3. Ian
THREE
IAN
I go on carting Tess’s boxes and bags into her house, shutting down every stupid thought trying to creep into my brain.
This doesn’t change anything. It can’t .
These thoughts are reflexive, that’s all. I’ve barely spoken with a woman who wasn’t a relative or a nurse in the last two years. The most naturally beautiful woman I’ve seen in possibly my entire life moves in next door, thoughts are going to crop up.
Just have to find a way to ignore them. Somehow.
“That one goes in the kitchen, too,” Tess calls from behind me.
I set the box on the counter and read Cake pans, sheet pans written neatly on top.
She catches me inspecting it. “My family owns the bakery in town.”
That explains all the extra stuff in the kitchen. Amy has the places pretty well outfitted, but you’d never know it from the assortment of fresh boxes Tess brought along.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in there.” Her smile threatens to knock the air out of my lungs, and I have to look away.
It’s a hint at a question I should just ignore. Finish this task Amy gave me and go on with my day. But since up until half an hour ago my day entirely consisted of throwing a stick for my dog and taking a nap, I respond.
“I don’t go into town much.”
Back in Durango, I couldn’t even go to the grocery store without running into someone I knew. Someone who would give me too-cheerful encouragement or thinly-masked sympathy about my accident. Usually both. There are only so many times someone can tell me I’m a “fighter” before I crack. Eventually, I stopped going out. Didn’t see any reason to change when I moved here.
Tess doesn’t seem deterred. “Well, next time you do, you should stop in. I’ll give you a cupcake on the house.”
Of course it would be cupcakes. I’ve been around her less than an hour, and it’s clear the woman is sweetness personified. It could be an act, but I used to be able to read people pretty well. From her interactions with her son, me, even the dog, she’s been nothing but gentle and warm-hearted.
For the first time in a long while, a twinge of regret hits me for how sour I’ve become. But instead of shifting gears, I dig in my heels. Things will be easier for everyone if I stay the course.
“I’m watching my figure.”
Her gaze darts down to my chest and slips over my arms before popping back up to meet my eyes. My skin warms from her quick glance, even though her expression gives nothing away.
It’s not like I care what she thinks of my body. If I had shorts on, she’d only notice my prosthesis, anyway.
A hint of what she thinks wouldn’t hurt.
“When you have a cheat day, then.”
My impulse is to reject the offer. I’ve refused nearly every request Amy’s made of me since I got here. I don’t go into town, I don’t browse the shops, and I don’t chit chat with gorgeous, impossibly soft-looking women.
“Maybe,” comes out of my mouth anyway.
She beams as though I delivered her a solemn promise.
We walk back out to her car to get the last of their things. For starting out packed to the gills, they didn’t bring much beyond clothes, some toys, and baking supplies. Then again, neither did I, but I don’t need much. Seems like a family would have a whole lot more with them.
Makes me wonder if she’s getting out of a bad situation. A hot spike of protectiveness runs through me, but I tell it to calm down with the heroics. I’m proof looks don’t count for anything, but nothing about her makes it seem like she’s running from something. The only thing I can see causing her any anxiety is me.
The way her gaze keeps darting to me like she’s waiting for me to do or say something crazy has got me rethinking my Neanderthal-chic look.
“Is this it?” I ask, arms full of reusable tote bags loaded with stuffed animals and soft blankets.
“For now.” She pulls the last bag from the rear section not occupied by a booster seat. “If we forgot anything we need, I can always drive across town and get it later.”
“Flexible landlord.” Pretty sure most expect you to move out everything you own when you leave. Mine did. Although he was more upset about me breaking my lease than anything I might have left behind.
“Oh no, we lived with—” She flinches, and her answer fades into strained laughter.
That spike goes through me again, but this time it’s colored with jealousy. Completely inappropriate, but here all the same, flashing bright green.
“Your ex-husband?” I suggest in a flat voice. I’m not asking for details. Don’t need them.
She cringes. “No. Definitely not.”
I shrug. “Ex-boyfriend, then.”
She lifts the hand not holding the bag. “No. It’s nothing like that. We just, uh…”
After the interrogations complete strangers have seen fit to impose on me when they catch a glimpse of my leg, I try not to ask too many questions. I don’t want to be that guy nosing into sensitive topics. But Tess’s reluctance to give a straight answer about where she used to live piques my curiosity.
She piques my curiosity, something I’m actively trying to ignore. Failing horribly, but trying.
“Are you escaping some kind of cult situation?”
The sound that bursts out of her is half gasp, half laugh. “No! Gosh! We lived with my mother and sister, okay? Nothing as exciting as a cult.”
Her cheeks grow pink, but there has to be more to it than that. If she had any idea how many climbers I knew well into their thirties and forties who funded their lifestyle by living with their parents, she wouldn’t be half so embarrassed.
But I don’t say any of that. I just nod and carry her bags into the house.
“Thank you for all your help,” she says as soon as I’ve set down her things. “It went so much quicker than if I’d been working alone.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’d offer you something cold to drink, but I don’t have any food yet. We’re going to the grocery store as soon as we finish up here. I could bring you something by after we get back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I start to move closer to the door. I don’t need this many thanks for lugging a few things inside for her. Especially not when it’s taking all my focus to keep my eyes off her.
“If you ever want suggestions of places to go in town or outdoorsy activities around?—”
“I don’t.” My “outdoorsy activities” days are long gone.
Her smile falters, and I regret my sharp tone. But I don’t need another person trying to convince me how great life can be if I just get back out there and give it a try. I’d rather stick to socializing exclusively with my dog.
“Right. Because of when you were here before.”
Her cheeks go pink again, but I can’t connect why. Must be the warm day—temperature’s creeping up, and on a clear day like this it feels hotter than it really is. Almost makes me wish I wasn’t wearing sweatpants. But I’m not that much of a masochist.
I step out onto the porch and find Dutch cuddled up with her kid. You’d think I ignore the poor dog all day, the way he’s eating up the attention.
“I love your dog, Mister.” The kid gazes up at me, his eyes the same bright blue as his mom’s.
“His name is Ian ,” Tess says from behind me. “And it’s time for Dutch to go home.”
“Dutch is my new best friend.”
Tess’s laugh rings out, tempting me to turn around to witness it. I want to see her wide smile and the crinkles around her eyes. But I keep my focus on my front door. Stay the course.
“I saw that coming,” she says. “You make best friends everywhere.”
Her voice is threaded with so much love, everything inside me itches to tilt toward her like a sunflower. Makes sense she’d live in a town called Sunshine. She’s made of the stuff.
It’s got to be the isolation making me think these ridiculous thoughts. Her softness and sweetness are a novelty, nothing more. She’s not directing that affection toward me.
If she did, though, I’d be worse than Dutch, eagerly eating up her crumbs.
I push open my front door and whistle for my dog. He stands, and the little boy gives him one last hug before he trots over.
“See you later, boy!” August calls.
“Go wash your hands so we can go to the grocery store,” Tess tells him. As soon as he runs inside their half of the duplex, she turns her attention to me. “Thank you again for helping me with all the?—”
“It’s not a problem.” But it will be if she thanks me again.
She purses her lips, and we have a brief stare down. Too bad for her, I have a lot of practice with out-staring people these days.
Finally, she takes a step backward into her apartment. I won—but can’t celebrate.
“We’ll see you around, Ian.”
Almost sounds like a threat.