Lila
Owen hadn’t been lying when he said this was a big job. I spent the first three days cleaning out offices and file cabinets, organizing documents, and then sifting through them to determine what was important and what I could set aside.
It was fairly dull, but I cued up the new season of Crime Junkie and listened as I scanned and filed.
Folks came in and out of the office on occasion, but the massive building was mostly empty.
The employees that remained were all overwhelmed with work and frazzled, but they were friendly and answered my dumb questions with patience.
Gus was here each day, and Jude was usually around, maintaining vehicles or taking inventory of equipment out in the shop. They mostly kept to themselves and kept their distance from Owen.
When Owen and Gus did end up in a room together, their interactions usually devolved into arguments.
When that happened, I’d turn up the volume of my earbuds and tune them out. Or try to, at least. The tension was so thick that sometimes it was impossible not to get swamped with it.
Owen had now been here for a few days, and other than those occasions when he and his brothers couldn’t avoid each other, he hadn’t spent any time with his family.
Sure, he could come across as grouchy and unapproachable at times, but only because he was struggling.
He cared deeply for his family and their welfare, obviously.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have put his own life on hold to help.
But he hid that concern well. I could see it, but based on the negative interactions he had with his brothers, I was the only one.
If he’d let them see that side of him, I had no doubt their relationships would improve.
In the matter of a few days, I’d developed a new routine. I’d swing by after my shift at the diner with a latte for Owen, then post up in the big conference room and sort. We’d set up folding tables labeled with fiscal years and lined up plastic milk crates for various documents.
Despite the state-of-the-art office building and equipment, Hebert Timber had barely digitized. Most things were still done on paper, and what was available on the hard drives was disorganized.
Owen’s lawyers had successfully lobbied for the return of most of the documents and hard drives that had been seized by the FBI, so despite the mess, we were at least working with a semi-complete set of records.
I hummed as I shuffled around the table, depositing invoices and receipts, sipping my latte, and thinking this was probably the easiest thirty bucks an hour I’d ever earned.
Movement in my periphery startled me. With a gasp, I spun and slapped a hand to my chest.
Gus stood in the doorway, cringing.
I pulled my earbuds out and smiled. “Hi, Gus.”
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” He shifted from one foot to another, surveying the room.
Gus was thick and strong, and he usually carried himself with ease, but right now, it looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
His broad shoulders were hunched and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
What was it about the Hebert boys and this building?
“Just checking in on you,” he said, his voice gruff as always. Gus was the prototypical protective older brother I’d never had. His kindness since the Cole mess would not be forgotten.
“I hope Owen isn’t working you too hard.”
“Not at all,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I make my own hours and listen to murder podcasts while I work. Best job ever.”
He rocked back on the heels of his work boots and chuckled. “Good. If he gives you any trouble, call me. Okay?”
I nodded and clutched the stack of documents I was holding to my chest. “Are you headed out to camp today? I saw the schedule you emailed.”
“Tomorrow. All this rain has really held us back. The roads are muddy, and as much as I’d like to wait for things to dry up a bit, we’ve got a lot of orders to settle up before.” He kicked at the doorframe. “You know, the sale or whatever. So we’re getting creative.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
According to Owen, operations were continuing, only on a smaller scale with a skeleton crew.
After Mr. Hebert was arrested, many of their longtime employees had quit, probably concerned that if they didn’t abandon ship, they’d be taken down with it.
Most had ended up working for the Gagnons or the LeBlancs, but a dedicated few had remained.
“Do you have a heavy machinery license?”
“Nah.”
“Can you use a chainsaw?”
“Wanna teach me?” I gestured to all the files around me. “At this point, I’m pretty much a timber expert. Except for the whole cutting down trees part.”
He laughed. “Not today, but I will at some point. It’s a life skill, you know?”
I nodded. Now my interest was piqued. I could see myself rocking a chainsaw. “Promise?”
“Just stick to the accounting for now, okay?”
Long after the sun had set, I was still working, but I was beginning to feel the effects of a long day on my feet.
I’d been working nonstop since my shift at the diner started at seven this morning, and I was determined to go for a run when I got home.
Hopefully, I’d eke out five or six hours of sleep before doing it all over again tomorrow.
Owen came by the conference room, surveyed the carnage, and wandered to the large bay window that looked out at the forest. He ran his hands through his hair, something, by the looks of it, he’d been doing quite a bit today, and tugged on the collar of his shirt.
With one earbud still in place, I tried my best to focus on my podcast, but when he was this close to me, it was hard to focus on anything but him.
Each day, he looked a little more disheveled. First he’d traded his dress pants for jeans. Then his shirts were no longer tucked in. Now his stubble was flirting with beard territory.
He was looking less city boy and more lumberjack by the day.
And it was a problem.
Because he looked good.
I had no interest in dating or relationships at the moment, but I wasn’t dead.
Anyone with eyes could appreciate Owen Hebert’s masculine charms. He was handsome, with a hint of ruggedness that was growing by the day.
No matter how hard he tried to hide his backwoods lumberjack upbringing with designer suits and fancy cars, the country boy roots remained.
My long-dormant flirting instincts were coming back to life.
I found myself smiling at him, playing with my hair mid-conversation, and thinking about him while choosing my outfits.
Crushes were supposed to be harmless, but it had been so long since I’d felt even the slightest flutter for a man.
I wasn’t even sure how to control myself anymore.
“I have a surprise for you.”
I paused my podcast. “For me?”
He nodded and lifted his chin, gesturing for me to follow him out the door. Obediently, I trailed behind him to the office he’d been using. It wasn’t nearly as grand as his father’s, but from what I’d observed over the last few days, he’d purposely steered clear of that one.
There were two large boxes on the table labeled Thrive Market.
“I promised you snacks.” He took a multi-tool out of his back pocket—hot—and sliced the top of the box, then slid it toward me.
Inside, neatly stacked, was every type of gluten-free snack I could imagine. I picked up a package of crackers, then a small box of cookies and studied the labels, blinking in amazement.
I unearthed a colorful box and gasped. “Oh my God!”
“You said you missed Froot Loops.” He shrugged. “These are the fancy non-GMO organic gluten-free version.”
My first instinct was to tear off the top of the box like a rabid raccoon, but I stopped myself. My second instinct was to pack it all back up and return it.
“You didn’t need to buy all this for me,” I said, guilt swirling in my stomach. He had to have spent hundreds of dollars on this stuff. The gluten-free cookies alone were eight bucks a box.
“I said I’d feed you, didn’t I? And,” he said, picking up a bag of low-sugar naturally colored gummy worms, “these are at least kind of healthy.”
My heart warmed as I took him in, then surveyed all my goodies again.
Maybe this was a small gesture for him, and in the grand scheme of things, I supposed it was.
But I’d been raised on a steady diet of Hallmark movies and my mother’s dramatic relationships, so I’d never been one for big, romantic gestures.
Over-the-top proposals and flashy declarations had never done much for me, no matter how much Mom loved them.
For me, what mattered was the little things. The small ways in which it was clear a person noticed me and appreciated me were what made me giddy.
The tiny gestures were what made a big impact. Rob, my mother’s second husband, had been like that. Always remembering which days I had piano after school or what my favorite flavor of ice cream was.
While snack food might not mean much to the average person, to someone like me, for whom food could be dangerous, it was huge.
So I rounded the table and pulled him into a big hug. At first, he was stiff, but it only took a moment for him to give in and wrap his arms around me.
I hugged everyone, regardless of the occasion, whether it be joyful or agonizing. It was as natural to me as breathing. But the instant his body heat seeped into me, it was clear that touching him like this had been a huge mistake.
Sometimes, when I went in for a spontaneous hug, the recipient’s responding embrace was begrudging.
Cole had been that way. His unwillingness to reciprocate my physical affection was one of the things that drove me crazy.
I’d wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him, and he’d give me a halfhearted pat on the back, or worse, wrap one arm around me in return.
Though he’d been rigid at first, once he eased into it, Owen embraced me like he wanted to. Like he had to. The hug was slow and careful, but the affection he gave was as genuine as what he’d gotten from me. And this was a major fucking problem.
Because it felt good. Too good. He smelled like cedar and clean laundry, and the way the scent enveloped me made my knees wobble.
“Thank you,” I said into his chest.
Did I have to let go?
I should let go.
But he wasn’t loosening his grip.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, and then I swore—I swore—he pressed his nose to the crown of my head and sniffed. Or maybe not, because suddenly, he was awkwardly stepping back and busying himself with the boxes.
Shit. That was weird. I had made it weird. I should have let go first, and I shouldn’t have squeezed him so hard or put my head on his chest. I’d probably made him uncomfortable. He was my boss, for heaven’s sake.
And now that I knew what it felt like to have his strong body against mine, I was in even more danger.
“Care to join me for a feast? I’ve got gluten-free ramen here. Wanna fire up the microwave for a gourmet dinner?” He raised one eyebrow, and a hint of a smile tipped his lips.
My stomach swooped. I liked Owen. He was so much more than the stuck-up city asshole everyone thought he was.
He was thoughtful and sarcastic and he gave excellent hugs.
“I’d love to,” I replied. “But only if we can have the Froot Loops for dessert.”