19. Tess
NINETEEN
TESS
Of all the ways to get your mountain-climbing next-door neighbor to notice you, crying, “Bear!” when you, in fact, only have raccoons isn’t a great option. Tumbling over your own recycle bin and gashing your arm trying to escape those same raccoons is possibly a worse one.
But I let Ian into my apartment with one hand cupping my bloody elbow. On top of everything else, I’d hate to have to try to get stains out of Amy’s stylish rugs.
I take him into the kitchen and open the plastic storage unit where I stash all of August’s medical supplies. In the bottom, I’ve got a big red first aid kit, just in case. I start to unlatch it, but he gently takes it from me.
“I’ve got it.” He opens the kit and assesses the contents before pulling out a few items and setting them aside. “Let’s wash this first.”
He takes my arm with the lightest touch, guiding me closer to the kitchen sink so the spray wand can reach my elbow. He turns on the water and tests it, making sure it’s a comfortable temperature before turning it on my arm.
I wince at the contact, but I know the scrape needs to be cleaned. Now that we’re inside, I can see how dirty it is.
“Okay?” he asks softly.
He’s only asking clinically, wanting to make sure he’s not causing me extra pain, but he’s so close . And he smells so good . Like aloe and cucumber. I’m definitely smelling his deodorant right now, but I don’t even care. His “okay?” feels like he’s checking in on a whole different level.
Two lines crease between his eyebrows, and I realize I’ve taken too long to answer. Sweet that he’s this worried about me over a scrape. I didn’t hit my head out there. It’s his nearness that’s got me so dazed.
But I’d better start acting normal or he’s going to figure it out.
“It stings a little,” I finally say.
He nods and goes back to his task. He gently washes away the blood and dirt, only turning the water off when he’s sure it’s entirely clean. Bringing my elbow back up, he examines the wound, presumably checking for any remaining grit. Then he doubles up a couple of paper towels and presses them against the scrape.
“Let’s put some pressure on it for a few minutes. It’s bleeding more than I’d like.” He helps me hold my arm up, folded so my elbow’s out, while he keeps the paper towels on it in a firm grip. Once it’s secure, he glances around. “Am I being too loud? I don’t want to wake August.”
This last part he whispers, and I can’t help my smile. “You’re okay. He’s slept through worse.”
Ian nods, his gaze tracing over my face. I indulge in the same, admiring the freckles scattered over his forehead, cheeks, and nose. He’s got so many, it looks like a light tan at a distance. This close, they differentiate into too many freckles to count. I wouldn’t mind trying, though. It would take a long, long time.
Deep lines frame his mouth, disappearing beneath his beard. Once, I would have said they were smile lines, but now, they emphasize his frown.
Maybe frown is the wrong word. He’s watching me so intently my stomach swoops, that’s all I know.
“You were out late tonight.” It’s not a question, but he’s still asking.
“My sister and I went to dinner with a couple of friends.”
He nods, and his gaze drops back to where he’s holding my arm. His mouth flattens beneath his beard like he’s had a bite of lemon pie without any sugar in it. It takes me a minute to realize my explanation might have given him the wrong impression about my night out.
“It was a girls’ night,” I clarify. “One of our friends just got back from a week-long hike. She’s not a hiker, so we wanted to hear all about her adventure.”
I leave out the part about Lila coming back with a new man in tow.
“Oh. Sounds like fun.”
“The adventure or the dinner?” Despite his history as a guide and an adventurer, I haven’t seen any evidence he still does things like that. I’m not sure the walking trail behind the duplex counts when you’ve been on top of actual mountains.
“Both. It’s good that you’ve got friends like that.”
“I don’t have many close friends, but they’re two of the best I’ve got.” Hope has been best friends with Wren since they were kids. I’ve grown closer to her since Mom started subletting part of our bakery space to her a couple of years ago. She’s creative and funny, but more practical than Wren.
I never really knew Lila before, but since she moved back to Sunshine last year, I’ve found a kindred spirit in her. I love her sunny attitude mixed with an eager enthusiasm for everything bright & beautiful. Both those women have excellent taste, too.
And then there’s Wren. “My sister’s probably my best friend. Along with my biggest cheerleader, loudest critic, and pushiest busybody.”
He laughs softly. “Sounds like me and my brothers. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I can’t stand them.”
“Is it hard being away from them out here?” I was only separated from Wren for six months, but it was probably the loneliest I’ve ever been.
“Not at all.”
I chuckle at that. “You keep in touch, at least?”
“More than I would like.” The glint in his eyes lets me know he’s only mostly joking.
“Okay. What about friends?”
His gaze returns to my arm. “I used to have a lot. It was easy to meet new people. Now…not so much.”
It’s no more than I’d already guessed, but hearing him say it is like a little thorn in my heart. He used to be so vibrant and outgoing. It’s hard to see how he’s walled everyone out of his life. Is it all because of his injury? Or something else?
“You haven’t connected with anybody in Sunshine?”
“One.” He tilts his head to the side. “One and a half.”
I probably grin too wide over him simply admitting he sees August and me as his friends, but the knowledge makes my heart swell like a rising soufflé. And not because of any deal I’m getting on this duplex. I don’t just want Ian to let me befriend him—I want to see him shine again.
“Maybe you could make more friends, too.”
He watches me like he’s sifting through my words, looking for hidden meaning. “Maybe.”
He lifts the now-bloody paper towel from my arm and examines my injury. “Looks better. I’ll bandage it up.”
It’s fascinating to watch him tend to my arm. This methodical side of him is all new to me. He applies an antiseptic cream with a cotton swab gently so it doesn’t aggravate the wound. Then he lays a wide bandage over it, smoothing the edges down to make it secure.
It’s comforting, letting him take care of me this way. I have so many responsibilities when it comes to August’s diabetes, it’s almost soothing to let someone else be in charge, if only of a simple scrape.
“You’re good at this.” My breathy voice reveals way more than I mean it to, but the sentiment’s true.
“It was part of my job.” He lowers my arm and gathers up all the trash. I point him in the direction of the garbage can, and he throws everything out, then closes up the first aid kit with a snap. When he returns to me, he slips right back into my space. “How does your arm feel now?”
“Better. Thank you.”
“You might want to take some ibuprofen for the pain.”
I smile over this new side of him. Paging Dr. Vaughn. “Did people get a lot of injuries on the climbs you took them on?”
He rests one hand on the kitchen counter behind me, leaning just a touch but not quite caging me in. “Sounds like you don’t think I was a very good guide.”
I poke him gently in the side. A bad call, really, when I already know just how firm his body is. “You know what I mean.”
“If I was lucky, I only had to deal with a scrape or two. Once in a while, I’d have someone develop altitude sickness or dehydration. Mostly, I took good care of my clients.”
I love the glimmer of pride in his voice. Even if I haven’t read all the articles about him Wren mentioned, it’s obvious he loved his job and was good at it.
“Well, I would trust you.”
His gaze rakes over my face again, lingering on my mouth. “Yeah?”
“I just wouldn’t trust myself.”
His eyes lock on mine, brimming with silent questions. I mean it in every way he thinks. I’m definitely not a mountaineer, but with him standing this close and smelling this good that’s not at the top of my reasons for self-doubt.
I want to close this absurdly small distance between us and kiss him. I want to throw my arms around his neck and lose myself in the moment. But I haven’t done any of those things in so long—and the last time I experienced that with someone, I wished I hadn’t. I can’t just give in to the impulse.
My awkward laugh is like a wedge pushing me out of his orbit, and I take a step to the side. “I don’t think I’d last very long on a climb like that. My friend, Lila, only went on a week-long hike around here, and it sounded like more than I would be able to manage.”
“I think you’re more than capable, Tess.”
His earnest vote of confidence lifts me up like a buoy, even though my behavior just now proves him wrong. I am terrified of every potential outcome from this night—scared to move closer to him and scared to lose ground. When I don’t know which step to take, it’s easiest to stay exactly where I am. In this case, that means scurrying out of his reach.
“I will remember that if I ever decide to climb a mountain.” I move away from him so I can tuck the first aid kit back into the plastic drawer. And take whole lungfuls of air again.
“If you ever climb a mountain, you’ll do it with me.”
I stop my fidgeting and meet his eyes. He looks a little like he did when I met him on the trail that day—intense and deadly serious. “You don’t trust anyone else?”
“Not with you.”
Can words sink into your skin and light you up from the inside? That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, and I’m not even sure he means it that way. Maybe he’s just confident he’s the best guide around. But as keenly as he’s watching me, I don’t think that’s it.
“I will keep that in mind.” Quite literally. “Thank you again for taking care of my arm.”
Apparently accepting my cue that I need a little space, his gaze settles into something less intense and more strictly friendly. Neighborly.
This is what I wanted?
“Thanks for letting me.”
We cross the small apartment to the front door. It’s only a few steps, but it feels like crossing an ocean—tumultuous and uncertain. He lets himself out and steps onto the front porch, but turns around to face me again.
“Do me a favor?” he says. “Don’t take your trash out at night anymore.”
He dips his head to look at me from beneath his heavy red eyebrows, his mouth quirked up into a smirk.
“I promise.” I hold my hand out to shake on it. Even though I’m afraid to try for anything more with Ian, I don’t want him to leave without touching me one more time.
Mixed messages, maybe, but Ian doesn’t seem like he’s confused. He takes my hand in his, warm and firm and absolutely enveloping. He doesn’t shake it like this is a business deal. He just holds it. Like he wanted one more touch, too. Then, he sweeps his fingertips along the inside of my wrist.
Not neighborly.
I draw in a soft breath, and his gaze warms. I might shudder, too, but I’m too focused on his touch to pay attention to anything else.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he says.