Chapter 7
7
PORTIA
T he screen door was going to be the death of me.
I gritted my teeth, trying for the third time to wedge the hinge back into place, but it wouldn’t catch. It was a stupid problem, one I should be able to fix, but after the night I’d had, my patience was running thin. Between Seth’s friends stirring up old wounds and the whole town suddenly talking about me like I was front-page news, this door was about to become collateral damage. I was so focused on my battle that I didn’t hear footsteps until a low voice cut through the quiet.
“That door do something to piss you off, or are you just taking your aggression out on it?”
I jumped, whipping around to find Dean standing on my porch, sunglasses on and biceps bulging in the tight black T-shirt he was wearing. He looked unfairly at ease, watching me with that unreadable expression of his, like I’d just confirmed something he already suspected.
I exhaled, frustrated. “It came off when I opened it too fast. I was going to fix it, but apparently, it wants to fight me first.”
Dean didn’t say anything, just stepped forward and reached for the door like it had already been decided that he was handling it. I hesitated for half a second before moving aside, watching as he studied the hinge.
The last thing I wanted was him saving the day again. I hated being dependent on anyone. I hated that I needed him to help me fix this stupid door.
“You’re using the wrong screwdriver,” he said after a moment, his tone flat. “This one’s stripping the screws.”
I bristled, feeling foolish. Of course, I was doing it wrong. “It’s not my screwdriver. This is a rental, and I found it in a kitchen drawer.”
He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised, like he was not sure whether to believe me. “You’re telling me you don’t own a single tool?”
“I own plenty of tools,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. “They’re just in storage right now, okay? I didn’t exactly plan on needing a full toolbox when I moved back here. It’s a rental. I wasn’t aware I also had to be the handyman.”
Dean didn’t respond, just shook his head and pulled a multi-tool from his belt. He got to work, his hands moving with practiced ease, like this was just another piece of machinery he knew inside and out. I held the door steady, trying not to get in his way, but it was hard not to notice the way his forearms flexed. The way he smelled like oil and that familiar citrus smell that I now knew was the soap in the shop. I looked away before I could start thinking about how attractive he was.
“You’re holding it crooked,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence.
I glared at him. “I’m holding it just fine.”
“You’re not,” he said, stepping closer to adjust my grip. His hand brushed mine. I felt a jolt of something I couldn’t quite name. “There. Now it’s straight.”
I didn’t say anything, just focused on keeping the door steady as he tightened the screws. The silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward. I couldn’t help but feel like he was judging me. Like he was thinking about how I couldn’t even fix a simple door on my own.
When he finished, he stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “There. Should hold for now.”
I let go of the door, testing it to make sure it was secure. It swung open and shut without a problem. “Thanks,” I said, a bit of an edge in my tone I wished I could get rid of. He did do me a favor, even if he was a bit of a jerk about it.
Dean should leave. That was what I expected. Instead, his gaze flicked to the plate sitting on the porch railing, covered with a napkin.
“You bribing the door with cookies?”
I couldn’t help but snort. “They were for Alexis. But I guess I could spare one for the guy who just kept me from breaking my own rental.”
I lifted the napkin, revealing the batch of still-warm snickerdoodles. The offer was casual. It was just a cookie. Why did I feel so weird about it? Then, without a word, he reached out, took one, and took a slow bite.
I watched, waiting for some kind of reaction, but Dean’s expression remained carefully neutral as he chewed.
I smirked. “Careful, Jackson. You almost looked like you enjoyed that.”
Dean rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth like it was an obligation, not a choice. “Get your door under control, Watson. I’m not making this a habit.”
He turned and walked away before I could respond.
I watched him go, debating what kind of retort I could throw at him.
He was halfway down the driveway before I called out, “Maybe next time I’ll just let it fall on me. That way you can swoop in and play hero again.”
Dean stopped, turning slightly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think that door is going to take you down,” he quipped before walking away.
He left me standing there with a stupid cookie in my hand and a mess of emotions I didn’t want to unpack. My retort didn’t have the intended effect.
I should go inside, should clean up, and put the rest of the cookies away, but I lingered there on the porch a little longer, watching him walk away.
When did he get so hot? Was I actually attracted to a man I had always thought of as out of my league? Not just out of my league, out of everything. He was Dean Jackson. Much older than I was. At least when I was sixteen, he was a lot older. But now, I supposed the playing field was a little more balanced. Maybe Alexis was right and there was something to the idea of dating men that were a little older than I would normally be interested in.
I snatched the plate off the railing. Before the fight with the screen door, I was on my way out. Alexis was probably thinking I got lost.
As if that was possible in this little town.
I shoved the cookies into a tin, grabbed my keys, and headed out, the screen door slamming shut behind me. The late afternoon air was warm, the kind of sticky heat that clung to your skin. Larkspur Lake was quiet, making me feel like everyone was watching even if they weren’t. I kept my head down, walking briskly down the cobblestone path that led to Main Street.
Alexis answered the door on the second knock, her hair tied up in a messy bun and a measuring tape draped around her neck.
“There you are,” she said. “I thought you may have decided to lounge by the lake.”
“I didn’t want to get eaten by the bugs,” I said.
She laughed. “You get used to it. You were used to it before.”
I curled my lips. “I was young and didn’t know any better.”
She eyed the cookie tin in my hand, then smirked. “Are those what I think they are?”
“I brought snickerdoodles.”
She raised an eyebrow but stepped aside to let me in. “Okay, spill. What happened? You only bake when you’re stressed.”
I put the tin on her coffee table and flopped down on the couch. “Nothing happened. I mean, not really. It’s just… Dean.”
“Dean Jackson?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Dean Jackson.”
“So, what’d he do? Aside from being hot and manly?”
“He fixed the screen door.”
“Tragic,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “You poor thing.”
I threw a pillow at her. “It was embarrassing, okay? I couldn’t even get the screws to turn.”
“Let me guess. He swooped in like some kind of denim-clad knight?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I mumbled, heat rising to my cheeks.
She gave me a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”
I snatched one of the cookies. “It’s so hot.”
“Speaking of hot, how was your date last night?”
I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t a date,” I groaned, pulling a pillow over my face. “It was a nightmare. He made me work in his shop. His actual motorcycle shop.”
Alexis’s eyes widened. “No way. Like, fixing bikes?”
“Trying to,” I admitted. “I spent the entire evening covered in grease, wearing these ridiculous oversized coveralls while he smirked at my incompetence. I couldn’t tell a wrench from a screwdriver.”
“So romantic,” Alexis teased, grabbing a cookie from the tin.
“It wasn’t supposed to be romantic! I was just trying to explain that I didn’t mean to bid on him, and the next thing I know, he’s telling me he paid the twenty thousand dollars and expected me to work it off.”
“He paid it?” Alexis nearly choked on her cookie. “Dean Jackson actually covered your bid?”
I nodded miserably. “Yeah, and now I feel like I owe him, which is exactly what he wants. He’s probably sitting in that big house of his, laughing about how he made the city girl fumble around with engine parts.”
“Or,” Alexis said thoughtfully, “maybe he was just being nice.”
I snorted. “Dean Jackson doesn’t do nice. He does smug and condescending.”
“And yet he paid twenty grand for you not to be embarrassed, taught you about engines, and just fixed your door.”
I sighed and shook my head. “It wasn’t all bad until Seth and his friends showed up.”
Alexis’s expression changed immediately. “Seth was there? With his dipshit crew?”
“Yeah,” I said and reached for another cookie. “They strolled in like they owned the place. Beer in hand, the whole nine yards. And of course, they couldn’t resist taking a few shots at me.”
“God, they’re still such jerks,” Alexis muttered. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened? They made comments, laughed about the article, asked why I was really back in town. Same old Seth and his band of idiots. One of them even suggested…” I trailed off, not wanting to repeat the crude comment.
Alexis’s eyes narrowed. “What did they say?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. It was just stupid guy talk. But Dean shut it down pretty fast.”
“Dean defended you?” Alexis leaned forward, suddenly more interested.
“He kind of got all caveman and got in Matt’s face. Told him to apologize. Said no one disrespects a guest in his shop.” I couldn’t help the small smile. “It was kind of—I don’t know.”
“Hot,” she finished for me. “And then what happened?”
“I left. Took off the coveralls and walked out. I wasn’t about to stick around once those chuckleheads were there. It’s good to see some things never change.”
Alexis leaned back. “Dean’s always been protective, especially when it comes to Seth and his idiots. Doesn’t surprise me he shut it down. What does surprise me is that you didn’t.”
I shot her a look. “Dean shut them up. What was I supposed to do?”
“You used to have no problem standing up to Seth,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, well, that was before I became the town’s favorite failure,” I muttered, brushing cookie crumbs off my lap. “It’s harder to act all tough when everyone already thinks you’re a joke.”
Alexis frowned. “Portia, no one thinks that. You’re just… regrouping. It happens to everyone.”
“Not to you,” I said, not looking at her. “You’ve got your shop, your life here. You didn’t have to come crawling back with a big L on your forehead.”
“I never left,” she pointed out. “Who cares what anyone thinks? So what if things didn’t work out in the city? That doesn’t mean you’re done. It just means you’re figuring out your next move. And this place isn’t so bad.”
“There’s just a lot of bad memories here.”
“Maybe it’s time you make some new memories here. Good ones.” She shrugged. “Maybe with a gruff biker who defended you.”
I rolled my eyes but the idea wasn’t entirely off putting. Dean was trouble, a complicated man who never let anyone get close to him, but he was so damn hot, maybe he was worth a little trouble.