Page 47 of To Bring You Back
He wouldn’t have simply moved on, her words forgotten.
She’d seen his expression. She’d hurt him worse than any rumors could in her rush to tamp down her own feelings and not betray Fitz’s memory. If only he had answered her call, she could have tried to smooth over what she’d said.
She should’ve admitted she’d put words in Drew’s mouth, should’ve said she was sorry for how the tabloids dragged his name through the mud.
She could call again, but doing so would reveal how much she cared. He’d know she wanted to be more than friends and wouldn’t understand why the memory of Fitz made that impossible. He’d push, and she’d either give in or alienate him forever.
Maybe if she left it at her fumbled apology, he’d eventually return her call.
They could be friends.
That was what she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Ugh. Her life had been so much simpler before he’d shown up.
She drove to the food trailer and got to work but found herself constantly checking her phone with a mix of hope and dread.
Golden clouds floatedat the horizon, signaling Wednesday’s end. Adeline needed to hustle if she wanted to finish sanding this wall tonight. Already, this part of the project had stretched a week when she’d allotted three days.
The ladder was fully extended beneath her as she raced sunset to finish the last section under the roof. All the way down on the ground, her phone waited. She hadn’t heard from Gannon before she’d climbed up here, and the one nice thing about her full hands and the loud sander was the forced break from constantly monitoring the device.
She sneezed on the dust, jerking the sander. The gritty belt propelled itself sideways. Leaning to keep her hold on the tool with one hand, she reached with the other for the ladder.
Caught only air.
She swiped again, this time catching a rung. Her safety glasses dropped two stories to the tarp. Righting herself, she hugged both arms around the rails, sander still running in her hands.
Thank you, Jesus.
The ground was so far below. If she’d fallen, she would’ve been seriously injured. Killed, maybe. Why had she risked her balance to save a power tool? She pressed the switch, and the machine stilled, but her hands buzzed as if it were running. Her heart buzzed too. She should never have ignored Drew’s advice about getting help.
Then again, what good would Tegan do if Adeline fell from this height?
Stupid house. Stupid neighborhood association. Stupid paint.
Just a couple more feet to go and this awful job would be finished—but only on this side of the house. She needed to move the ladder to continue working, but that would mean climbing all the way down and all the way back up again.
Worse, though the street had been empty all evening, a sporty motorcycle rumbled up to the curb. The sound died. Still hugging the ladder, she turned her head as the rider dismounted and started her way.
If this was a photographer, she was a sitting duck.
He wore black from helmet to boots, long sleeves and long pants despite it being the height of summer—though in Lakeshore, that meant seventies.
Her biceps and forearms hurt from being pressed into the rails, but easing up would be no less uncomfortable. Maybe she could lower the sander by its cord, freeing both hands to hold the ladder as she descended. The photographer might have a field day taking pictures of her this shaken up, but so be it. Better embarrassed than dead.
“Are you okay?”
At Gannon’s voice, her pulse went from nervous and shallow to galloping like a runaway horse. She renewed her grip on the sander and turned only her head.
He stooped and laid the helmet on the ground without breaking his pace toward the ladder. He gripped both rails and peered up at her. “Do you need help getting down?”
“What are you going to do? Climb up here?”
“Would that help?” He put one foot on a rung.
“No.” She couldn’t picture them trying to descend from this rickety thing together.
