Chapter 9
DUDE, I WANT THAT.
BILLIE
Tammy, that little bitch, couldn’t leave me the fuck alone, could she? How does that stupid pig always know when I’m around? She has it out for me, I fucking know it. I swear, she smirked when she jumped in a puddle and splashed my all-white outfit, looking all smug and shit. How dare she?
Maybe this is what I get for trying to make myself look presentable since the weekend that altered my brain chemistry less than a month ago. I should know better than to try wearing white, though. What was I thinking?
Oh, I know. I was thinking I could make a little effort, maybe meet someone I can talk to about something more than floor plans or schedules or who forgot to show up at what job site.
I love my work. I love the people I work with. They’ve become some of my closest friends, and normally that’s more than enough for me.
But he let me sample something I can’t have all the time, and now I’m… I don’t know what I am. It’s like I’ve been having peanut butter all my life, and it’s great. I love peanut butter. Peanut butter is awesome.
And then he gave me a taste of Nutella, and I’m like, dude, I want that. All the time. But I can’t have it. It’s not good for you and too sugary and all that shit.
It’s a treat. It’s not a full meal. It’s not even a healthy snack.
I had my treat, and I need to move on. Except now I can’t stop thinking about him.
Peter.
I’m trying to, though. That’s what I was doing today. I curled my hair, which was stupid because it went back to being straight the moment I stepped outside. I dressed in something other than jeans and a T-shirt.
Okay, so I’m still in jeans, but they’re cute, wide-legged white jeans, and my striped tank top is tastefully see-through, but now both of them are ruined, thanks to this three-hundredish-pound jerk who decided to stop in the middle of the road and not let me drive past. I got out of the truck, hoping to lure Tammy toward the farm, where she belongs.
The second I was close enough, she jumped into a muddy puddle and covered me in sludge.
Now my outfit is ruined, my hair is frizzy, and I’m late.
Well, I was already late, but now I’m like late late.
I texted Neve, my best friend, to rescue me.
I asked if she has extra clothes at the gathering I’m supposed to be at with her.
Of course she doesn’t, because who brings extra clothes anywhere?
It’s fine. She’ll meet me in the driveway and help me figure this mess out.
I wish I wasn’t going to be meeting our client for the first time.
Neve and I have been working on this house for months. Darcy is her client, since she’s the interior designer, but she brought me on as general contractor on the project. She’s handled all communication with him, keeping things simple since he’s from away and lives in Toronto.
Her boyfriend, Leo, did all the custom cabinetry.
He’s incredibly talented, and we’ve been lucky enough to work together on a few projects since he moved here from Toronto a few months ago.
We’re a tight team, and it turns out we work well together.
We have great trust and communication, and I’m super proud of what we’ve built individually and collectively.
The cottage looks amazing. The interior work is finished, and all we have left to do now is the guesthouse and a few other things in the backyard.
I’m going to be seeing a lot of this guy, now he’s here, and I was hoping to make a good first impression.
Neve speaks so highly of him, and so does her boyfriend, Leo, who happens to be his best friend.
By the time I reach the house, the driveway is full of cars, but thankfully, no one is around. Neve comes rushing out, with Leo hot on her heels.
“Bill,” she gasps as she reaches me. “Are you okay? Here, come in the side door.”
I follow her, thankful not to be walking through the front door looking like this, and remembering there’s a sink in the mudroom. Thank goodness.
Neve fusses over me as much as she can without touching me. There’s so much mud.
“I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Tammy, that asshole pig, has it out for me, I swear to fuck. I’m gonna make bacon out of that fat bastard.”
Leo has enough sense to hold back his laughter, but I can see it in his eyes. He wants to let it out. Badly. Traitor.
When I reach for the faucet, I do hear laughter, followed by, “Sorry, did you say a pig has it out for you? And you’re going to turn it into bacon? That’s hilarious!”
Every part of my body goes rigid as I lift my eyes to the owner of the laugh that sent a shiver down my spine and the voice I’ve wished I could hear again for weeks.
I force my eyes upward to confirm what I think is happening is really happening, when he lets out a loud, “Elizabeth?”
I’m barely breathing when I whisper, “Holy shit. Peter.”