Page 34 of When We Were Us
“Sooo, you’re telling me you work for fun?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But yeah, among other things.” She seems to consider that for a second.
“Ok, so, what other things do you do for fun?”
I look back out to the pond, where Hudson and Finn are taking turns on the rope swing.
“I like dirt bikes, ATVs, fishing, and hanging out by the campfire with friends.”
“So, boy stuff.” She deadpans.
I laugh. “Girls like that stuff too.”
“Fishing and campfires with friends maybe, but I’ve never ridden a dirt bike or an ATV.”
“I could teach you.” I say the words without thinking, but judging by the look on her face, she isn’t opposed to the idea. In fact, she looks interested.
“Yeah? You’d really do that?” she asks expectantly. She drags her hair across her back and over her shoulder, playing with the ends as she watches me.
My mouth goes dry. She is so beautiful, and I wonder how I never noticed it before today. Maybe it has something to do with that red swimsuit.
“Sure. Yeah, I could do that.”
“Cool,” she says.
“Cool,” I say back, and we grin at each other.
Then, she stands and looks down at me. “Be right back.”
I watch as she jogs to the house and up the steps to the back door. She slips inside, and a couple seconds later, she’s jogging back to me with a permanent marker in her hand. She flops back down on the towel next to me, slightly out of breath.
“Give me your hand,” she says, holding out her own.
I don’t hate the excuse to touch her, so I comply immediately.
She takes my calloused palm in her smooth one and flips it over, resting it on her thigh. Her skin is cool to the touch from being in the water, and goosebumps break out across her flesh when my skin touches hers.
“What are you doing?” I ask, fighting to keep my breathing even because my hand is right. Freaking. There.
She glances up through her lashes and smiles at me, seemingly completely unaffected by my hand in hers.
“Giving you my number,” she says as she begins to write. “I couldn't find any paper, so…”
She trails off as she finishes. She studies it for a second before letting go of my hand.
“There.” She smiles at me.
I look down at it. She’s written her name, her number, and underneath is a smiley face with its tongue sticking out.
And I’m a goner.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
hank
NOW
On Sunday morning,I pull open the back door and step into the kitchen at Timber’s Treats. It's just after opening and I expect the space to be bustling, with Nat hard at work getting the pastry case filled for the morning. Instead of the banging of trays against the steel work counter, or the buzzing of timers as another delicious pastry is ready to be pulled from the oven, it’s quiet.
