Chapter 36
thirty-six
Georgia
With a grocery bag of silk flowers looped around my wrist and two heavy terracotta pots in my hands, I glare down at the wooden deck stairs.
Deck stairs that remain in the same sad state as they were two days ago when Cash made his most recent promise to repair them.
Fed up with having to use the back door and detour around the yard every time I want to access the courtyard, I finally figured out how to navigate the stairs yesterday: skip the first one altogether, keep to the left side of the second, avoid the protruding nails on the third, and you’re home free.
Telling myself this is the last time I’ll have to do this because surely Cash won’t flake on me a fourth time, I grip the pots tighter and aim my left foot for the second step.
Big mistake.
I miscalculate the depth of the wood surface, and without free hands to grab for the railing, my ankle twists under me, and the pots shatter spectacularly against the brick patio.
When I come to a rest, I’m on the ground, somehow still on my feet but with my outstretched hands inches from the bricks, ready to soften the impact.
I blow out a frustrated breath and straighten up, my ankle pinging with pain.
“Shit,” I burst out, surveying the broken pieces of pottery.
I should have taken the extra thirty seconds and walked around the house.
I should have laid the pots down and taken the steps empty-handed.
And Cash should have fixed the stupid steps two weeks ago like he promised.
I glare at the offending stairs. Fuck it, I think with sudden and angry determination, then stomp around to the back door in search of my tool bag. He said it’s a simple project. Why not give it a shot?
Only after I’ve yanked out a pile of hard-fought rusty nails and am fighting with a rotted wooden board that’s stubbornly attached at some unseen angle do I understand Cash meant it’s a simple project for him—a person with extensive experience in construction and home repairs.
Not for a girl who just learned how to use a wrench last week.
But I’ve gotten this far, and I don’t want to nag Cash again despite the hours of work I have ahead of me in the courtyard.
I blow the loose hair out of my face, tighten my grip on the board, plant my feet, and pull with everything I have.
A harsh cracking sound erupts as the board splits, my half nearly free but the other side still stubbornly nailed into place.
“That’s fucking great,” I mutter. Now I have even less material to grab on to. I kick aside the hammer at my feet and step back.
“Georgia?”
Whipping around, I find Aaron standing at the wrought-iron gate that leads to the driveway. “Aaron. Hey.” I brush sweaty strands of hair off my face, wondering how long he’s been standing there and what he heard me muttering to myself. “Didn’t realize you were here.”
“Yeah, sorry to startle you. I just stopped by to check out the yard before spring cleanup.”
“No problem, I was just…” I gesture toward the mess at the stairs. “Playing handywoman, I guess. I’m not very good at it.”
Amusement lights up his face as he glances at the broken step. “Thought I heard some cuss words coming from over here.”
I smile, grateful for his humor. Last time we saw each other, he was trying to figure out whether I was single or engaged.
He must take it as an invitation because he opens the gate and walks into the courtyard, surveying my work without getting too close to me.
“You managed to get the nails out. That’s impressive. ”
“Not all of them, as you can see.”
“What’s your end goal here?”
“Um.” Why in the world did I think I was capable of this? “Rebuilding them.”
His eyebrows shoot up and he nods, either impressed or amused at my foolishness.
“Yeah, it was dumb,” I admit. “I almost fell down them, and I got angry and, well, taking a hammer to them seemed like a good idea.”
“You fell down the steps?” He scans my body with concern.
“Almost. I’m fine. Normally I wouldn’t attempt to fix them, but I’m getting ready for this big family party, and my boyfriend was supposed to repair them a while ago and hasn’t been able—”
“Your boyfriend. The guy from the restaurant?”
I nod. “But he wasn’t my boyfriend then.”
“That’s what you said.” He peers at me, an unreadable look in his eyes. Not anger, but it’s not exactly warm either. Finally, he turns to the steps. “Well, if it needs to be done, let’s get it done.” Simple as that, he picks up the hammer and approaches the stairs.
“Oh. That’s super sweet, but you don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“But aren’t you on the clock?” Belatedly, I notice his green jacket, the one Cash dropped in the mud that afternoon. Guilt mixes with humor at the stain on the chest.
“I got nothing else to do. We’re in the ugly time when the snow’s done for the season, but we haven’t had our last frost yet.”
“Still, I can’t make you do this.”
“Tell you what: I won’t do it. I’ll teach you how to do it.”
Much as I’d hoped to never have to face Aaron again, this idea holds major appeal. And anyway, I needed these stairs done days ago. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Aaron turns out to be a pretty good teacher, though not a hands-on one. He seems more preoccupied with keeping some distance between us than with making sure I learn what to do, which is fine, considering this isn’t a job I plan on repeating.
The horizontal boards and all attached nails have been removed when the gate clanks angrily, iron on iron, and I turn around.
Cash.
As he enters the courtyard, he watches Aaron with the same intensity as that night in the restaurant but without the mischievousness, his brows dark slashes that sit low over his eyes.
“Hey,” I say evenly, getting to my feet.
“Hey.” His eyes flick to mine before settling back on Aaron, who’s still on his knees but staring right back at Cash. “What’s going on back here?”
“Aaron’s helping me with the steps.” I fight the urge to overexplain.
Cash’s chest puffs out as he runs his eyes disdainfully over Aaron, who gets to his feet and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Aaron,” he says, extending his hand to Cash. “We never did meet properly.”
I watch them, tense but fascinated by the interaction. On the surface, Aaron’s nothing but polite, but is there an antagonistic tone to his voice?
Cash must think so because he gives Aaron a hard look, ignoring the offered handshake, before turning to me. “I said I’d take care of this.”
“Well, yeah, but then you didn’t, and I tripped and almost fell flat on my face.” I shrug coolly. I hadn’t planned to make a thing of this, but Cash’s accusatory tone sets me off.
Cash’s lips are a flat line as he stares back at me, his eyes busy on my face. “If I say I’ll do it, you know I will.”
“I needed it done on my time. I tried to do it myself, and Aaron saw me struggling and offered to help. Don’t turn it into something.”
“You tried to do it yourself?”
“She’s pretty handy,” Aaron says generously, tipping his chin at me.
Cash holds up a hand like he’s cutting him off. “Hey, thanks, but I’ve got it from here.”
“Guess that’s my cue,” Aaron says.
I turn to him. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Yes he does,” Cash says coldly.
While Cash and I have a staredown, Aaron snorts and backs away. “Whatever, dude.”
“I’m sorry, Aaron.”
Halfway to the gate now, he gives me a nod. “See you next time, Georgia.”
“No you won’t.” Cash whirls around. “You don’t need to come around here anymore.”
Aaron smirks over his shoulder. “You really got a thing for showing up when you’re not needed, don’t you?”
“Hey, man, when I said I’ve got it from here, I meant get the fuck out of here before I kick your ass.” He advances on Aaron, but it doesn’t take more than my touch before he stops and turns back to me.
Aaron sneaks in some parting words before the gate slams behind him, but I hold Cash in my hard gaze, daring him to take the bait and look away from me.
Only when Aaron’s engine rumbles to life from the driveway do I let go of Cash. “Are you really not embarrassed by how childish that was?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you should be.” I put my hands on my hips. “The guy tries to help me by doing what you refused to—”
“For fuck’s sake, I was going to get it done!”
“Well, excuse me for not anticipating your arrival. Given you’ve failed to show up the last three times to do the job, I figured a pattern had been established.”
He looks away and shakes his head. “I’ve got a lot going on right now. I said I’d help out with the repairs and I will, but maybe cut me a little slack when your rotting deck stairs aren’t my number one priority in life.”
“That’s how you want to play it? Turn it around and act like I have ridiculous expectations when all I asked is that you do what you promised to do at least one of the four times you promised to do it?”
He glares at me. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” I bend to scoop the hammer off the ground. “Glad you could find a little time in your day for me.” I push the hammer into his hands and make for the back of the house to go inside. We’re both too heated for this discussion to end well.
But the hammer clatters to the bricks somewhere behind me, and then Cash is at my back, following me into the house. He doesn’t speak until we’re in the kitchen and the door is closed behind us. Maybe he’s more ready to apologize than I thought.
I lean back against the cabinets at one end of the kitchen, and he does the same on the other. “I have a life, Georgia. Sometimes it’s busy, sometimes it’s not, and you’re going to have to understand that.”
God, this stubborn asshole. “I do understand. If you can’t fix the stupid steps, you can’t fix them.
All I ask is that you tell me so I can hire someone else.
I have a life too, and I realize my little party might not be as important as you preparing for the draft, but it’s pretty damn important to me. You know that.”
“I never said football was more important. You know how much I wish football was my biggest problem?”
Confusion trickles through me, stealing an ounce of my anger. “Then what is?”
He considers me before dropping his eyes to the floor. “Never mind. It’s just family stuff. You wouldn’t—” He stops himself and snaps his head toward me. “I’m sorry.”
I tell myself not to let it hurt. He didn’t mean anything by it. “It’s fine.”
“Look, just trust me,” he says, regaining his ferocity. “I’m dealing with a lot, and it’s got nothing to do with you or how much I care about your party. I care, okay, Georgia? But I’m sorry, I’m busier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Forget the party. It’s not even about the party, it’s about us. Where did you go all of a sudden?” It’s not until I hear myself say it that I acknowledge this is how I’ve felt. Ignored. Confused. Like I’m losing him when he was finally becoming mine.
“I’m here,” he says, wide-eyed. He doesn’t get it.
“No you’re not. You’re not available to me, you’re not telling me what’s going on. You say you’re dealing with so much you can barely respond to a text from me, yet this is the first I’m hearing of it. What’s really going on?” I demand, my voice shrill from fear.
“My sister! That’s what’s going on. My sister is depressed and anxious, and I don’t have a fucking clue how to help her, and I’m scared, Georgia. Okay? Is that enough of a reason for you?”
“Of course. Cash, I…I’m sorry. Why didn’t you just tell me that?” I start to cross the distance to hug him.
“Because it’s not your business,” he spits out.
I stop cold in the middle of the floor, my throat constricting as the words echo in the bright, clean kitchen, piercing me straight in the heart.
For a moment, he only stares at me, maybe as shocked as I am by his words.
Then he bows his head. “I didn’t mean that.
You just have to understand I can’t go sharing my sister’s business.
This stuff cuts deep in our family, and if she wants to tell you, she can, but… ” He shrugs. “I have to protect her.”
“Maybe she would have told me if we were still good friends. But I gave that up for you, remember?”
“And I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You just have to understand.”
I understand. I’m part of his family when he feels sorry for me, when he’s being idealistic and dreamy and believes all he has to do is say the words and they’re true, no matter how fantastical they are.
But I’m not part of his family when things are ugly or scary or when I’m getting on his nerves.
And when life gets hard and his family rallies together and closes ranks, I’m on the outside.