13. Caden
Caden
“Son of a—” I growl, jumping three feet back and spilling my mug of coffee down the front of my sleep shirt.
What the hell was that?
Some furry little brown creature just scampered across my driveway. Maybe a raccoon, but it’s early morning, so maybe a rabid one?
Fuck—just what I need.
My heart hammers as I catch my breath, happy no one is around to see me react like a damn fool. And happy I didn’t throw my glass mug halfway across my driveway.
I assess my coffee-stained shirt—I’ll be changing soon anyway for my workout with Matt.
Two glowing green eyes stare back at me when I squat down, peering under the bush next to my mailbox. I catch a flash of blue too—a blue collar.
“Shit.” I stand, raking a hand through my bedhead.
What the hell was her cat’s name again? Something odd . . . Sprinkles? Garbage?
I glance over my shoulder. Fia’s car isn’t in the driveway, she’s already left for the day, but I can’t let her cat just roam around. These woods are full of hawks and coyotes who would love a hearty breakfast.
Slowly, I inch forward, snapping my fingers.
“Psst, psst, psst!”
He remains still as a statue. “Damn it,” I groan, and pause. I didn’t sign up for this.
Then the cat moves, in a crouched position, glaring at me, daring me to make a move. I don’t like the condescending look on its little brown face.
Quickly, I toss the mug down in the grass next to me and whip off my shirt.
The cat takes off—but I’m quicker and tackle it with my shirt. With grass stains on my elbows and knees, I pop up, heart racing, and swaddle the creature in my shirt.
I let out a victorious grunt.
This thing can’t be more than nine pounds, but it’s putting up a fight, hissing and thrashing. I’m surprised it hasn’t eaten Daisy.
With the cat, whose name still escapes me, tucked under my arm like a football, I walk briskly towards the guesthouse. Not that I ever thought I’d be friends with this cat—but I’ve definitely just killed any lingering chance.
“Chill out, dude, I’m saving your life,” I remind it as it hisses at me.
I almost have to laugh when I see the guesthouse door—it’s wide fucking open.
I’d bet my life that Fia didn’t shut the door on her way to work this morning. To be honest, I can’t judge her. I’ve seen her leaving in the mornings—it’s like watching someone try to wrangle an octopus.
I don’t want to go into the guesthouse, it’s crossing the line of privacy, but I didn’t ruin my peaceful morning just to let the cat go free now.
I step inside to release it and shut the door behind me, making sure the cat doesn’t try to escape again.
Gingerly I unravel the cotton shirt, and the cat drops to the floor, turning to hiss at me before darting off into a bedroom.
“You’re welcome,” I call out after it.
Matt’s going to be here in fifteen minutes, and I’m still in my pajamas shorts, but as I turn to leave, the coffee table catches my attention. There’s a stack of library books. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I pick one up.
An unrealistically buff, shirtless man spans the cover.
I set it back down exactly as it was.
There are six books here, which—compared to the singular book on my nightstand that I’ve been reading for two months—strikes me as ambitious.
An empty coffee mug sits next to a pink sippy cup on the coffee table too, and in the corner of the sectional is a little nest of random toys.
A block, a baby doll, and a wooden spatula from the kitchen.
Sun pours in from the window and lights up the linen sofa with a large knit blanket strewn across the back. Yellow with daisies on it. Not mine.
My heart does something weird.
I guess it’s nice to see that she’s made herself at home, that someone is getting use out of this space, considering it’s just me here.
Most days I’m not sure why I even built this guesthouse—it’s not like I have anyone to invite to stay here.
On that note, I turn to leave, pulling the door securely shut behind me.
And I promptly slam right into—
“Fia?”
She skips backwards and I reach out, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling.
Our hands connect, her much smaller one disappearing into mine.
For a moment, our eyes hold, our hands still clasped.
Her chest rises in rhythm with my bare one, until she blinks hard, and straightens, crossing her arms.
“What were you doing in there?” The accusation in her tone is warranted.
I look down at my very bare chest, and my shirt held in a clump in my hand.
“I’m not—” I’m caught off guard by the look on her face, like I’ve betrayed her trust. “I’m sorry, I thought you were gone—”
“So you went through the place?” She glances back towards the driveway. Her car is running with all the windows rolled down, and two tiny arms move in the backseat. “I came back—I forgot Daisy’s teething ring.”
Gripping my balled-up shirt, I narrow my eyes a bit, still jaded by that damn cat.
“Well, you forgot to shut the door, and your cat escaped, so I was simply returning him.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen as her cheeks turn pink. “Shoot. I’m sorry.”
I suck in a breath, my chest tightening with regret for my earlier tone. “It’s fine. Luckily, I grabbed him before he ran into the tree line.”
Her eyes roam over my shoulders, and I glance over hers, hoping for once that Matt is running a few minutes late.
Fingers touch my chest. Fia traces my pectoral muscle, and I flinch, the heat coursing from her fingertips through my skin, settling low in my abdomen.
“He scratched you—” she whispers.
I don’t even look—nor did I notice—I can focus only on the warmth of her touch on my skin. Our eyes meet, and she snaps her hand away, like I burned her.
I clear my throat. “I’ll clean it up. Just be more careful, there’s a lot of wildlife around.”
Fia’s face turns a shade brighter, her lips pursed. Like she’s holding her breath.
“I have a first aid kit,” she murmurs, voice strangled. “I can grab it real quick, just let me get Daisy out of the car—”
“Fia.”
Her green eyes find my chest, lingering there on the blood beading down three hairline scratches. If eye contact could be felt, I’d feel it now. It’s like a shiver.
“It’s a tiny scratch,” I say, huskier than I expect. “I’ve had way worse. You should get going, don’t want to be late for work.”
She snaps out of it. “Right.”
We shift at the same time, almost colliding before catching ourselves, and then—too quickly—step apart, each going separate directions.
Ever since I built out part of my garage as a gym, Matt’s been training me here at least once a week. Lately, kickboxing has been my torture of choice.
“You got plans this Saturday?” Matt asks as I unwrap my fists, steadying the punching bag.
“No, why, what’s up?” My lungs burn as sweat drips from my jaw.
He smiles at me. It’s mischievous and I already know I’m not going to like what’s about to come out of his mouth.
“Morgan’s birthday is this coming weekend, and we’re throwing a little party. You should come, get out.”
I shoot him a look. “Dude, we just took the sailboat out last weekend.”
Matt raises his brows, fluffing his short brown hair. “Exactly, it’s been a whole week. Normal people do things with their friends on weekends.”
I spent most of last Saturday sailing with Matt and his girlfriend, Morgan, and a friend she brought along. For fun. But I know it was a setup.
“I’m socialed out. And I’m too old for that shit.”
“For what shit?” Matt tosses his wraps in his gym bag and grabs his water, eyeing me.
“Partying. Morgan and her friends are wild. How do you keep up?”
He beams with a laugh. “Come on, they’re a good time.”
I wiped my face with my towel. “Buy the birthday girl a round on me, but I’m going to have to sit this one out.”
“Oh right.” Matt raises his fingers, counting off. “You have surfing, the business, and your expensive bourbon collection to keep you company.”
I snap the towel at his chest like we used to do in the high school locker room.
“Exactly—I’m busy.” I take a swig of water, rightfully dead after that workout.
“Hey, cute housekeeper by the way,” he adds casually, and I cough, choking on my water.
“What are you talking about? Sheryl?”
Sheryl’s been cleaning my house twice a month for three years. She’s also old enough to be my grandmother.
Matt frowns. “No, she was pulling out as I pulled in—younger, red hair in braids, pretty face . . .”
My chest burns—not sure it’s the water causing that though. “Oh.” My neck gets hot. “That’s Fia.”
Matt sits on the workout bench, eyes too bright for my liking. “Fia, as in your manager?” he asks slowly.
I turn the fan up as high as it can go. It’s fucking hot in here. Hotter than it was a few seconds ago. “She is staying in the guesthouse for a few weeks while her house gets repaired.”
Matt, wearing a shit-eating grin, rests his head on his hand. “And?”
“And nothing.” I turn my back to him, folding my sweaty towel carefully, edge to edge.
I’m done with the conversation. I asked her not to tell anyone about this arrangement, and though I knew Matt might eventually find out since we workout together here, I feel like a hypocrite now.
My best friend’s voice is too enthusiastic. “You mentioned that you have a great manager, but you didn’t mention that she was a babe.”
Knitting my brows together, I laugh. “It’s not like that. Fia’s a hard worker. She fell on tough times, and I’m helping her out. It was the right business move.”
Matt slowly gets up, gathering the rest of his stuff. I jam my finger into the button to open the garage door and mosey out into the sunlit driveway.
“It’s okay to admit she’s attractive,” Matt calls from behind me, jogging to catch up. “You’d be blind to not think so.”
“Fine,” I blurt out, hands resting on the top of my head. “Yeah, Fia’s gorgeous. I’m not blind. But she’s more than pretty—and it’s not like that at all. She’s got a kid. I can assure you the absolute last thing she needs right now is for her boss to hit on her. That’s a line I wouldn’t cross.”
Matt just watches me—grinning in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t believe me, like he finds it a little funny, like he knows something I don’t but he isn’t going to say it out loud.
I don’t like it.
“I’ve never seen you get so worked up.”
“I’m not worked up,” I argue, ignoring my pulsing neck.
Matt throws his duffel bag over his shoulder and bobs his head. “Alright, alright. Well, either way, that was nice of you to help her.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I smirk, stealing a glance towards the guesthouse. My phone starts to buzz and I pull it out.
Matt says something else but I don’t hear it.
Fia: You forgot to update me on the house. Is everything okay? I can drive by after work. Or are the mold people there?
Then another comes through seconds later.
Fia: Wait, they aren’t tenting the house, are they? I feel like I need to go inside and see how things are progressing . . .
Biting my lip, I gaze up to the blue sky.
This girl is more tightly wound than I realized. She always held it together for the business, never texting me unless it was an emergency, but this is a side of Fia I’ve never seen.
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” Matt pipes up.
I meet his curious gaze as he stands next to his truck.
“Sorry.” I wave my phone. “It’s Fia.”
Maybe I should just call her. Talk her down. The last thing Eddie needs is Fia busting in there in a panic. It’s not safe either.
Matt climbs into his truck, pausing. “Hey, you know Morgan and I started out as coworkers too.”
I just raise my eyebrows and walk away.
Even if I wanted to, there are a million reasons why dating Fia would be a bad idea.
Even admitting that I already care for that girl would be a dangerous, slippery slope.