CHAPTER 14
“Hey, Hudson?”
Hudson looked over from where he’d been working in the living room. He’d managed to get a lot of work done, here and there, at Willa’s house. There was the usual emergency work that had interrupted, but he’d managed to see her for at least an hour or two daily for nearly two weeks. He was grateful that she’d been so patient.
It was becoming clear that seeing her was the highlight of his day, and he needed to think about why that was the case—and what to do about it.
She was wearing a pair of loose cargo pants and a T-shirt advertising some kind of food festival in California from a few years before. It had a drawing of vegetables dancing on it, like the snack foods in those old movie-intermission ads. Her short hair was pulled into two low pigtails. The funny thing was, she’d obviously put the pigtails in as a way to keep it out of the way. The fact that it was adorable probably hadn’t crossed her mind.
Not in a pick-me way, as his daughter would’ve pointed out. Willa was this mix of oblivious and no nonsense, he’d realized. She didn’t try and tempt him.
She didn’t have to.
He’d catch glimpses of her sometimes, when he walked past the kitchen. She’d started fiddling around with food, and the house smelled amazing. She’d hum, and he didn’t think she knew, but she danced as she worked, her hips swiveling to an unheard beat as she sliced peppers. She’d do a vague hip pop as she browned meat in a cast-iron skillet.
For a woman in sweats, essentially making a stew, she made the whole thing look outrageously sexy.
His body tightened, and he ignored it, as he’d done since he’d started working here. Just about since he’d met her, if he was being honest.
“Need something?” he finally responded, when he was sure his smile was just friendly and not Hey, let’s go have dinner and see what happens .
“Oh! No, I don’t need anything,” she said immediately. “It’s just ... you’ve been working here since nine, and it’s been hours.”
“Oh?” Did she want him to leave, or something?
“Well ... I mean, I thought you might be hungry?” She bit the corner of her lip. That slayed him. “So I, ah, thought I’d make you some lunch.”
He grinned slowly. She didn’t look at him—deliberately, it seemed—and her throat was flushed. Her apple-round cheeks were pink too.
He wasn’t sure if she was as aware of him as he was of her, but he was fairly certain she felt something.
He suppressed a chuckle at the two of them. It was kind of ridiculous. He was forty-two, and he was fairly certain she was in her forties. But here they were, acting like teenagers. He certainly couldn’t remember feeling like this in ages. He wondered, absently, what her story was.
“I’d love some lunch.” He followed her into the kitchen.
“Do you like ham and cheese? Pickles? Mustard?”
“Sure.”
He watched as she frowned thoughtfully, that little mouth of hers pursing like a perfect little rosebud as she considered options. “You ever had a Cubano sandwich?”
“Can’t say as I have.”
She nodded. “Okay. I just made some carnitas, which isn’t necessarily standard, but it’s close, so that should work,” she muttered. She went to the fridge and pulled out an armful of ingredients, then a cutting board. “I’ll slice it, instead of the usual shredding it, but it should still work. I don’t have a plancha, either, but I think I can fake it.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he still enjoyed watching her. She hummed softly, and there was a grace to the way she moved. Almost like a dance. He wondered, absently, what kind of music she liked. If she danced.
If she’d like to dance with him.
As he watched her carve slices from the pork, he realized that he was sweating. He’d been wrestling with fixing what turned out to be a problem with one of the HVAC vents, and in the summer heat, it’d been no joke. His face was soaked. Without thinking, he pulled the hem of his T-shirt up, wiping the sweat off.
He heard rather than saw that hiss of pain and quickly dropped his shirt. “Willa?”
She had her finger in her mouth and the knife over the sink. “I didn’t get blood on any of the ingredients,” she quickly reassured him.
“I don’t give a damn about that,” he shot back, concerned. “What happened?”
“I ... um, wasn’t paying attention. Knife slipped,” she said.
He washed his hands, then took her finger in his hand. It didn’t look too deep, but blood welled. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
She nodded. “In the cabinet by the fridge.”
“This one?” He guessed correctly, pulling it out. “You washed your hand?”
“I can take care of it,” she countered. “I don’t ...”
“I can’t tell you how many times I had to do this for the kids,” he said, sidetracking her argument and shepherding her against the counter. “I’m a pro, basically.”
She looked a cross between confused and amused. “Practically a doctor.”
He took a deep breath. She smelled like the soap they made at the farm: sweet floral and honey. He wondered if she’d smell like honey right there, at the juncture of her collarbone and her throat.
He really needed to get it together. This was important.
Frowning at himself, he examined the cut again. He cleaned it with an antiseptic wipe, causing her to hiss again. “Sorry,” he said, hating that he’d caused her any hurt, even if it was necessary. Then he daubed the whole thing with some ointment before carefully wrapping it with a bandage. “Not too tight?”
“No,” she said, her tone breathless.
They stared at each other for a second, and he felt his heart beating, just that much faster. It was ridiculous, but he was here for it.
“Let me finish the sandwich, then,” he said. “Why don’t you keep that elevated and sit down—”
That seemed to snap her out of it. “No!” Then she blushed . “I mean ... no, it’s fine. I’ve been cut way worse and still cooked a six-course meal.”
“You’re a chef?”
“No. It’s kind of a long story.” She shook her head. “I’ll put on a latex glove, and I’ll be good.” She frowned. “Unless you’d rather I ...”
“Can we stop this?” he finally asked, with a laugh.
“Stop . . . what?”
“We’re falling over each other, trying to be so careful,” he said. “I’m a simple guy. I like you, I like talking with you. I would love for you to make me a sandwich if you’re offering. I like this house, and I’m glad you’re letting me help you with it.”
“I hired you!” she said, but there was a laugh there, even if her eyes looked inexplicably wild.
“Whatever. The bottom line is, you don’t have to worry about what I’m thinking. I’ll probably offend you. I’m not exactly smooth, or suave, or whatever. But I’ll tell you if I’m upset about something, or if something’s a bother, and I’ll definitely want you to do the same, okay?”
“Um ...” She looked uncomfortable. “I’m glad. That you’re going to be honest with me, I mean.”
He laughed. “And you’re going to . . . ?”
“I think if I was that straightforward,” she said ruefully, “my mother would somehow physically transport herself up from Irvine and strangle me.”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, because she just made him feel better. Without thinking, he pulled her hand up, giving the bandage a quick kiss.
She stared at him like he’d sucked on her finger. Which ... well, if it didn’t have the bandage on it, would’ve been really, really tempting.
“Sorry,” he lied. “Habit.”
She nodded mutely. Then she shook her head, like she was trying to shake off a cobweb. “Right. Lunch.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit. You’re distracting me,” she said with a shy smile.
“Yes, ma’am.” He went to the table and sat down, still watching her.
“And quiet,” she said.
He considered playing with her, drawing her into conversation, but he didn’t want her to cut herself again, or burn herself. She pulled out two pans and put them on burners to heat. He watched as she assembled the sandwich, slathered it in butter, and then put it in one pan while pressing it down with the other. Within a matter of minutes, she had what looked like a restaurant-quality sandwich in front of him. When he took a bite, he moaned, closing his eyes. “This is so fucking good .”
When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him. He realized he’d cursed, and winced. Not only was it unprofessional, probably, but it was just ... not classy.
Willa struck him as really classy. He cursed internally this time.
Not that he realistically had a chance. Not that he was even sure what he’d do if he had a chance.
But she looked down at the table, and then smiled. “Thank you,” she said. With a fierce, quiet pride. “I like feeding people.”
He tilted his head. “I don’t get you.”
Her gaze popped up. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just ... you’re interesting.”
Her laugh was short, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I assure you, I’m not.”
“Do you like the island?”
She nodded. “I like that the water’s so close,” she said. “And that it’s small. And I’d only been here a few times before, but I always loved the farmhouse.”
“Are you considering staying or selling?” he asked, giving her time to answer his question while he continued to eat what was arguably one of the best sandwiches he’d ever had in his life.
“I haven’t quite gotten that far,” she said quietly, resting her head on her hand, her gaze unfocused, like she was looking at options in her mind. “Selling’s plan B, but plan A’s really hard, so ... I don’t know. One thing at a time, you know?”
He couldn’t remember how many times he’d told himself that as the kids were growing up. When Amanda had left and he was struggling with managing them and feeling the loss of the marriage, the fact that he was living with his parents and toddler twins on island. Seeing his dreams of being a restoration expert vanish.
“Yeah,” he finally said, with feeling. “I get you.”
They chatted about less loaded subjects as he finished his meal. Finally, he pushed back, feeling full, just this side of food coma. “That,” he said, “was awesome. Thank you.”
“It’s really nothing,” she said, and when he quirked an eyebrow at her, she chuckled. “Really. If it were my A game, I’d have made the pan Cubano from scratch, and the pickles. Maybe even the mustard.”
He whistled. “Damn. Must be hard to impress you.”
“Nah.” She smiled at him. “When it’s just me, I’ve been known to eat ramen noodles with a slice of American cheese.”
“What the hell?” he couldn’t help but blurt out, and she laughed.
“It’s when I’m tired, don’t worry,” she said. “Or when I get a craving.”
“You like barbecue?” he found himself asking.
The idea had been brewing for a while, but he hadn’t known how to get an opening. Now, he had the opportunity ... and he was shooting his shot.
“I love barbecue,” she said. “There’s just something about it, you know? Even backyard barbecue tastes better.”
“Great.” He smiled. “My family has a barbecue every year. You should come.”
Just like that, her smile fell. “Wait, what?”
“It’s no big deal, but it’s next weekend. It’s a little early, but the Fourth lands during the week,” he said. “It won’t be too crowded, but there will be plenty of islanders there. Good way to meet your neighbors,” he coaxed.
“But . . . I mean, they don’t know me . . .”
“This way they will.”
She bit her lip again. God, he wanted to do that.
He pulled out the big guns. “My parents would love to meet the woman I’ve been telling them about,” he said, gauging her reaction. When she blanched, he backed off, adding, “Because I’ve been working here. And they knew your great-aunt.”
“Oh,” she said softly.
“It’d mean a lot to me,” he finally said. “Please?”
She stared at him. “Okay.”
He wanted to jump up, fist pump. It just meant a lot . He wasn’t lying.
“Perfect.” He loaded the plate in the dishwasher. Then he retreated, hoping he hadn’t pressured her too much. He still wasn’t sure where he thought today would go—really hadn’t planned on admitting as much as he had, probably because he hadn’t really admitted it to himself until it was ridiculously obvious that there was something there. But just because they had this goofy, magnetic, almost ... well, he’d describe it as sweet ... attraction to each other didn’t mean that it would go anywhere. He just knew that it felt like it was more than physical, different from the things he’d allowed himself to feel in the past. His marriage had been too early and too immature, and the one relationship he’d tried, with Sylvia, had been too stressed and had too many problems on both sides.
Now, at his age and where he was in his life, things could be different. He was willing to try.
Then again, maybe she’d sell ... and maybe that was the best thing for them. But for now, he’d take this small step forward, even if he wasn’t sure what path they were on. Or if they were even on the same path.