to be drenched in shit all day,” I say, smiling, trying to distract myself from the obvious, weird tension that’s between us as I stand to grab a beer for myself from the fridge.
