Chapter Eight
Grant
Igot dressed, seething about my cold shower, and my lack of a second cup of coffee.
This was why I had always done my own thing.
This was why I had preferred to live alone.
Walt had been an anomaly. Now I had a full day of shit to do while under-caffeinated and with soap residue still clinging to my skin.
I came out of my room and headed toward the kitchen, only to find Kara at the table with her laptop open.
She looked casual and comfortable, like she belonged there, while I was still simmering.
I headed to grab my boots but stopped in my tracks.
She had come here to take over this cabin, but did she have any idea how much work it took to maintain it?
I couldn’t kid myself. The odds were that this place would be hers in the end. She was Walt’s family after all.
I’d be damned if all the work Walt and I had done to keep this place standing would crumble to nothing if she took possession of it.
“Put your boots on, we have work to do,” I said, grabbing my own and getting to work on the laces.
She perked her head up. “We do?” She put emphasis on the word we.
I nodded, then walked out the door without further conversation, the cool air doing nothing to calm my overheated nerves.
I didn’t expect her to actually follow. When a minute went by without her appearing, it gave my anger some much-needed justification.
See? People let you down. Better to just do everything by myself and for myself.
The first job on my list was to re-stain the wood of the front deck. It got covered in snow, ice, and salt all winter, then beaten by the sun all summer, so it was due for a re-coat.
I went to the shed to grab the supplies, and when I came back, I was surprised to find Kara standing on the deck. She had on a pair of boots and one of Walt’s old flannel shirts over a T-shirt and leggings. She bounded down the stairs toward me.
“How can I help?”
Her response made me more irritated than it should have. Losing my justification for being pissed off just pissed me off more.
I handed her a paintbrush. “We need to do another coat of stain on the front—”
“Did you wash it first?” She asked, walking closer to the wooden railing and running her hand over it. “You have to wash it and let it dry before you can stain it.”
“I know that, and yes, I prepped it,” I said through gritted teeth. “This isn’t my first time doing this.”
She shrugged, unbothered, and continued examining the railing while I opened the can of stain and stirred it.
“Do you have any sandpaper? You missed a spot on the railing where the old stain is flaking.”
I took a deep breath, and it didn’t do a damn thing to calm me down.
All I wanted was to be left alone. For Tuck and me to rot away here without having to talk to other humans.
She wasn’t supposed to be knowledgeable.
She wasn’t supposed to slip so easily into the rhythm of this place.
And she definitely wasn’t supposed to look that comfortable doing it.
The water was getting too muddy for my liking.
“Never mind, I’ll check the shed,” she said when I didn’t reply.
I watched her go. I shouldn’t have, but I did, anyway.
She looked comically short in the too-big shirt, her leggings too clean for life out here.
But she wasn’t a city girl through and through.
There was something in the way she moved, in that bit of muscle on her frame that made it look like she belonged here.
And that made it harder to keep her at arm’s length.
“Found some,” she said, coming back to where I was staring off into space.
She moved past me, close enough that I caught the scent of vanilla, oranges, and my coffee lingering on her clothes. Then she crouched and started carefully sanding a small area on one of the porch railings—which I had, in fact, missed.
For fuck’s sake.
“You going to use that stain or just stir it all day?”
I scowled at my lack of progress, then dipped a brush in and got to work. We worked in silence for a while; the only sounds were the scrape of sandpaper and the brush dragging over wood. Every so often our hands brushed when we both reached for more stain, neither of us commenting on it.
There was just enough of a breeze to keep the smell of the stain from getting too strong. The sun was warm but not overbearing. The kind of day I actually didn’t mind doing chores. Even so, my mood was shit.
We finished in less time than I expected, and I put the supplies back in the shed.
“What’s next?” Kara asked.
“Clean the gutters and inspect the roof.”
She didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heels and headed into the shed, returning with the aluminum ladder.
It was light, but long and awkward to carry.
I watched her struggle with it for a moment, telling myself I wasn’t testing her.
After a few seconds, I couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed one end, helping her move it into place against the cabin.
I steadied the ladder while she angled it against the edge of the roof. She wiped her hands on her leggings and looked up, squinting into the sun.
“You sure this thing’s stable?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Haven’t died on it yet.”
“That is comforting. Truly, it is.”
“If you’re scared, then move aside. I’ll do it.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I didn’t say I was scared. I just know Uncle Walt was never one to replace things, even well after they had worn out.”
She wasn’t wrong.
She put her foot on the first rung of the ladder and started climbing. The move gave me a whole new angle to ogle her ass.
“Dang, when was the last time you cleaned these gutters?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
I scowled. “It was on my to-do list. We get a lot of pine needles out here, what with being in a pine forest, and all.”
“Touché. Hand me the bucket.”
I kept one hand on the ladder, holding it steady, while I handed the bucket up to her. Without gloves and without hesitation, she plunged her hand into the clogged gutter and pulled out a dripping handful of slop.
“Come down and put some gloves on,” I said. “You’re going to hurt your hand.”
“I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder, but there was a shake to her voice.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know, especially not by working harder and not smarter.” An ironic thing to say, given that I was, in fact, trying to prove she couldn’t handle this place. I craved that gotcha moment where I could prove to myself and her I belonged here and she didn’t.
“I’m not an idiot, Grant, you’re putting me through my paces.
Trying to freak out the city girl so she runs off and leaves you to your happy hermit life.
But I’m not going to be run off so easily.
This place was important to Uncle Walt, and so it’s important to me.
” She punctuated her sentence by shoving her hand into the gutter again.