Chapter 15
spare wood
Lorien
A knock on the front door wakes me.
Confusion swirls around. Who could be here? I only need one guess. The peephole confirms it’s my neighbor.
I wipe the drool from my face and pull open the door.
Liam stalks in, carrying a reusable nylon bag in one hand and a drill in the other. And he’s scowling.
What did I do now?
Dr. Patel and I spoke a few moments longer after he rocked my tidy expectations of selfishness. Eventually, I set my phone on the sofa, and I must’ve passed out.
“Are you still angry with me?” I blink several times as the bright summer day streams in past him. “We’re stuck. I get it, but I didn’t think you’d take my insecurities out on me.”
“Explain.”
Oh, goody. We’re doing the thing where I’m supposed to lay myself bare and the man with the emotional range of a teaspoon gets to stay aloof. My cup overfloweth.
“Look. We have two choices as far as I can tell. We can actively avoid each other, and you can stay”—I gesture to his form—“broody and angry. Or we can spend the time we’re together being…
Well, I don’t know. But your family thinks you’re amazing.
You’re funnier than you let on, and you can cook.
I’m goofy and silly. I can’t dance at all, but I still try.
And I can bake. Together, we have it all. ”
His eyes are comically wide. He tucks his lips behind his teeth and tilts his head like he’s trying to figure me out. “That answers something, but not the question I asked.”
“See,” I extend a hand as I put the other one on my hip. “You didn’t ask a question. And I was trying to be nice. But you’re not trying back.”
His beard twitches, and his eyes crease at the corners. “Why did you think I took your insecurities out on you?” He says each word slowly like I’m dense.
“That right there.” I point. “I can’t handle being put down or you treating me like I’m dumb. It’s a thing.”
“You’re not dumb. That’s not remotely in consideration.”
“Oh,” I sigh and sit on my sofa, extending a hand for him to do the same. When he does, I ask, “Is there something like that I should know about you?”
“Not yet. But please”—he grits his teeth as if that word was hard for him to enunciate—“answer my question.”
“Well,” I say, drawing a pattern in the fabric of the sofa and releasing a large exhale.
“I think you…” I stall before rushing out the words.
“Fine. You’re the complete package and I think the world”—I gesture around my living room as if it holds the entirety of the universe—“will wonder what it is that you see in me. What would someone like you be doing with someone like me? I mean, I’m not chopped liver or anything, but—”
A thick finger presses against my lips. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please.” His voice is gravelly and gruff. He blinks his eyes closed, stopping all access I have to his emotions. “I understand. Thank you.”
“Good.” I form the word around his finger and am gifted with something I’ve only seen once and only then in profile.
Liam Murphy smiles.
Liam
It is not lost on me that Lorien Anderson is staring at me through the curtain of that jet black hair, her eyes looking up at me. Fuck me.
It almost makes up for leaving the brownies at my house. Don’t think I didn’t notice that Ayla and Cian left before having to eat them.
I lean in before I remember it’s the worst thing I could do. That whole don’t shit where you live just got way closer to home. Like inside the walls.
Removing my finger, I stand and head for the bag. “You have two choices. I can rekey the lock you have, or I can install new sets.” I pull the new handles and locks that I’d stashed from my trip to the hardware store and turn to face her.
“Whichever you think.”
“Hybrid,” I mutter. “I’ll install the keypad deadbolts new and then rekey everything to match. I’ll need your old keys, then you can pitch them.”
“Do I want to know how you have locksmithing skills in addition to—” She stops dead on her way to the kitchen, turning slowly to face me. “What do you do for a living? I’ve never asked.”
“Cyber security.”
Her face scrunches as she turns back to what appears to be a drop spot on her counter. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“That works because I don’t know a thing about genomic anything when it comes to autoimmune stuff. You can be the expert in the family on that.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? Expert in the family?
Fuck me.
No, don’t. I’m already fucked. And not the good way.
“Okay,” she starts, walking barefoot back toward me. The big toe on her one foot still shows the signs of trauma, but there’s no limp and no sign of pain. “I have this idea. You’ll think I’m crazy.”
I already do, I don’t say it, because I have no idea if she gets my humor.
“We don’t know how long this… arrangement”—she stumbles over the word as she finds my eyes—“will last. And since it’s inherently challenging, I think we should have some ground rules.”
“You already said you’re keeping your name and I said no dating. What else is there?” I open the door, crouching down with the drill and begin working.
She folds to sit cross-legged near the entry wall, not too close, but not nearly far enough when her shorts ride up those creamy thighs.
I return my focus to the door and am annoyed at what I see. The striker plate is loose and held in by screws that would pop out at the first good push. A kick would decimate wood that’s less wood and more so splinters holding hands. Lorien has bad luck if she has any luck.
“Did you just growl? At me? That’s on my list. No growling at me.”
“Your list, huh?”
“Yes.” She cocks her head and lifts her chin. “Growling at me is a no-go.”
“How many of these rules should I expect while you repay the favor of me saving your life?”
“That’s another thing. Stop throwing it in my face that I contracted a company that hires people of poor character. How could I have known that?”
Yelp. Google. Any website that serves the greater Denver area.
“Fair enough, Trix.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” I pull off the striker plate and walk out the door, needing some wood to reinforce the doorjamb.
Like any man my age, I have spare wood in my garage for just such a project.
I grab a piece, knowing that chances are I’ll need more, but each one will require different measurements.
Such is my luck with the girl next door. Everything is just that difficult.
“Walking away from me mid-conversation is on my list,” she adds the moment I’m within earshot.
“That’s three. My first rule is no more than three rules. Aside from what was established over my dinner table.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m using one of my three on that.
” Sketching the correct dimensions onto the block, I use my pen knife to verify them.
“Now, dear Lorien, I need to cut this block of wood and that requires my saw. Your door frame would fall prey to the huffing and puffing of the big, bad wolf, so I’m walking away, but have ended the conversation to do so. ”
My body is shaking with laughter as I hear her huff of annoyance as I walk away. Rules and all, this could be fun.
Cuts made, I return and press the new form into the gaping hole I hollowed out to provide additional resistance.
I won’t leave her vulnerable, but damn I expected this to be a cut-and-dried deadbolt replacement. Two hours tops for both doors. Now that I think about it, I need to inspect the door to her garage. Wouldn’t do any good to make her safe but leave her in danger there.
She worries her bottom lip and the movement draws my eyes like a tractor beam to her mouth.
“What?”
“Well, what if I need to add a rule? What if something’s more important than what I already laid out?”
“Your first three weren’t the most imperative?”
Her eyes slice to slits, and she scrunches her face.
I fight my beard not to jiggle as everything in me wants to smirk. Fuck it. I let go. I can’t help it. She’s so annoyed and is so fucking cute when she thinks she’s being tough. She has no clue what she’s doing to my cock. “You could always exchange one. But only one every forty-five days.”
“Is that a rule?” she asks with a bite of sarcasm that makes me shift in my squat. No sense in her seeing my thickening cock.
“Sure.” I reply, enjoying this more than I should.
“You’ve used two of your three rules on the rules themselves. Aren’t you worried you might need an actual boundary on this relationship?”
“Not a relationship,” I grit, but, yes, I’m positive I need a parameter. “No sex.”
Her head jerks back and whacks into the sheetrock. “Ow.” She rubs the spot above her neck with a retort. “Duh, we already said no dating. Seems you play fast and loose with your rules. I have to say I expected more strategizing.”
She stands and moves into the kitchen area, returning with a white board and a marker. She adds the date and begins listing out the House Rules as she calls them.
No insulting Lorien’s intelligence
No growling
No dating
No sex
No more than three rules per person
Exchanging rules, 1 every 45 days
No throwing move-in day in Lorien’s face
No walking away mid conversation
“What happens if we break these? Rules only mean something if there’s a consequence,” she asks when she’s done.
“You already planning on crossing my boundaries, Lorien?”