Chapter 10

TEN

When I surfaced again, it was with the scent of something salty and buttery sneaking into my bedroom. I groaned as I rolled over and squinted at my watch. Normally, the meds kicked my migraine enough that within twenty minutes that I could function, but this time, I'd been down for two hours.

I wasn't even sure how I'd gotten home.

There was a fuzzy memory of... Dahlia?

Crap. How did that woman keep turning up in my life?

I sat up and scrubbed my face with my hands. Migraine hangovers were a bitch, but I was surprisingly clear-headed for once. Enough that a few more scraps of memory filtered in. Someone helping me across the street. Dahlia was a little thing. How the hell did she manage that? Arguing with me… Her being stubborn—shocker. Next thing I remembered was the trailer.

Then cool sheets and blackness.

I slid down the mattress to the foot of my bed. There wasn't much room in the back of my trailer for much more than my king-sized bed. I was too damn tall for anything else, which meant I'd had to opt for a larger trailer. The sales guy had warned me my old truck wouldn't last long—this rig was a big bitch.

He was right, but my old truck had lasted through the cross-country trek before it had shit the bed. Another piece of my past that had crashed and burned.

I opened the slim cabinet and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt. I kicked my discarded boots to the side and opened the curtain. There was a covered pan with something that seemed like gravy and meat that made my mouth water.

Dahlia was sitting cross-legged in the corner of my couch. Her hair had dried into wild waves around her heart-shaped face. She looked up from her phone. "He lives."

I grunted and opened the fridge. "I'm pretty sure I told you to go."

"No way I was leaving you alone. You're lucky I got you into this tin can." She stood and tossed her phone onto the shelf behind the couch. "And I was hungry. Figured you might be too."

"I didn't ask you to cook."

"I didn't ask you to careen drunkenly into the road full of cars in the pouring rain. Maybe I should have let you get hit."

"Maybe you should have." I cracked a can of Liquid Death and guzzled it down.

She frowned as she moved closer. "You don't mean that."

I sighed. "No. It was just a bad migraine. It's not a big deal."

"Do you get those a lot?"

"None of your business." I crushed the can and shoved it into the cabinet under the sink.

"Fine. You know what, I'll just call Avery to pick me up."

"Who the hell is Avery?"

I wanted to snatch the question away as soon as I asked. Was that her boyfriend? Was that Little Dick? Sounded like a Little Dick name.

She folded her arms over her chest. "She's my partner."

I peered down at her. "Partner?"

Maybe I didn't need to worry about little dick or any dick for that matter. Maybe she wasn't into dicks at all. Not that I should worry about anyone's dick around her, let alone mine.

Fuck.

Her lips twitched. "Avery is one of my best friends and is our landscaping expert at Designing Women."

"Oh."

"Why should that matter?"

"It doesn't," I grumbled and turned back to the stove. "What's this?"

"I only had so much to work with—but it's Salisbury Steak."

"I had that?"

"Well, kinda. You had hamburger but it seems all right." She leaned closer to peer around my arm. "I followed the instructions, and it smells good enough that I'll eat all of it if you're not interested."

"I didn't say that. I just didn't ask you to make anything."

"Are you always this shitty?"

I glared down at her. "Yes."

"Good to know." She met my gaze then glanced away and cleared her throat. "Why don't you go have a seat?"

"Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"It's a small space." She hip-checked me to move over. "Go sit down."

My fists clenched at my sides. "I can help."

"Go sit. You're in the way."

"It's my freaking kitchen." I stalked to the couches and pulled out the table hidden in the wall. The one nice thing about this Airstream was everything was convertible. I lifted the cushion to raid the wine fridge custom built under one of the couches and selected a crisp white.

When I turned back, she had two plates in her hands. "You have wine?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Nice choice." She nodded to the label. "I'll have some."

"Maybe I only got it for me."

"Too bad." She set the plates on the table. "You have a guest, whether you like it or not."

I stared down at her for a beat, then I eased around her and grabbed a couple glasses as well as silverware before coming back to sit across from her. "Thanks."

"Oh, look at that. You do know the word."

I arched a brow at her.

She rolled her eyes and took the fork and knife from me. "Thank you."

I cut off a large bite of the gravy-saturated hamburger and took a taste. "Well, shit." Guess I didn't have to kick her out.

She grinned as she took her own bite. She made a little hum of pleasure and wiggled in her seat. "Go me. Good, right?"

"I said it was."

She wrinkled her nose at me. "TikTok."

I paused with the fork at my lips. "TikTok?"

"Yeah. I saw the recipe when I was scrolling one night. And well, you had the ingredients, so here we are."

I grunted. It was really good, but I still didn't want her in my space. However, at the moment, I was too hungry to care.

"So, do you have those episodes a lot?"

I glanced up, but I didn't reply.

She sighed. "Okay. Different topic. Did you talk to Macy?"

I just took another bite.

"I'll take that as a yes. How did that go?"

I picked up my wine and took a sip.

"You do understand English, right? And this crazy thing called conversing with people?"

I scraped the last of my piece of hamburger through the gravy and potatoes and stood up with my plate.

She sat back with a sigh. "Look, I'm so sorry I saved your ass today." She picked up her wine and swirled the gold liquid along the sides of the glass. Her nails were short and a red so dark, it was almost black. The rest of her was actually a whole lot different from the woman who had charged through my backyard like an avenging angel defending my house.

Instead of the prim pencil skirt of this afternoon, she had on skintight black jeans with a charcoal sweatshirt with a ripped neckline that kept falling off her shoulder. I tried not to notice the decorative teal strap of something silky under it. A bra or a one of those flimsy girl things that made a man want to push it off.

But it couldn't hide the scrapes and cuts from earlier today.

I gripped the edge of the counter.

She took a sip and licked her lips. "I guess that makes us even since you saved mine earlier."

"I do appreciate what you did for me today. And yeah, I guess we're even." I plated another helping and returned to the table. "Actually, no, we're not." I took a bite and resisted the urge to groan again. "You still killed my brand-new truck."

"I didn't kill your truck. I just...maimed it." She picked up her fork again and resumed eating. "But I'm sure we can figure somethingout to get us square there."

I met her gaze and couldn't resist a smirk.

" Ass . I meant that I could give you a discount on my fee."

"A discount? That's all my truck's door is worth?"

"I am very good at my job, Mr. Devereaux."

"Nolan."

She drank again. "Nolan. Though you don't really look like a Nolan."

"What does a Nolan look like, Hellcat?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose I shouldn't stereotype."

I sat back and rested the bottom of the glass along my stomach. "No, I'm curious now."

"Glasses, pocket protector, maybe, and a job at the IRS?"

"It was my grandfather's name." Not that I knew him, but my mother had named me for my father's father. Because everything in my mother's world revolved around him. The sour taste of memories had me standing to clear the table. "You good?"

She nodded and I took her plate, as well, then went to the sink and started cleaning up.

She gave me a wary glance as she finished her wine.

I scraped the last of the food into a container and tossed it into the fridge, washed the pan, then I turned to her. I needed her gone. "I'll bring you back to your car."

"Sure. Are you okay to drive?"

I nodded. "Migraine is gone. Food helped." I ducked into my bedroom for my sneakers and returned to find her flipping my keys in her hand as she stared out the window at the lake.

"Ready?"

She glanced at me. "That's a helluva view."

"Yeah."

She shook her head and tossed the keys at me and stepped through the door. "Do you not like talking to anyone or is it just me?"

"You are a pain in my ass."

She threw me a frown over her shoulder. "I could say the same, you know."

"You could, but you want this job." I steered around her and left her to catch up as I strode to my truck.

"I do want this job. And you should want me to do this job. No one will treat you or this house better than me and my team."

I got into my truck, and she scrambled to the passenger side. It was still locked when I looked through the window at her. She just glared at me until I released the lock.

"I think you like being an asshole," she muttered as she clicked herseatbelt.

I turned over the engine, but I didn't say a thing.

It was a quiet ride back into Crescent Cove, but luckily, she didn't seem to need to fill the silence. She watched outside the window, her long fingers laced in her lap.

She was stupidly pretty, especially when she wasn't talking. Again, I had the urge to drag out my chalks to draw her face. Something about that pointy chin made her face interesting. I'd been around beautiful women for the last ten years, both in New York and Los Angeles, but the perfection they sought through fillers and plastic surgery always left a bad taste in my mouth.

It was the imperfections that made a face unique.

Like the little uptilt to her nose and the way her forefinger was just a little crooked.

Annoyed that I kept glancing at her, I forced my eyes forward as the turnoff to Main Street came up. The days were getting longer, and the sun had come out just long enough to make the sky a brilliant pink. Most of the stores were closed for the evening, leaving the small town quiet, save for some pedestrian traffic.

Colorful awnings dripped with the last of the rain. Decorative barrels of flowers in a cheerful rainbow of colors dotted the sidewalk along with a few artfully disguised trash bins. Dog watering stations were staggered between benches and the sandwich boards with handwritten menus for the few places that were still open.

The retro style street lamps slowly illuminated as I rolled down Main as if they were on a timer or activated by the setting sun. Flags on the storefronts fluttered in the light breeze off the water. A pizza place was doing a brisk business, and a wine store had a dozen people doing a tasting on their outside patio. As we got nearer to my sister's restaurant, my gut twisted. The only other place open was a diner near the gazebo.

"I'm right there near Kinleigh's Attic. Ugh, I mean Ladybug Treasures. I keep forgetting about the name change."

A vague memory of a man helping me to my truck with Dahlia snaked through. "Did someone help you drag me to my truck?"

She glanced at me. "Remember that part?"

"Vaguely."

"Does that happen a lot?"

I tightened my hold on the steering wheel. I didn't want her to think I was a complete waste of humanity. Especially if I wanted to work on the house with her crew—if we came to an understanding. "Comes and goes. Weather tends to make them worse."

"Oh. That should be interesting living here where the weather goes haywire at the drop of a hat."

I grunted.

"Your conversation skills are superb."

"If I hire you, will you want to talk all the damn time?"

She bit her lower lip. "Which answer will get you to hire me?"

"Which do you think?"

Her lips twitched. "You know, design requires talking and collaborating."

"I tell you what I want, you do it." My voice sharp with annoyance. I was used to getting people to do what I wanted.

"We can work it that way, but I find that collaborating brings forth a better design."

I unlocked her door. "Bye, Hellcat."

She huffed out a breath. "If you're going for the beast alone in the scary house, you're going to get your wish."

"That's exactly what I want."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not if you want a relationship with Macy. Though you guys are equally surly. Well, until she started getting laid." She opened the door and slid out of the seat.

"Offering, Hellcat?"

She slammed the door in reply, and I threw my head back with a laugh. Laughter was a rare commodity in my life.

Before I could think too much about that, I pulled away from her.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her staring after me with her hands on her hips. Much like the last time I drove away from her.

I kept driving, getting her out of my view as quickly as possible. She was distracting and annoying as hell. Too bad my not-so LITTLE DICK was interested. Probably because it had been a good long time since I'd gotten a woman under me.

After the accident, I'd shut myself away from everyone. I didn't like being a sideshow for those interested in the artist that survived his own sculpture trying to murder him, nor did I like the pity. It was just easier to stay away from people, especially when I didn't have anything to offer.

Everything of worth had spilled out of me as surely as the blood on my cement floor.

And I was pretty sure that was where it remained.

I got past the grocery store, which seemed to be the last business on Main Street before it became a winding road going somewhere named Turnbull. It was more of a rural area full of heavy trees that diffused the late evening sun. Signs for Brothers Three Orchard as well as smaller vegetable and fruit establishments were the only things out there from what I could tell. A few houses seemed to be buried in the deep wooded areas.

It was the off-season for the orchards and well past closing time for the smaller stands, but I liked to know my surroundings. I didn't really have a great set-up for cooking, but I did prefer to give my money to small businesses.

From what I could tell, the big box stores weren't a million miles away, but they definitely weren't the first stop for the locals. Before it got much darker, I turned myself back around and headed back to my house. The migraine hangover left me muzzy and unfocused.

I didn't need to push it.

By the time I pulled up to my Airstream, the last of the sun was sinking beneath the tree line. I wouldn't have electricity hooked up at the house until I could get an electrician out to check the wiring. God knew what I'd find inside.

When I'd taken my first walk-through, I'd been more interested in making sure the floors and frame of the house were solid. Windows and wires could be fixed, and the plumbing sure as hell would be needing an update.

As for the rest, it was a blank slate.

Just like me.

I looked back at the house a moment before I opened my door and frowned at the shadow in the window.

"Just a trick of the light," I muttered and stepped up into my trailer.

The first thing I noticed when I walked in was Dahlia's scent. It should have been the food she'd cooked, but no, the sharp scent of peaches with the lingering warmth of honey drifted over me.

Annoyed, I went right to the window and propped it open to flush it out with the breeze coming off the lake.

"Much better."

I didn't need that woman lingering anywhere in my life. Even if I was almost certain it would take a lot more than a strong breeze to sweep her out of my head.