Page 91 of When It's Us
I spent the next few hours going from site to site, checking in with my crews. We’ve got sheetrock going up in one of the spec homes on the north side of the valley, painting being completed in another, and Hudson’s four-way later this afternoon.
I eat my lunch on the tailgate of my truck, a lukewarm can of chili from the thermos I packed this morning, and a half a package of stale as fuck saltines I found in a bag on the floor of my truck this morning while I was shooting the shit with Jason and Max, two of my best sheetrock guys. It’s no gourmet meal, but at least my stomach isn’t growling anymore.
It’s after noon when I pull into the driveway of the vacant side of the duplex. I climb out of the truck, and Oakley jumps out behind me, tennis ball clamped between his teeth. He drops it at my feet.
“I gotta get some work done, Oaks,” I tell him, but I pick up the ball and hurl it across the yard, then watch him tear after it, before heading inside, making sure to leave the door open for him.
An hour or so later, I ripped out the cupboards in the kitchen and started demoing part of the wall separating the living room and kitchen to make it not quite open but a little less closed off.
I take a water break and briefly consider texting Ginger. I wonder if Hales mentioned anything to her about me sneaking out this morning but decide against it. The less Ginger knows about the conversation with my sister, the better.
I wrap up work around six, and when I gather my shit and leave the duplex, there’s no sign of Hayley’s car, and the house looks closed up tight. I whistle for Oakley and decide to head home. I have another long day tomorrow with demo and could use a good night’s sleep.
As I lay in bed later that night, Hayley’s words echo softly in the back of my mind.
“Just don’t hurt her.”
She said it like a quiet truth she needed me to hear.
And I did.
Ginger
Thismorning,Itookmy laptop back to the cute little bookstore attached to Timber’s Treats to get some work done. With Hutch doing demo on the other side of the duplex, it’s almost impossible to concentrate. We’ve been together every night for the past three days, and every morning, he sneaks out before the sun comes up, and it’s getting harder to watch him go every morning.
I’ve spent time with Wren and the girls, had dinner with Hayley, fallen asleep way past my usual bedtime, and after he leaves, I’ve passed back out and slept past eight every morning. Glorious is an understatement.
I almost told Wren everything when she stopped by to have lunch, but Nat asked if she could join us for her break before I could. Afterward, I spent another couple of hours working in the bookstore. When I came home a little over an hour ago, Hutch’s truck was gone, and the house was quiet for the first time all day.
Hayley invited me to her book club with Finn and Josie this morning, but spending the night wrapped up in a blanket with a glass of wine sounded like a lot more fun. Don’t get me wrong, I came to Timber Forge to have fun and visit friends, but I honestly don’t get much alone time these days, and knowing Icould beout with friends if I wanted to was enough.
I turn on the TV to a show I’ve seen a hundred times and head upstairs to change before making something for dinner. I’m searching high and low for my slippers when I spot them under the edge of the bed. Bending over, I catch sight of the flannel shirt Hutch was wearing the other night. Picking it up, I shake it out, that familiar cedar and woodsmoke scent filling my nostrils. Flicking my eyes to the door like someone might suddenly appear and catch me sniffing his shirt, I bury my nose in the collar and almost moan.
Why does he have to smell so good? And be so damn sexy? It took everything in me to kick him out of my bed the other morning. I wanted nothing more than to be underneath him again, to feel the crushing weight and heat of his body against mine. The need to have him fill me is like a physical ache I can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how many times I try.
Glancing down at the soft fabric in my hands, I’m tempted to wrap myself in this stupid flannel like a love-sick teenager, but I don’t. I fold it up and set it on the dresser before I do something stupid like wrap it around a pillow and dry hump it until I come.
An hour later, I’ve eaten, downed two glasses of chardonnay, and watched three episodes of mindless TV. But I still can’t stop thinking about Hutch. I consider texting him, and then change my mind, pulling up the thread between Wren and me instead.
Ginger: What does it mean when I miss someone I have no business missing?
I take another sip of chardonnay, already regretting sending the text in a buzzed state. After a few minutes, her reply finally comes through.
Wrenley: Uh oh. Is this a text conversation, a phone conversation or an, I need to find a babysitter conversation?
Huffing out a laugh, I tap out a response.
Ginger: I think I’m in trouble
My phone rings in my hand, Wren’s picture lighting up the screen with a FaceTime.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
I blow out a breath, dropping my head back on the couch. “God, where do I even begin?”
Her look is sympathetic. “How about at the beginning?”
Wren narrows her dark eyes at me and holds up a finger. “Okay, one: define ‘fucked around a bit’ and two”—she adds another finger—"why is hooking up with Hutch the last thing you should be doing? You’re both adults, and at the risk of sounding like a broken record, fun is something you are in short supply of right now.”
