Chapter 7
7
Tenley
"You want shutters?" Hume asks, perplexed, standing next to me in my front yard, looking up at my house.
"The windows are the soul of any house, and you can't have eyes without eyelashes," I explain rationally, even if shutters aren't normally a feature of a rustic mountain cabin such as mine. "That would be weird."
"Riiight. Of course."
I take the clipboard he's perpetually holding, tuck it under my arm, and grab his hand. His thick, calloused fingers curl against mine, and a bloom of warmth erupts in my chest, as it does whenever we touch.
Hume and his team began the mammoth undertaking of un-saggifying, un-crookedifying my house two weeks ago. They're here every morning, working from the crack of dawn.
I've tweaked my work schedule a little to start earlier so that when I return, the guys are wrapping up for the day. I bring them food the incredible chef at the lodge makes, and it also gives me a chance to get an update from Hume.
Except, on the second day, when I handed him his food container, he asked if I wanted to share it with him, and ever since, he's been giving me updates at his place over dinner. It's important, as a homeowner, to be on top of all the repair work being done and has nothing to do with getting to spend a few hours together every evening.
Okay. So I'm totally kidding myself. I love spending time with Hume and Chewy. We've fallen into a comfortable, fun routine even if there is one thing that's missing.
Kisses.
We haven't kissed since the night I interrupted him working on the beds in his shed. I'm confused because we hang out every evening and have a great time together. But when he walks me back to my place at the end of the night—something he insisted on even though it's complete overkill—there's no kiss. He gets a funny look in his eye, and sometimes I think he wants to kiss me, but for some reason, he doesn't. I can't figure it out.
"I'll add shutters to the list," Hume says, taking the clipboard back from me. He waves goodbye to the last of his crew as they leave for the day, and I yell out my thanks and goodbye. They're working six days a week, including Saturdays.
"Enjoy your day off tomorrow," I call out.
Once they're gone, Hume turns to me. "What is that amazing smell?"
I've left the insulated carrier on the lawn, but it doesn't stop the delicious aroma from filling the air. "Curries," I say. "Chef's theme this weekend is Tastes of India. Hope you can handle a bit of spice."
Hume turns to me and offers a wide smile. The same smile I mistook for cockiness at first but have since come to realize is a genuine smile that belongs to a man who has gone through one of the most traumatic, awful things a child could go through, but has come out of it a goodhearted, kind, and decent man. With maybe just a tiny splash of cockiness. "Oh, I can handle the heat."
Forty-five minutes later, I've showered, changed, and am sitting at Hume's table as we feast on a delicious spread of curries, and true to his word, Hume is handling the lamb vindaloo and jalfrezi like a pro.
"How's work going?" he asks, tearing apart a Naan bread in half with his hands and placing one half on my plate.
"Thanks. It's getting there. I'm sure Belle is sick of me, though."
"I doubt that."
I pick up the Naan bread and smear it through my butter chicken sauce. "It's not personal, I'm sure. She's just eager to start her new life, and I don't blame her."
"What are her plans?"
"She's always wanted to work on boats, so she's looking for something in that area."
The conversation flows easily and moves naturally from topic to topic the way it always does. Once we're done eating, Hume washes while I clean the table and stow the leftovers in the fridge.
We move to the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the same couch, Chewy at my feet as usual. "What made you move to Cedar Crest Hollow?" I ask, settling into the sofa. I've told him about my spur of the moment decision to pack up my life and move here, but what brought him here hasn't come up yet.
"I started my contractor business on the side while I was still doing stunt work in LA. Age was creeping up on me, and I needed a back-up plan. It proved difficult to get the business off the ground in the city. Then I got a big job up here, at the Lodge actually, to help with remodelling some rooms."
I know the rooms he's talking about. They were updated about seven years ago.
"While I was up here, I had a look around and basically fell in love with the place. When I saw this house listed online for basically the same price as a one bedroom shoebox condo in LA, I made my mind there and then."
"Do you like it?"
"I do. It's a beautiful spot. Quiet and peaceful…Well, it was until a certain someone moved in."
"Hey." I fling a cushion at him.
He catches it with no problem and hugs it into his chest. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."
Our eyes meet, a yummy feeling oozes in my belly, and once again, I’m completely lost. He's flirting with me…Isn't he? So that means he's interested. So then why the fudge has he stopped kissing me?
We fall silent until I notice him looking at me, still clutching that cushion, smiling softly.
"What is it?" I ask, my eyes drawn to the upward pull of his lips.
"I was just thinking back to the time when you told me you were anti-chitchat, and look at us now. We're been chitchatting away."
"Well, you're not as rude and arrogant as I initially thought."
He lets out a chuckle. "Thank you?"
I smile. "You're welcome."
After a short pause, he speaks again. "So, is it my turn to ask you a question?"
"If you want to."
As his head bobs in thought, his silvery eyes roam over me, and it's as if he's touching me without touching me. I can't explain why, but goosebumps prickle up and down both my arms. No man has ever had this effect on me.
To be perfectly honest, I thought this kind of stuff only happened in romance novels, like the type Schapelle writes. In real life, I knew love was an emotion, sure, I just didn't realize it was accompanied by so many physical manifestations.
Not that this is love…But then, if it's not love, what is it?…Invisible hives?
"Where did the Star Wars thing come from?" Hume's deep voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
It's an easy question to answer. "My dad is a huge fan, and it rubbed off on me. Having four girls, I think he was secretly a little disappointed he didn't have anyone to toss a baseball with or teach how to shave. None of my other sisters like sci-fi, but I always have. And as much as I'm obsessed with Star Wars , I love it just as much for being something that my dad and I share. It makes it special."
"That's really sweet."
I bend down to give Chewy a scratch behind her eyes as she snores away, then fold my legs under my body. "You okay to keep going with this whole chitchat thing?"
Hume nods, his eyes sparkling in the dim glow of the vintage Banker’s lamp. "Always, sweetheart."
And that's another thing. Why does he keep calling me sweetheart? I used to find it grating and off-putting, but I've kinda grown to like the endearment. But why is he even using it? Unless…Is it something he says to all women?
Ignoring the yucky feeling the thought of that brings up, we trade a few more questions back and forth until it's my turn and I decide to turn things up a notch, broaching another previously un-broached topic.
"Have you dated much?" I ask, aiming for a light tone, like it's just another routine question and not something I've quietly been itching to know.
"Not a lot," he replies with a shake of his head.
"Oh."
I was bracing myself to hear all about his wild, adventurous, and very long love life. Don't know why I assumed he'd have had plenty of partners, but I guess I can add that to the list of things I got wrong about him.
"Is that a red flag?" His expression hardens as he looks at me. "I mean, at my age and all."
"Not necessarily a red flag," I say. "But I'm curious and would like to know more. If you're comfortable sharing."
"Sure. I don't mind." He tells me he's dated several women over the years, but between his career in the SEALs and then his pivot to stunt work, and then starting a business, it didn't leave much time for focus on anything else. I can definitely relate to that part.
"But you lived in Hollywood," I interject. "Isn't every second woman there a gorgeous actress, model, or beauty influencer?"
"Maybe. But who says that's what I'm looking for?" He cracks a grin. "Maybe long-haired brunettes with a Star Wars obsession and a tendency to declare wars on their completely innocent neighbors are more my thing."
Okay. There's nothing subtle about that. That's not just flirting, that's practically admitting he likes me.
I arch a brow, and, emboldened by his last statement, enquire, "Even if this hypothetical Star Wars obsessed, neighbor-war-declaring brunette happens to be significantly younger than you?"
It's like I popped a balloon. My question deflates the playfulness immediately, and Hume's grin gets replaced by a somber expression.
"Yeah. No. I mean, of course it was just…" He waves his hand, his mouth forming shapes but no words coming out.
Oh no. I've blown it. He thinks I think our age gap is a problem.
"It's not a problem. For me," I blurt out. Oops . "I mean for the hypothetical Star Wars obsessed, neighbor-war-declaring brunette."
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes studying me with quiet intensity. "Really? And are you sure you're equipped to speak on behalf of this purely hypothetical woman?"
"I am."
I straighten my legs and scooch down a little closer to him. My heart starts pounding before leaping into my throat. I don't know why I suddenly feel like I've downed three shots of tequila in quick succession, but I'm being propelled forward by an unexpected surge of confidence.
I rub my palm over Hume's forearm. He leans in closer, and I reach up, my fingertips rustling across the soft bristles of his beard. Looking him square in the eye, I say, "Just so you know, age gaps don't scare me."
His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he looks back at me, his hand skimming down my upper arm. "Even a really big one?" he asks in a low rumble.
I plant a soft kiss on his mouth and murmur, "Even a really big one."