Page 17 of Can't Help Falling
“I think you need to give yourself the week off,” Mack says.
I shake my head. “I can’t sit around my parents’ house. I need to stay busy. My mother made me breakfast this morning like I was just released from the Gulag. I don’t want to be the center of anyone’s attention.”
Although, it occurs to me at that moment that I wouldn’t mind having Owen’s undivided attention. At least for a little while.
Nope. He is a leaver. A walker out-er. Who cares if he saved my life? I’m still supposed to be annoyed with him.
Saving my life should get him a pass, though, shouldn’t it?
“What happened?” Mack slides up onto the barstool at the coffee counter and stares at me. I start making her a caramel latte.
“One of the firefighters said maybe faulty wiring?” I say, adding almond milk to the metal mixing cup. “I can’t imagine what else it would be, though. There will be a report.”
“If anyone would’ve told me ten years ago that my brother would be the guy pulling people from burning buildings, I would’ve laughed in their face.”
I frown. “Why?”
She half-shrugs. “Because it’s Owen! You do remember what he’s like, right?”
I suddenly feel protective of Owen.
I fill the cup with a shot of espresso, trying not to reminisce. Mack holds up two fingers, so I add another shot. “I do. He was. . .complicated, that’s for sure, but I always thought people misjudged him.” I froth the almond milk, pour in the espresso, and slide the drink across the counter, feeling odd.
I want to defend him. Why?
I know it bothered him how people saw him all those years ago. A part of me wants to believe he’s grown into the version of Owen I thought I knew back then.
But no. He’s the guy who left.
And this isn’t Anita Brown and the Second Chance Romance, by Kate Bishop (that title is a little too on the nose, if you ask me), and I’m not a widower falling for a carpenter.
Guys in books who restore houses is such a cliché.
And yet. . .I’m a sucker for it every time.
I’m walking a very dangerous line here, and I know it. One misstep, and I’ll be right back where I was all those years ago—completely smitten with a guy who would never, ever feel the same way about me.
It was a silly, schoolgirl crush, and one I needed to pack into a safe deposit box and throw away the key.
“In case you’ve forgotten, my brother doesn’t exactly walk the straight and narrow. I don’t think that’s changed.”
“What makes you say that?” Did that sound nonchalant enough?
“He’s thirty-two, hasn’t had a single meaningful relationship since he left Harvest Hollow, and now he’s back here, living with our parents. Owen’s always been kind of a disaster, you know that. I think it’s gotten worse since, well, since Lindsay.” She takes a drink. “Oh, wow, this is good.” She takes another sip, closing her eyes to show her appreciation for the jolt of caffeine. “Also, there has to be a reason he’s back here. No way a job just ‘opened up.’ I’m going to find out the truth.”
My frown deepens.
She’s not describing the Owen I know. I mean, knew.
I knew him. I remind myself again that I don’t know him anymore.
Though, she’s his sister. She knows him way better than I do, even if they’ve become “holiday siblings”—the kind who only see each other on holidays. She’s probably right. He’s probably not even the kind of guy who has a dog or a plant or anything that requires commitment.
It doesn’t matter. I have no intention of finding out.
By the grace of the Lord Almighty Himself, Mack changes the subject. But in a rare twist of fate, she moves on to something I want to discuss even less than I want to discuss her brother.
She pulls a newspaper out of her bag and lays it on the counter. “You saw this, right?”
