Chapter 1 #2
We texted back and forth every day and video chatted at least once a week. Whenever I could, I would drive or fly here, to our hometown, just to spend time with him; we would go plane spotting at the local airport or play his latest video game obsession. Whatever he wanted to do, I was down.
But something Joe has never done, not over the phone or in person, is mention this guy.
“How come you never told me?” I ignore that my heart hurts a little more than it did a few moments ago. If anything, this is my fault for not checking in with him even more thoroughly.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, he shrugs. “It didn’t come up.”
It didn’t—
“All right.” This back-and-forth isn’t worth freezing my ass off. “The lawnmower didn’t actually wake me up—though I’m sure the neighbors don’t appreciate the noise. A loud crash did. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
He scratches the back of his neck, right where his short hair—which is the exact brown shade as mine—ends. And if that wasn’t a telltale sign that he’s nervous, he also winces.
“Yeah, um. That was me, sorry. I knocked something over in the shed while grabbing the lawnmower. But I’ll put everything back in its place when I’m done,” he’s quick to reassure me.
“I just really need to finish this, Ives. He’s coming home soon.
He won’t get mad at me or anything, but I want to do a good job. He trusted me with this.”
Who gets home so early in the morning? Does he work at the hospital or something?
Instead, I ask, “Where’s the shed? I’ll check for damage.”
Joe points to the back of the house before restarting the lawnmower.
I think of heading back to our place for an outfit change—or at least to grab a jacket—but the hurriedness in his voice makes me think twice.
My legs part the fog as I make my way across the yard. When I reach the side of the house, I sneak a glance at it. All the windows are shut, and white curtains prevent me from peeking inside like the busybody I like to pretend I’m not.
Bummer.
Right behind the house, the infamous shed comes into view. It’s a small structure made of wood and doesn’t look too old. Did our previous neighbors have a shed? The door is ajar, and I think I see a ladder knocked over inside. Nothing too catastrophic, then.
But then I open the door all the way, and, of course, the ladder isn’t the only thing that got knocked over.
A leaf blower lies on the ground next to an empty bucket surrounded by helmets that I’m confident were in the bucket just moments ago.
A wooden plank I’m assuming was leaning against the wall has also fallen over, and a kid’s bike… .
One of the pedals and the rear wheel have flown off.
Damn it, Joe.
I wince as my knees hit the concrete ground when I crouch to collect all the helmets and put them back inside the bucket.
I’m pretty sure my hands are seconds away from starting a hate club against me when I use all my strength to lift the wooden plank back against the wall and they end up all red and scratched.
I don’t know where the leaf blower was before Tornado Joe struck, so I place it on an empty spot on the lower shelf and hope this guy doesn’t notice that maybe it wasn’t there before.
My gaze falls over the bike, and I let out a loud sigh that could be heard all the way in Canada. I’ve never fixed one of these before, and I don’t know where to start putting back a wheel or a pedal. I don’t even have my phone on me to look up a tutorial.
Propping the bike against the wall, I scan the shed for tools. There has to be something I can do to fix this before the neighbor comes back. It can’t be that hard.
I grab a wrench out of desperation. Is this the right tool? Who knows? I certainly don’t.
This is my fault. I should’ve heard Joe leave the house and helped him mow. I should’ve known he’s been mowing for our neighbor in the first place.
Joe and I might be ten years apart, but our bond runs deep. We love and care about each other so, so much. So what kind of big sister does that make me?
What kind of guardian?
The wrench slips from my grasp and hits my knee. I hiss in pain, losing my balance and knocking down the bike as I go, which falls on top of me because that’s just my luck.
One of the handles hits the side of my head, and, at first, I think my brain is concocting the giant shadow that has just appeared at the door. A shadow that doesn’t belong to my brother.
“What are you doing?”
That husky, masculine rumble is surely the product of a head injury too. And so is the smell of smoke that reaches me next, I decide.
I blink, and that’s when I spot a pair of worn boots—brown, military-style, dirty with dry mud—attached to a pair of long, muscular legs that go up for miles.
The early-morning light hits the figure’s back, casting its face in shadows. It’s not until my eyes adjust that I realize a very big man with a very deep frown is at the door.
Yeah, I’m hallucinating. Though he looks pretty authentic, I’ll give him that—short hair, a little longer at the top, of a shade that’s between blond and brown. Honey?
My head pounds.
Stubble, narrowed eyes I can’t tell the color of, and shoulders so wide I wonder how they fit through the door.
I’ve never seen him before, I don’t think. I would remember him. Not to be a superficial asshole, but it is what it is—I wouldn’t forget a pair of biceps that are bigger than my head.
Speaking of heads, mine is still throbbing. I might have a concussion.
“What are you doing?” he repeats, slower this time. Or maybe it’s just my brain giving up. “Are you okay?”
The unmistakable pungent smell of smoke permeates my lungs again, and I blame the circumstances for the stupid words that leave my mouth next.
“You smell.”
When he blinks, then blinks again, I quickly add, “Either that, or something’s on fire.”
He remains silent, and suddenly the ground swallowing me sounds like the perfect Sunday plan.
I’ve worked so hard to teach Joe to be nice to strangers, to be a nice human in general, and now I’m the one without a filter? Some example I am.
It feels like forever before he takes a step forward, then another, and wraps one big hand around the bike’s handle. It’s insulting how easy he makes it look when he lifts it up, as if that thing hadn’t almost knocked me unconscious.
All right, maybe I’m being dramatic. It’s a kid’s bike, not a steamroller.
“I’m a firefighter.”
And here I was, thinking this situation couldn’t get any more embarrassing.
A firefighter. Right. Firefighters are the closest thing to real-life heroes I can think of, and the first thing I say to one is that he smells?
“Well, that explains it.” I give him what I’m hoping is a friendly smile, trying to ease the awkwardness. But he’s just standing there, staring down at me, and I don’t think my strategy is working. So, I go for the next best thing: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”
One of his eyebrows goes up a bit. “So why are you?”
Now’s totally not the time to notice his eyes are brown.
He’s not being rude, exactly, but he doesn’t sound nice either. Which I totally understand. I’m a stranger who just crashed his property; I didn’t expect him to give me a hug.
It’s only now that I realize, with no small amount of mortification, that I’m still on the ground.
And not only that, but my thousand-year-old T-shirt with a faded drink logo right smack-dab in the middle and hole in the armpit has ridden up enough to show my very short shorts that could be mistaken for underwear. Cool.
His eyes are glued to my face, but I still tug my shirt down before getting to my feet. I also confirm that, yep, he’s a giant. Six-three or four, easily. At five-three, I must look ridiculous next to him.
This firefighter I don’t know the name of takes a step back, widening the distance between us.
“Joe told me he’d knocked over something back here, and I came to take a look,” I explain. “Joe—my brother. I’m sorry. Are you…?”
“Your neighbor,” he confirms, then frowns a little deeper. “Joe’s your brother?”
I nod. Why is my throat so dry?
“You’re Ivy?”
“That would be me.” I keep my smile in place, mentally crossing my fingers so that this stranger finds it in his hopefully kind soul to forget about the trespassing. “Joe’s sister.”
He nods, serious. “You sure you’re not hurt?”
There’s no point in lying in general, but especially not when he saw it happening. So I tell him, “The bike handle hit my head, and the wrench had an unfortunate meeting with my knee, but I’m fine.”
His eyes dart down to my knee, not looking so sure. “You’re bleeding.”
Shit, am I? That would explain why my skin is burning like someone’s barbecuing under it.
“I’ll take care of it at home.” Ignore the pain. Don’t make this worse. “I’m sorry about the bike.”
He blinks as if suddenly remembering he’s holding it and sets it against the wall. “It was already broken. I keep meaning to fix it, but I haven’t had the time.”
Because firefighters have insane schedules, surely. How anyone could have seventy-two-hour shifts and still go to work every day willingly is beyond me. Which makes me feel even worse for telling him he smells. I’m pathetic.
“Well, I shouldn’t be here either way. I apologize.”
“It’s fine.” Another look at my knee. “It’s getting redder.”
“I have a first aid kit at home. I’ll take a look later.”
Suddenly, it hits me why he won’t drop it. I’m sure a part of him genuinely cares about my bloody knee, but I can almost see the actual reason running through his mind in real time.
Maybe I’m wrong, but I still decide to put him out of his misery: “I won’t sue you.”
The quick way his gaze darts up to mine tells me I’ve hit the bullseye.
“You could,” he says, slow and deep, as if resigning himself to the fact that we’ll be seeing each other in court from now on.
Little does he know I’m fed up with courts and attorneys. Not that I would sue him anyway, even if I weren’t.
“I’m not going to. This was my fault.”
“You injured yourself on my property.”
“A property I trespassed on.”
His eyebrow goes up a notch. “All right.”
“You could sue me,” my big mouth points out, making me regret it a millisecond later.
The last thing I need is for someone to press charges against me and all that would imply for Joe after Dad…
Well, after Dad.
Luckily for the Farnsworth siblings, Mr. Firefighter shakes his head. “I won’t be doing that.”
If he’s going to say anything else, he doesn’t get the chance to before Joe bursts into the shed, a little short of breath, his forehead glistening with sweat.
My brother glances between us before announcing, “All done,” to the man in front of me.
“I told you it was fine, buddy. I have the next two days off. I could’ve done it myself.”
Buddy?
Joe shakes his head. “I said I’d do it. I should’ve done it yesterday.”
“You don’t have to mow if you’re busy or tired. Remember what we talked about?” he asks my brother as if they’d had this conversation before.
Huh. How well does Joe know this guy?
Joe shrugs. “Fine. I know better than to argue with you. I’ll never win.”
A smile, the first I see from him, takes over the man’s face. And of course his teeth are white and perfectly straight too. Which action blockbuster did he step out of?
“Don’t worry, you’ll reach my level of stubbornness when you get older. It comes with age,” he teases.
“Can’t wait,” Joe replies in his usual dry voice, but he’s smiling. Then, as if he suddenly remembered they’re not the only two people in the shed, he turns to me. “Hey, Ives.”
“Hey, snot.”
“Are you okay? I warned him we might have broken something in here.”
“We?”
He winces, glancing down at his boots. “I might have broken something. Sorry.”
“You should be,” I say, but my voice holds no real threat. Getting mad at Joe is like resisting a snack here and there during my shift at Sunny Stitches—no matter how many times I play that game, I never win.
“Your knee,” Joe says with a new sense of urgency, pointing at my skin that’s starting to bleed a little too much for my taste.
I shut my eyes, but it’s too late—I’ve already looked. I’ve already seen the red skin, the drops of blood. My head spins, and it feels like the ground has turned into jelly and isn’t fully under my feet. Please, not now.
“Hey,” the deeper, more masculine voice of the two starts.
My eyes fly open, but my vision is a little blurry.
“You’re going pale.”
Joe hurries to my side to hold me up like he’s done a million times before.
“You’re okay,” he mutters in my ear. “It’s okay. Try to stop it.”
Not a single harsh word has left my brother’s mouth, but it still feels like a slap in the face. And it’s precisely that which makes my dizziness disappear at once.
I’m being dramatic, embarrassing him in front of the older, cooler guy, and making this about me. It’s just a little cut, damn it, and I’m twenty-six. I should get it together.
“I’m sorry about… about this mess,” I manage to say, sounding like a levelheaded woman again. Mostly. “I’ll pay for whatever’s broken. Just let me know.”
“You’re good,” the firefighter says.
“Yeah, Ives, don’t worry,” Joe chimes in. “Ford’s a handyman. There’s nothing he can’t fix.”
Despite the fact that I’m still feeling a little lightheaded, my eyes pinball between them. I again wonder how they know each other.
As if he can read my mind—I’m convinced sibling telepathy is a little bit real—Joe announces, “Ivy, this is our neighbor, Ford. He hired me to take care of his lawn. And Ford, this is my sister, Ivy. You might have seen her around lately. Doesn’t know how to parallel park.”
“Hey.” I pinch his side, making him laugh.
“It’s nice to meet you,” the firefighter—Ford—says. He’s a little more serious with me than he is with Joe, but I don’t mind it. “Joe has told me about you.”
“Well, I would hope so.” I snort, not realizing how self-aggrandizing that sounded. Can this day end already? “I mean, I hope he hasn’t kept me a secret. That would suck and also be a little weird, considering I’m not wanted by the FBI or anything.”
“You’re rambling,” Joe mutters in my direction, but still loud enough for the other man to hear.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s nice to meet you,” I tell Ford with a smile. “Despite the… you know, the circumstances.”
I really should stop reminding him that he has a very good reason to sue me if he wants to.
His nod is curt. “No worries.”
Joe wastes no time telling him about how the lawnmower is making a weird noise, and it’s the perfect excuse to mutter my goodbyes and head home. By the time I make it back to our house, the fog has lifted, and the first rays of sunlight are peeking through the clouds.
The wind carries their muffled voices, then Joe’s laugh before I shut the front door behind me.
What a weird welcome back to Harmony Hills.