Chapter 5 Dakota
DAKOTA
The big burly man is back—but he’s surprisingly alone. I can’t hide my shock when I walk out onto my front porch and a large cement truck pulls up with Oakley’s Crew printed on the side and only one man hops out.
The man who was here yesterday.
The man who, for some reason, my stupid brain won’t stop thinking about. He’s not that good-looking . . .
Okay, he is. But I don’t go for the gorgeous jock type. I don’t. I want an intellectual, smart, kind lover.
Not that this man is going to be my lover. Jesus. My mind is really running away from me today.
I blame him.
Gabe.
I fold my arms, my back totally straight as he smiles at me and waves. He’s not wearing a coat today. Just a bright-orange T-shirt with Oakley’s Crew printed across the chest and a pair of holey, worn jeans.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Gordan,” he says, walking up the front steps of my porch like he’s been here a hundred times before.
“Dakota is fine,” I say gruffly, but it only makes him grin a little more. What is it with this guy? Why is he trying to seem so friendly? It’s not like landscapers get tips, though he’s probably getting paid a pretty penny for this.
There was a hefty extra fee for my request of him working alone, but it’s worth it. Like I told his boss the three different times he tried to make sure I understood that if I was willing to let two workers here, I could save a significant amount of money.
Not happening. But this man standing so close to me is making me itchy.
“Do you need my help with anything or can you get started?” I ask shortly, and for just a moment, his smile slips. He looks like he wants to ask me something, but wisely, he just fixes his smile back in place and shakes his head.
“Nope. I don’t need your help just yet. I need to lay down the foundation first, and that will likely take me most of the day. I’ll likely need your help tomorrow though.” His smile is irritating me, making me squirm.
Again, why is he being so nice? It has to be some sort of trick or a trap. Get me comfortable and I’ll let my guard down. That’s not happening. I’m always on high alert when others are around.
“Well, then get to it,” I say, taking a step back from him.
He chuckles, but there’s no hint of agitation showing on his handsome face. “Do you want to show me where you’d like the greenhouse located?”
Oh. I suppose that’s a good idea. Lord knows where he would choose to place this gigantic thing.
I reluctantly walk down the stairs and lead him to the back of the house to the location that I think will be perfect for the project.
It’s not too close to my home, but it’ll be close enough that I can go through the back door and straight into the kitchen with the fresh fruits and veggies I plan to grow.
Gabe looks around, his eyes assessing the land, his bottom lip poked out slightly as he nods. “Good spot.”
“I know,” I say, and he chuckles, like I said something funny. “Do you need anything else?”
“Nope. I’ll get started right away.”
“Good,” I say, walking toward the back porch. The first step is a little rickety, but the rest are in fairly good shape. Though some day I do hope to have a large deck built so I can sit out here and watch the sun set.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I turn around to see Gabe is in fact fast at work. I stand there for far longer than I’m proud of, watching his lithe body move seamlessly as he measures out the greenhouse.
I force myself to go inside to get a little work done—definitely not glancing out my office window at the gorgeous man working just outside. Not much anyway. Well . . . not a lot.
After about an hour, I decide it’s only polite to offer the man some water. I mean, he’s sweating like crazy out there. His shirt is almost soaked. I grab a bottle of water and go out the back door, approaching him slowly.
I don’t like that he’s disarmed me so easily. Yesterday, I’d never believe I’d be out of my house and approaching the stranger just to offer him water, but it’s about safety. I can’t have him passing out here.
Then I’d have to call an ambulance, and the first responders around here are all a bunch of former jocks, some who literally tormented me in high school. Some I don’t know, but I’m sure are all the same.
I shudder at the thought and thrust the bottle in his direction as I reach him. He cocks his head to the side, probably trying to figure out why I’m offering him water. But he doesn’t question it. Just takes it from me and unscrews the cap before taking a healthy swig.
I stare at the muscles in his throat as they move in a fascinating pattern while he gulps the water down.
He finally lowers the bottle, and I try to pry my eyes away from his throat—something that’s not too hard when the man pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face, leaving glorious abs on display.
Not a lot of hair, but just enough to make my mouth fill with saliva.
It’s been far too long since I’ve had sex. Not that I want to with him. Not at all. The idea is so ludicrous, I almost laugh out loud.
I swallow hard, trying to look away but entranced. My eyes glued to every rippling, sweaty muscle.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice raspy as he drops his shirt down and covering his stomach. Thank fuck.
“Well, I didn’t want you to pass out.”
He chuckles again, taking another large swig. “It’s hotter than I thought it’d be out here today.”
It did end up being around eighty degrees today, and the sun is out and shining right on top of him. No wonder he’s sweating so much. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that,” I say, looking behind him to where he’s measured for the greenhouse and made a frame for the cement.
“I’m almost ready to pour the cement,” he says, finishing off the water. But he doesn’t move to get working again. Instead, he looks out at the backyard. It’s mostly empty land. A few trees outline the property with a vast amount of dead grass, since it’s still technically winter.
I’ll have to get the mower out soon, though, if the weather keeps up like it is today.
“This is great. Have you lived here long?”
“My great-grandfather built the house, and then my grandparents left it to me after they passed.” I guess it doesn’t hurt to answer his question, though I still don’t understand why he’s asking or why I answered it so easily.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I look at him, hearing only genuine sympathy. It has to be a trick. “It’s fine. It was a while ago.”
“Yeah,” he says, wiping his brow again with his shirt, but I manage to keep my eyes on his face this time. Barely. “I only have my dad’s father left, and he’s in a retirement home now.” He drops his shirt, and I’m mesmerized by his fond smile. “Cranky fucker, but I love that old man.”
Something hits me hard in the chest at the sound of his voice. The love I can hear there. I think I might make a grunting noise or something but don’t manage actual words.
“I try to take my daughter there at least once a month, but I need to do better.”
That takes me aback, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “You have a daughter?”
His face lights up to levels beyond what I’ve seen so far—and that’s saying a lot because the guy just exudes light.
Sure, it’s light I don’t trust. Light I think must be fake, but still, he’s all bright and shiny.
“I do. She’s five.” He pulls his phone from his back pocket and turns the screen to me.
He doesn’t even have to unlock it because his daughter is the background—a cute little blonde thing in pigtails and overalls with her father’s bright smile. “That’s Amber.”
“Cute,” I say because well . . . she is. She’s very cute, and I’m not a kid person. I’m not a person person either.
He tucks his phone away, that happy smile still on his face. “She is. She’s also a little hellion who keeps me on my toes. But man, I love that kid.”
Okay, I do not like this weird twisting feeling deep in my gut, and it occurs to me that we’ve been standing here talking for way too long. “Well, do you need my help today?” I ask, my tone gruff. There we go. That’s more like it.
But he doesn’t seem put off by my change in tone at all. He just turns toward the spot he’s been working and then glances back at me. “Not today. I was just about to pour the cement, but I can handle that on my own.” He shoots me a sly grin. “Unless you want to help?”
“No,” I say quickly, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Not if you don’t need me to.” I reach for the empty bottle in his hand, and he allows me to take it. “I’ll be inside. See you tomorrow.”
He chuckles, unbothered, and it bothers the hell out of me for some reason. “See you tomorrow, Dakota.”
I guess he was paying attention earlier when I told him calling me Dakota was fine, but damn, if it doesn’t send a strange shiver down my side with that thick, deep drawl.
I go back into my house and put the plastic water bottle in the recycling bin, pacing my kitchen floor over and over, trying like hell not to look out into the backyard.
This job can’t end soon enough.