5. Lila
Lila
I accept your generous offer.
Are you sure? I’ve been staring at a box of files for over an hour, and I’m pretty sure I’d like a hellmouth to open up under this cabin and swallow me whole.
Files don’t scare me.
These might.
Never fear, Owen Hebert. I’m gonna make your files my bitch.
As agreed, I’d showed up at the Hebert Timber offices this afternoon. Did I wear a little makeup and my tightest jeans? Why, yes, I did. And No, I did not want to analyze why.
I’d vastly underestimated how much work needed to be done, but seeing Owen cushioned the blow. So did his grateful, enthusiastic acceptance of another honey latte.
We were walking through this week’s priorities—and the list was long—when the alarm on my phone sounded.
With a heavy breath out, I stood and gathered my notebook and pen. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to run. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”
He ran his hands through his hair in a way that I’d already pinned as a nervous habit and checked his phone. “I’ve got some calls scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Could you stay a few minutes longer? If we could get through the rest of the records, I’d feel a lot better.”
I tapped my phone’s screen to check the time again, and my heart sank. I really couldn’t. Lips pursed, I considered him. “Are you busy now?” I asked. “I’ve got to do a few deliveries, but if you come with me, we can talk business in the car.”
He tipped his head back and frowned up at me. “Deliveries?”
I wound my scarf around my neck and tucked my notebook and laptop into my bag. Then I headed for the door. “Come on. It won’t take long.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. His expression was serious, as always, as he scrutinized me, like he was trying to make sense of my suggestion. Then he gave the barest of shrugs as if to say fuck it—in his own classy way, of course—and stood.
Once he’d pocketed his phone and had thrown his coat on, we headed down in the elevator.
All the while, he stole questioning glances at me, but I remained silent.
I enjoyed throwing him off balance a little.
It was kind of hot actually, cracking the cool, calm exterior of the tall, broody businessman.
I had the feeling he wasn’t the kind of guy who was frequently caught off guard.
I could have talked accounting with him all night, but it had been a long winter, and Vic was short-staffed, so I’d promised to help out with deliveries tonight.
We left the building just as the last few rays of sunlight disappeared behind the mountains. I couldn’t help but scan the horizon, in awe of the beauty surrounding us, as I headed toward my car.
Halfway there, I realized Owen was no longer beside me. I spun, finding him staring, slack-jawed, at my minivan.
I smiled and threw one arm out, gesturing to it like I was a game show hostess and the van was a coveted prize. “This baby is a 2002 Chrysler Town & Country. Don’t be intimidated by her grandeur. Priscilla’s just a car.”
Owen blinked, pressing his lips together in a straight line.
I fought back a laugh at the skepticism written all over his face.
I loved my girl. When I found myself back in Maine last year, I needed wheels, and Todd, the owner of the used car dealership in Heartsborough, was a friend of my great-uncle Louis.
There weren’t a ton of options in my price range, but even if there had been, I would have chosen Priscilla.
She was equipped with all-wheel drive, which was necessary up here, and she was roomy.
This was the kind of car I’d wished my mom had driven when I was a kid.
The kind of vehicle the normal kids had, with captain’s chairs and little baskets of snacks and coloring books for long rides to visit relatives for the holidays.
So what if I didn’t have or even want kids? The price had been right, and Priscilla and I had understood each other from day one.
And we’d been blissfully happy together ever since.
“She’s got new brakes and working heat,” I chided. “Get in!”
With a huff, he shuffled toward the passenger door. “What is a single twenty-eight-year-old woman doing driving a minivan?”
“First of all, this beast gets decent gas mileage. Probably a whole lot better than your luxury SUV. Second, she’s got tons of space.
I’ve got stow-and-go seats and everything.
You don’t even know what you’re missing.
” I patted her steering wheel and gave Owen a wink. “Priscilla here is a van-imal.”
The man just stared at me like he worried he might have to have me committed.
“Van-imal,” I repeated. “Get it?”
He bit his lip and smiled, and my stomach dipped.
Damn. I hated how sexy such a subtle movement was.
The last thing I needed was to be attracted to my new boss, who also happened to be my ex’s older brother.
But we were truly past that and now veering into hopeless tween crush territory.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d dig a Lisa Frank notebook out of my mom’s basement when I got home and start doodling his name surrounded in hearts.
“Are you doing home improvement projects?” he asked, peering over his shoulder. “What do you need to transport?”
Shaking my head, I pulled out of the parking lot. “You have so much to learn about Lovewell. Buckle up. You can talk accounting to me while I drive. If we’re gonna be working together, you’ve got to communicate, big guy.”
He slid a hand between the passenger seat and the door, then turned to me, wearing a confused frown.
It took me a moment to understand what the look was for. “Ah. It doesn’t have fancy controls,” I explained. “Just the bar under the seat.”
He leaned forward and grabbed the bar between his feet, and suddenly, his seat slammed all the way back.
I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped me. He was so uncomfortable. I bet Mister Thousand-Dollar Shoes had never even come near a minivan.
With a grunt, he adjusted the seat so he had ample leg room but wasn’t all the way in the second row and buckled his seat belt.
“Where were we in our discussion about the records?” I asked as I took a turn. “Sorry I couldn’t stay any longer. I promised Vic I’d help with deliveries tonight.”
He raised one eyebrow, his full lips pressed in a tight line. “You’re not running drugs, are you?”
I tilted my head and stuck my tongue out at him.
“If I was a drug dealer, I’d probably have a much nicer car.
” I was not sassy by nature. It went against every polite, pleasing instinct I had.
But Owen’s stoic demeanor made me want to roll my eyes and make snarky comments just to get a rise out of him.
He crossed his arms and looked out the windshield. “Fair point.”
I squeezed the steering wheel and sat up a little straighter. “So about those records.”
By the time we reached our destination, we had discussed GAAP, records retention, and the best way to itemize receipts. Despite the professional, big-city rich guy persona, Owen was a pure math nerd, and I was enjoying myself.
I didn’t have anyone in my life to talk about this stuff with.
No one who had professional experience to share.
Outside of school, I’d been alone, doing my thing and learning as much as I could.
Now, though, I had access to a man with decades of experience.
Not only that, but a person who could appreciate my hilarious war stories.
“Where are we?” he asked as I parked along the street in front of an old Victorian in town. It had probably been exquisite in its heyday, but these days, the paint was peeling and a couple of the third-floor windows were boarded up.
An old-fashioned cinder block garage sat at the end of the long driveway. Inside the crumbling stone structure were rows of commercial refrigerators.
“It’s the food pantry. My friend Vic runs it. Her aunt does, actually, but she’s been having health problems and needed a little help.”
The sun had fully set, and when I climbed out of the van, I buried my chin in my scarf to stave off the chill. “Vic moved Down East with her husband years ago, but she got divorced recently and is helping out here for a bit.”
Owen appeared beside me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Do you work here too?”
“Nah,” I said, heading across the street.
“I just volunteer to help with deliveries. Winter is hard. Some people are homebound, and food insecurity is at an all-time high in Maine. Resources are so limited. And the refrigeration garage needs a new roof, so they don’t have enough freezers.
” With a bump to his shoulder, I steered him to the left of the building. “Here, we go in the back.”
He followed me down the ramp into the basement, where dozens of industrial steel shelves were lined with food. It was past closing time, but there were several employees and volunteers scurrying around, cleaning up and organizing all the non-perishable items.
I headed for the front table where patrons checked in and snagged the clipboard sitting on top of a stack of boxes. Each one was labeled with a Post-it detailing the recipient’s name and address.
“I guess I’d forgotten this was here.” He scanned the space, running his hands through his hair.
“That’s convenient,” I quipped without looking up from the delivery list.
Beside me, he cleared his throat.
The sound garnered my attention. Clutching the clipboard to my chest, I studied him as he took in the operation, wide-eyed and maybe a little overwhelmed.
“What I meant to say is that it’s nice that you don’t have to think about this place,” I explained.
“That you’ve never experienced food insecurity.
That you can so easily forget that there are tens of thousands of hungry people in this state.
” I shrugged and swallowed back the indignation that always took over in the presence of people who took such basic needs for granted.
He shifted uncomfortably, his jaw rigid and his gaze unreadable.