Page 37 of Hero Next Door
He tried to stare me down. He did. But I’d been in situations a whole lot more intense than a construction guy trying to get lazy, and it only took about thirty seconds for him to agree and mutter that he was going to take his lunch.
I turned around, relieved and, yes, impressed with myself, to find Parker glaring at me.
“I was handling that myself,” she said coldly.
“Parker, he was going to leave the job, and that would have put you so far behind,” I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. “I’m just making sure that doesn’t happen. Look—”
This was my chance, I thought. This was the first time I’d gotten to talk to her all day, and this was the time to ask her what was going on.
But I didn’t get the chance.
She got right in my face and poked me in the chest. “I can handle it myself,Dev,” she said, her voice sharp. “I manage people all day, every day. I can manage a couple construction crews. By myself. I don’t need you.”
She turned on her heel and walked away, and for the second time that day I was left watching her, shock rushing through me.
And the heart that had started cracking the first time completed its break now, the pain so deep it nearly sent me to my knees.
I reminded myself that I’d decided it was best if she left, and that it had always been her goal in the first place. I was the one who’d started wondering what it would be like if she stayed, not her. I’d had a thought about combining the ranches and waking up to her every morning.
She’d never even considered it.
And I turned and walked through the front door. I got into my truck, turned on the engine, and gave the house one last look. Pink roses climbing up the front. Tall pillars, red shutters. A house that didn’t belong in the country outside of Arberry.
Sort of like its new owner.
I drove away from the house, leaving my heart broken and bleeding on the dirt behind me and reminding myself again and again and again that this was why I didn’t let people in. This was why I never handed them anything personal, including my heart.
They always left.
Theyalwaysleft.
CHAPTER21
Dev
Ihad barely even left her driveway before I started regretting leaving in a huff like I had. The girl was hurting and scared and stressed and probably acting out because of that, and I’d cut and run like I didn’t care. I’d spent all week trying to convince her that she could trust me to help her, and then the first time she looked like she might be difficult, I’d run away.
“Coward,” I breathed, pulling into my own driveway and heading up the hill. “Idiot.”
I knew better. My mother had taught me to take care of the important people and give them my full support, no matter what, and I was failing at that.
Sure, Parker wasn’t necessarily important in my life. I didn’t know her well and I probably wouldn’t know her for much longer. Hell, I didn’t even know if we’d be pen pals when she left or if she’d just forget all about me.
But I couldn’t hide from the way she made me feel, and I couldn’t ignore the spark that had shot up between us that first day. Or the way she’d looked at me in my truck last year.
So friends or not, I had to pay attention to how my heart felt about her. And that meant I owed her more than I just given her.
I pulled to a stop in front of my house—God, it was still weird to think of it that way—pulled my phone out, and sent her a text inviting her to dinner.
* * *
The clock was moving too fast. It was only supposed to be 5:30, and instead it was nearly 7, which meant Parker was going to be here any moment now.
If she even came. She hadn’t exactly responded to my invitation. I’d cooked dinner anyhow—a pot roast with carrots, beans, and potatoes, as well as noodles—and brought out a bottle of wine that Mrs. Wheating had told me was almost too expensive to drink. I didn’t like wine myself, so I’d thought at the time that it would be safe with me.
But what would I ever use it for, if not an important night with a woman to whom I owed an apology?
I uncorked it and left it out to breathe, made sure the table was set the way it should be, and lit the candles.
