Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HAZEL
Tucker’s sharp hazel gaze scanned me, tuned in like only a man with training, muscle memory, and unresolved feelings could be. “Everything okay?”
Was it? I’d left him that horrible message that I could only assume by some miracle he hadn’t listened to. If he had, he’d be, at minimum, annoyed.
And then there was the call I’d just taken that had me spinning.
His phone rang, startling me. Tucker silenced it without looking, then scratched the back of his neck, sunlight catching in his hair as he blew out a frustrated breath. “Sorry. It’s been busy.”
All his days were busy, what with two jobs and caregiving for his father and his sister’s twins. And yet, somehow, he made it look easy. Like his life had been built on a solid foundation, while I was still patching holes in mine with duct tape and sarcasm.
I had no idea how he’d pulled it off, built a life here.
Meanwhile, I’d spent a decade half-assing mine on borrowed courage and caffeine.
I hadn’t left Star Falls for a fresh start.
I’d left because I’d run. Run rather than admit I’d made mistakes and I was mortified and sorry but didn’t know how to say it.
Run rather than face Dad and settle our issues.
Run rather than face my overwhelming feelings for Tucker.
I could list my regrets all damn day long.
I’d told myself working as a subcontractor was freedom. That being my own boss meant I was strong. But I hadn’t expected to spend more time buried in invoices and supply chain snafus than actually building things.
I hated the business side. I wanted the sawdust and the satisfaction, not the spreadsheet.
The job offer from Seattle? It was more than a promotion. It was a clean slate. A sign I might finally be seen for what I could do, that I could be more than the girl who screwed up everything and then left.
That I could be someone worth keeping.
But it would also mean leaving again, for at least a year. Leaving Penny’s breakfast burritos. My dad’s reluctant softening. Kiera’s chaos. Emma’s sass.
The man standing in front of me.
And the terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, I was home.
“Talk to me,” he said gently.
Definitely hadn’t listened to my message. “Yes, I’m okay.” Technically, this was true. I just wasn’t sure how to explain the emotions coursing through me without spiraling. I needed time to think. Plus, we were on the job; it wasn’t the time or place.
My stomach knotted at the excuses I was giving myself. Because was this an opportunity? Or an escape?
I knew which Tucker would think it was.
He would think I was running.
I needed to decide on my own if that was true or not before I told him.
“Tex heard yelling,” Tucker said.
A sigh escaped me. Tex had excellent hearing and a big, fat mouth. “If you knew my dad and I got into a…discussion…why are you asking?”
“Because I was hoping you’d tell me.”
Before I could decide if that was sweet or annoying, my dad poked his head back in. He zeroed in on Tucker. “What’s going on?”
I opened my mouth, but Tucker beat me to it.
“I was asking about the fight,” he said to my dad.
“There was no fight.” Dad was attempting to lose his scowl.
I could tell because he drew in a deep breath for calm, like he’d been taught by his PT. He was maybe 40 percent successful.
He pointed at the two boxes behind us. “Need to move those.” He grabbed the first one with a grunt. “I’m just gonna—”
“Dad! No heavy lifting! Which part of ‘Don’t be a stubborn mule’ didn’t register?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“If you’re so fine,” Tucker said, nudging him clear of the boxes, “then why is your daughter worried half to death and on your ass about eating and exercising?”
Dad muttered something under his breath before saying, “This is why I work alone.” He exited stage left, grumbling all the way.
I blew out a sigh, and Tucker gave me a slow look.
“What?”
“You have daddy issues.”
“I do not.”
He gave me that if you say so look.
“I’m serious,” I said. “We’re trying, but we don’t speak the same language. He thinks he always knows better, that he needs to tell me what to do.”
“God knows why, since you tend to do the opposite when you’re told what to do.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. Dammit. I hated when he was right. “Fine. Maybe I do that. Sometimes.”
“‘Maybe’?” he echoed, amused. “‘Sometimes’?”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this.” I pushed past him, but he caught my wrist.
“None of us do. So, if you’ve got a problem on this job, you need to tell me.”
“And if my problem is also off the job?” I stared pointedly at his hand on my wrist.
He released me but didn’t step back. “Then I’d hope you’d tell me anyway.”
Boundaries. He was trying to give me boundaries.
He meant it as a comfort, as a safety net. But I’d spent years bristling at expectations, even the well-meaning ones, and though I was trying to do better, be better, I was my own worst enemy.
His jaw flexed when I stayed silent. I was frustrating him. Which made two of us.
His eyes unreadable now, he said, “Ryder and Caleb will find us any second. If you’ve got anything you want to tell me, now’s the time.”
I swallowed. Everything inside me was chaos.
Still reeling from the job offer.
Still furious with myself for leaving him that voicemail.
Still stinging from my dad’s words—Don’t come to me when you fuck it all up—and unsure whether I was the problem or the solution.
Why I had thought this time with my dad might be any different, I had no idea. That I still wanted—needed—his approval drove me nuts. He hadn’t apologized, and maybe he wouldn’t, but I still wanted him to believe in me. Just once. “No,” I said. “I don’t have anything I want to tell you.”
A lie, but the only one I had.
He studied me. “And here I thought today might be easy.”
“I wasn’t aware you did easy,” I said, voice dry.
He smiled faintly. “Trying a new leaf.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, a quiet act of intimacy that made my knees stage a protest against gravity.
There was no teasing in his eyes now, only that deep, guarded thing he carried.
The one that knew how to read people and protect them anyway.
His voice was lower when he spoke. “Haze…what’s going on in that head of yours?”
I sucked in a breath at the caring tone and willed the sudden threat of tears away. “I thought you were at the station today.”
“No. I was in the Colburn offices all morning, running numbers and estimations.” His gaze met mine, all-seeing. “Miss me?”
“In your dreams.” But I smiled. He was giving me space, in his own way. Letting me come to him.
I appreciated that more than he could know.
I also needed to somehow make sure he never listened to my horrible message.
He tapped a finger on his iPad. “Okay, so about the materials mishap: We can return the order if you’d like.”
“Word travels fast.”
“I’d just gotten to work when you called. Your dad was in my office.”
Awesome. “Returning it will cost Colburn Restorations.”
“It’ll cost the suppliers.” He shrugged. “But regardless, we fix mistakes. That’s the Colburn way. If it works, great. If not, we figure it out and move on.”
There was a huge contrast between that and what I’d always felt growing up—constant tightropes, no nets. With the Colburns, whether a week went by or a decade, I never had to earn my place. They just…made room.
“I can make it work,” I said quietly.
He didn’t question it, just nodded, then produced the box he’d brought in with him. He crouched before it now, sifting through its contents with practiced ease. Graceful. Efficient. Maddeningly attractive.
I tried to focus. I really did.
But he hunkered there in his perfectly worn jeans, all lean muscle and quiet confidence, and my brain shut down.
He said something about finishing edges. I nodded.
Something about timeline. I nodded again.
Something about staring at his ass—
Crap.
He rose and turned toward me, an infuriating glint in his eye. “If you see something you like, Hazel…” He spread his arms. “You have only to ask.”
“Ugh!” I shoved him, and the laughing ass backed up a step. “So smug.”
“You love it.”
I grumbled something that would’ve cost me a dollar to the swear jar and glared at him. “Why are you here?” A sinking feeling hit my gut. “Did you think I messed up?” The question hung between us, heavier than I wanted it to be.
“No.”
I took a step back. “I don’t believe you. You don’t trust—”
He caught me, holding firm. “If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here. This has nothing to do with you as our finish carpenter and everything to do with making sure you’re safe here.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You remember the trouble we had on the Henderson project this past spring—missing tools, sketchy visitors…” His eyes darkened. “When Emma got hurt, and you could have been.”
Did I remember? I’d never forget. I’d been there that night. It’d been terrifying, running from an intruder I couldn’t see, colliding with Emma in the dark, hovering over her, knowing she was hurt, not knowing if we were safe…
“I can handle myself.”
“I know, but on the job, you shouldn’t have to.” His voice was pure, unbending steel. “How about this job? Have you seen or felt anything off?”
I hesitated and his eyes sharpened.
“Tell me.”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“Your feelings used to be dead-on.”
It always threw me when I was faced with the reminder of how well he’d once known me. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Tell me.”
I blew out a breath. “Okay, so a few times, tools or materials have been in a different place than I left them. Like someone moved things around. Only, it couldn’t have been, because each time I was either the only one here or the last one on-site.”
“And you’re just now telling me?” he asked, incredulous.
“I never saw or heard anyone, and nothing has gone missing,” I said defensively. “I could just be imagining it.”
He took a slow deep breath. “I don’t want you to be the last one out here, ever. You understand?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got moves.” I shifted my weight to one leg as if I were going to knee him. “Wanna see?”