Chapter 5

chapter

five

Jack

She hadn’t laughed at me. At least not in a cruel way. She hadn’t balked at my admission at all, only my comparing myself to a Victorian lady .

But there’d been no meanness in her tone or expression. It wasn’t even so much that I was ashamed. Mostly I was just pissed. My whole fucking past pissed me off. For too long I lived for other people, made choices based on what they wanted rather than looking for what made me happy.

Angie and I wouldn’t have lasted in the long run because the life she wanted would have made me miserable. I was too young and naive to see it then, but everything was shockingly clear now. Maybe I should send her a thank you note.

Nah. She doesn’t deserve that. Just like she doesn’t deserve a response from all the calls and texts she sends me. I finally blocked her number.

Regardless of the fact that I’m glad we’re no longer together, that doesn’t change the fact that she cheated on me.

I hadn’t planned on telling Lucy. I’d given myself a talking to on the way to the hardware store and I’d decided that I’d keep my head down and get the work done on her house and then get the hell out of this town. But I’d walked into her kitchen and caught sight of her of dancing and singing and everything had changed.

I want her.

Not just sexually, though the urge to bury myself inside her is insistent and intense. I’d taken myself in hand no fewer than three times last night reliving thoughts of our kiss. Her body was everything I wanted. Soft and curvy, rounded in all the right places. And the sass and just zest for life that oozed from every pore of her being.

She’s an amazing woman and I want her. Every part of her. Especially her heart. But I have no claim on that. I’d just blown into town, and then admitted that I have no skills in the bedroom. There’s no possible way she’ll want me in return.

I close my eyes and can clearly see her pink curls bouncing as she shimmied and wiggled in that teeny-tiny silky robe thing. Just like that, I’m fucking hard again.

I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. Then I throw myself into my work.

There’s a lot of work to do on the house. I could spend years here, slowly make this beauty shine again. But the very first task is to strengthen the back steps and railing leading from Lucy’s shop in the carriage house. It’s obvious that she enters the house through that mudroom most of the time, which means those stairs are a priority. I don’t want Lucy to fall and hurt herself and I’d heard on the radio earlier that they were expecting an ice storm in the next couple of days.

I can’t deny the sense of excitement I feel. In truth, I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands and building things. I’ve wanted to renovate an old house, uncovering an old house’s secrets, and breathing new life to it for as far back as I can remember. I think the notion of keeping a house from one generation to the other has always appealed to me.

I’d mentioned that once to Angie, the idea that we could buy an old place and restore it. She’d scrunched up her face and said she’d only ever live in a brand-new house with all the finest amenities. One of the man red flags I ignored about my childhood sweetheart.

A few hours and copious amounts of sweat later (despite the frigid temperature) and I’m done with the stairs and railing. It’ll need a new paint job, but that can’t wait for another day when it’s warm enough to paint. I rush into the house and take a quick shower, then head into the kitchen to see what I can find for us for dinner. I want to make something for Lucy to show her my gratitude.

I came to this town not knowing where I was going to stay or if I could find a job and she provided both. She’s been so generous. So much so that I haven’t even taken the time yet to drive out to Dane’s place. Instead my thoughts have been consumed with other thoughts.

My chest tightens and I feel that familiar sensation I’ve felt from the moment I laid eyes on the pink-haired vixen. She looks like mine. She feels like mine.

But I’d been wrong about that sort of thing before. Maybe I shouldn’t be so keen to trust my instincts.

The truth is, Lucy’s not mine. It doesn’t actually how much I wish she were.

I find what I need in the fridge and pantry to throw a decent dinner together and then go out to find her in her studio.

She’s wearing her welding helmet again and fuck me if she doesn’t look just as hot in that as she did in her skimpy robe. That metal woman she’s sculpting is amazing. I’m just astounded by her creativity and skill. I googled her last night and some of the pieces she’s made are just incredible. And she’s evidently sold them all over the world.

I am in significant danger of losing my heart to this woman. She’s just fucking incredible.

She must see me because she turns off her torch and pulls off her helmet. With a shake of her head, those bubble-gum pink curls spring all over her head. My gut tightens.

She smiles at me. “Hey.”

“I cooked.”

Her brows go up and there’s a twinkle in those brown eyes. “Oh yeah?” She tugs off her gloves and pulls off the leather apron work shirt she’s wearing. All of it goes on her work table. “So what did you make?”

“Dinner.”

“Smart ass.” She falls in step with me as we walk to the house. Then she stops dead. “Oh my God, look at my house. You did all this?” She points to the stairs.

“Yeah, I know the list prioritized the inside repairs first, but I heard there was an ice storm coming in and I wanted to make sure this was safe. Didn’t want you to fall.”

Then she tosses her arms around my neck and squeezes me tight. “Thank you so much.”

I hug her back because she feels so damn good in my arms. So right. Like this is where she belongs. But I have no claim on her.

I step away. “Food is probably getting cold.”

“Right. I can’t believe you cooked for me. Thank you.”

“You don’t even know what it is or if it tastes good.”

“And I don’t even care. No one has cooked for me since my Nana died. I eat over at Ruthie’s diner most of the time or make eggs, sandwiches or cereal here. When I’m really working on a piece, I forget to eat for hours on end.” She pats her soft belly. “Though you’d never know it from looking at me.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

We eat in companionable silence with the occasional, “This is so good!” from Lucy.

We’re almost done when I look up at her. “I want to tell you the story.”

“What story?” she asks.

“About why I’m the—what did you call me earlier?—the oldest virgin in town?”

“I believe I said the hottest virgin.”

I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “If you say so.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You can tell me, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your business.”

“I want you to know.”

She nods and pushes her plate away. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“So I had a girlfriend in high school. We were together pretty much the entire four years. She took a purity pledge at her church and I agreed I’d wait until we got married. After graduation I joined the Army. I gave her a promise ring before I left—couldn’t afford a real engagement ring.” I take a deep breath. “It was eighteen months before I was able to get back the first time. She was there waiting for me just like we’d talked about. I was only able to stay home about a week. The next time I got leave was nearly two years later.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “When I got to town, she didn’t come to meet me. I went to her parent’s house and they gave me the address to her apartment. When I got there a guy answered, in a towel. She came bouncing out of a bedroom in the back wearing his shirt. She took one look at me and the whole story came out.

“I hadn’t told her I was coming home that time. I wanted to surprise her. I had a ring, I was ready to propose. Hell, I was ready to elope. But she’d moved on. Fucked that guy and if rumors are to be believed a string of others. So I left and never went back.”

“Pardon me for saying, but she seems like a selfish bitch. She should have told you she’d moved on.”

“Yeah, she should have. I’m not upset about that part anymore. I’m glad we’re not together. She would not have made me happy and I know no amount of anything I could ever do would have made her happy.”

“I get that. So after that, why didn’t you just hook up with someone random?”

“I don’t know. Initially I was hurt and I just went back and threw myself into work, accepted every assignment, especially dangerous ones. When I looked up again it had been several years and I was tired and ready to be done. When my service ran out, I didn’t re-enlist.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

She stands, gathers the dishes, and brings them to the sink. “I don’t want to pressure you. You are an adult and you get to decide when you’re ready to sleep with someone.” She turns on the faucet and begins washing the dishes.

“What if I’m ready now?”