Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
The morning had that kind of air he liked best — cool enough to work without sweating through his shirt, warm enough to keep the bugs down.
He stood on the dock with a pry bar in his hand, staring at the warped board near the ladder.
It had been on his list for a week, but it hadn’t been urgent until now.
Until there was someone else in the house who might walk down here and step wrong.
He worked the bar under the plank, feeling the nails loosen with each push.
It was good work. Simple. No room for the kind of thinking that got a man restless.
Which was exactly why it irritated him that he could still hear her voice from last night in his head, soft and a little ragged when she’d said thank you.
Tessa Callahan.
She’d been quiet this morning on the ride into town, but not sullen.
She listened when he talked about the canoe.
She hadn’t argued over the house rules. She’d even smiled a little when Ruth and Bill stopped them on Main.
And now, when he thought about her sitting at that kitchen table in her father’s flannel, drinking coffee like it was the first decent thing to happen to her all week, his chest felt… unsettled.
He slid the old board free, set it aside, and reached for the new one.
Across the yard, movement in the kitchen window caught his eye.
She was there, hair tucked back behind her ears, moving from the counter to the fridge.
She looked like she belonged in his kitchen in a way he didn’t expect.
Then she reached up and moved the coffee canister from the right side of the counter to the left.
He stared.
He always kept it on the right.
He set the new board down and walked toward the house, not sure why it felt important to correct something so small. When he stepped into the kitchen, she was filling the kettle at the sink.
“Why’d you move that?” he asked, nodding toward the canister.
She turned, brows lifting. “Oh. I was making tea and thought it would be easier to have the coffee by the mugs.”
“It’s easier for me where it was.”
A hint of color rose in her cheeks. “I can move it back. I didn’t even think about it, actually. I’m sorry.”
He realized how ridiculous it sounded — a grown man staking territory over a canister. “It’s fine,” he muttered, though he did nudge it back to the right as he passed.
She smiled faintly into her cup like she knew she’d gotten under his skin.
He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. “What are you doing today?”
“I was thinking of walking down by the harbor. Maybe check out some of the craft fair booths.” She tilted her head. “That okay with you, or does that break a house rule?”
He felt the corner of his mouth tug upward before he could stop it. “You’re fine. Just don’t take the canoe.”
Her laugh was quiet but real, and he found he wanted to hear it again.
That evening, when he came in from stacking the wood he’d split, the house smelled faintly of garlic. She was at the stove, stirring something in a skillet.
“I thought we agreed we’d fend for ourselves tonight,” he said.
“I changed my mind,” she said without looking back. “I found chicken, garlic, and pasta in the pantry. It seemed like a peace offering.”
He stepped closer, watching her hands work. She wasn’t tentative in the kitchen. She moved like she knew what she was doing.
“You didn’t have to,” he said.
“I know. But you’ve been fixing things all day. Feeding you seemed fair.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he set the table. Two plates. Forks. Water glasses. When she carried the skillet over, the food smelled better than anything he’d made for himself in weeks.
They ate with the back door open, the hum of crickets starting up in the yard. Conversation came easier than he expected. "Where’d you grow up?"
She grinned as the memories flashed back. "Ohio." She set her fork on her plate. "Where did you grow up?"
"Missouri. I ended up here this summer after following my friends, Hank and Colby, who came here for a vintage bike race. My friend Hank is a racer. Colby is his mechanic. I found I liked the pace here better than where I was, so I stayed when they left."
"That says a lot about a place. Do you see them very much?"
"We talk on the phone. They've started up a vintage bike shop and are busy, but we keep in touch. They've promised to come back each year. I've promised to have a place for them to stay. That's why all the lumber is outside. I'm going to add on another bedroom and bathroom."
"That's really sweet."
One of his shoulders rose and lowered without thought. He decided to change the subject back to her. “What's the worst rental you've ever stayed in?"
She laughed. It was nice. She had a nice laugh. "I stayed in a cabin with a raccoon in the attic. I listened to him rummage all night long, afraid he'd find a way to get into the cabin and accost me. I needed the getaway, but it didn't offer me any peace and quiet."
"Why did you need to get away?"
She took a deep breath and her eyes stared at her plate for a while, as if she were deciding how much to tell him.
She finally looked up at him, a soft smile on her face.
"I'm a trauma doctor. I work in the ER at a hospital in Chicago.
I'm finding the traumas becoming too much to bear.
The pace is unbelievable, and the injuries are more than I can handle.
It's why I came here. I've taken a leave of absence to find myself again. "
He nodded. "I understand that. I'm a former EMT. It's the job I had when I left Missouri. I still help people if I can. And I've been thinking about volunteering for the local fire department. But I just haven't been able to make myself do it yet. I guess I need more time."
She nodded slowly, her eyes searching his intently. He didn't see pity, which is what he feared. He saw understanding. A kinship. They both knew the ugly side of life. And both were affected by it in the most horrendous manner.
The mood had grown heavy, so he changed the subject once again. He told her about a fishing trip gone wrong when he was twelve, and she laughed in all the right places.
When the plates were empty, she reached for them. “I’ll wash. You did the heavy lifting today.”
He let her, standing in the doorway for a moment, watching the way the kitchen light caught the curve of her cheek.
He told himself again, it was temporary. Just a few days.
But he’d had temporary before, and it didn’t usually make the place feel this warm.