27. Lila
Lila
Despite it being May third, I was snuggled up in a cardigan and old sweats and drinking hot tea. Outside, it was still cold and cloudy, and the mountains in the distance were still capped with snow.
It had been a while since Mom and I had time to just be together. We’d both been working so much that I’d barely seen her in months.
As much as I couldn’t wait to start my life somewhere else, the knowledge that my time with her was running out made my heart heavy. I’d moved back here to help her, to spend time with her, and I’d failed at it miserably.
Because the weather was getting us both down, all the movies we’d lined up for our Hallmark movie marathon were set at the beach or in other sunny locations.
We’d pulled out all our favorite snacks and planned to do nothing but snuggle and zone out all afternoon.
Despite my mother’s protests, I’d gone to work this morning, and my feet were aching from a busy shift at the diner and my mind was spinning with thoughts of Owen.
In the week since we’d returned from Boston, I’d been unsuccessful in putting emotional distance between us. If anything, the incident yesterday had brought us even closer.
My mom was making popcorn when tires crunched on the gravel out front.
I hauled myself off the couch and peered through the curtains.
Instantly, I had to do a double take. Owen had parked his Audi next to my van in our tiny driveway.
Just the sight of him had my heart pounding out a joyful rhythm in my chest.
I was bare faced and wearing old sweats. They weren’t the cute kind of sweats that made my ass look great. No, these were an oversized pair that were extra soft and terribly faded from hundreds of washes.
Could I hide in my room? Pretend I wasn’t home? Even as my heart leaped at his presence, my stomach knotted.
God, I was regressing. This man had appeared, and suddenly, I’d been reduced to an insecure teenager.
“Who’s out front, sweetie?” Mom called from the kitchen.
Without responding, I grabbed a fleece from the hook beside the front door, stuffed my feet into a pair of wellies, and headed outside. Obviously, my desire to see him had won out over my vanity.
When I opened the door, he smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to intrude. I know it’s girls’ day. I just wanted to check on you.”
My stomach dipped at his thoughtfulness. And did he have to be so damn attractive?
“And I wanted to drop these off.” He leaned into the car and stretched over to the passenger seat. When he straightened, he was holding a small pink box tied haphazardly with string.
I wandered out to meet him and took it. Immediately, I was hit with the most heavenly smell.
“They’re gluten-free scones. Cranberry orange.” He ducked his head and kicked at the dirt with a well-worn work boot I’d never seen him wear. “I figured they would go well with your tea.”
I cocked my head and frowned, processing his words. “Did you—” I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed, hoping when I spoke again, my voice wouldn’t sound so crazed. “Did you make these?”
He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Got a good recipe on the internet. Not a big deal.”
I blinked, as if that would somehow make this make sense. “You baked for me?” My inner lovesick teen girl was squealing with delight.
“I thought you could use a cozy fire too.” He rounded his car and opened the hatch. “So I brought firewood.”
He loaded his arms with logs and carried them toward the backyard.
I took a moment to center myself before I said or did something stupid. This man had shown up to my house bearing homemade gluten-free baked goods and firewood?
Was I asleep? Was this some kind of Hallmark-induced fever dream?
I followed him, finding him neatly lining up the logs. I was frozen to the spot, unsure I could trust my legs not to give out on me, when he passed me and headed back to his car.
“Go inside,” he said when he returned with an axe. “It’s cold out.”
“It’s forty-five degrees. That’s bikini weather in Maine.”
He froze his efforts to set up a log and looked up at me, a full smile spreading across his face. “Do you want to put on a bikini, then? I won’t object.” With a wink, he went back to the task at hand.
I stepped forward, wobbling as my boot caught on the loose paver.
A wink.
Owen Hebert, Mr. Super Serious Corporate Bossman, just winked at me.
And it caused my legs to stop working properly.
I knew what he was capable of. I’d gotten a taste in Boston. But I was beginning to think that was only the beginning. That he had more sexy layers for me to peel back.
“Where did you get those?” I asked with a nod at the small pile of logs, desperate to change the subject and recover my dignity.
“My family owns a timber company.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and bit back a huff. “Okay. Wrong question. Why did you bring them here?”
“Your mom mentioned that you’d run out of firewood.” He shrugged, still focused on the task at hand. “I wanted you to have a nice day.”
Jesus. There was no recovering from this man. Distance and professionalism were not getting the job done. If I wasn’t certain that my mother was spying on us through the kitchen window right now, I’d be dry humping his leg already.
“Go inside,” he demanded, holding out the axe in my direction like he was pointing at me.
I shivered. Not because of the cold. Nope. But because that deep, bossy register unlocked some deep, primal muscle memory. I was fairly certain the responding fluttering in my belly was my ovaries spontaneously ovulating.
As I shuffled up the back stairs and into the warm kitchen, I found my mother standing by the sink and smiling maniacally at me.
“Don’t say a word.”
She laughed. “I’m just here for the show.”
I set the scones on the counter, ready to protest, but then, outside the window, movement caught my eye.
Owen began unbuttoning his dress shirt, and I lost the ability to speak.
He carefully shrugged out of it and draped it over the deck railing, then he stepped away, wearing just a white undershirt, jeans, and those broken-in boots.
“Daaayuuum,” Mom hissed under her breath.
“Is this actually happening?” I asked, my heart pounding in my ears. Because I thought maybe I’d died in my sleep and now resided in lumberjack heaven.
“Does it matter?” She elbowed me. “Shut up and enjoy it.”
This was unfair. Truly unfair. How was I supposed to resist him when he was stripped down to a white T-shirt and chopping wood in my mom’s backyard?
He lined up the log and swung the axe, then brought it down. The movement was hypnotic.
The strength and precision were intoxicating.
Beside me, my mother fanned herself. “Talk about arm porn. Those dress shirts do not do him justice.”
She wasn’t wrong. They hid just how muscular and lean he was. As each muscle bunched and clenched beneath the thin cotton, it hit me just how hard it was going to be to keep my damn pants on around him. “Remember to practice safe sex, sweetie.”
A scoff ripped its way out of me. “Mom. Stop.”
“The man is chopping wood for you. Just give it up already.”
I ignored her. I was too busy watching him to bother continuing the argument.
He kept going, swinging and chopping, each cut precise.
As if this buttoned-up corporate executive had been born with an axe in his hands.
After a solid fifteen minutes of chopping, then stacking the cut wood next to the back door, he’d prepped enough to last an entire winter.
But I couldn’t help but think it might not be enough.
Because I wasn’t ready for the show to end.
I’d personally take down every tree in town just to keep watching the Owen Hebert Lumberjack Spectacular.
Screw raffles. The town should use him to fundraise for the new library.
If we streamed this on YouTube, this town would never want for anything again.
And then he was at the door, all sweaty and masculine and lickable.
“Ms. Webster, sorry for the intrusion.” He dipped his chin politely at my mother.
Her response was nothing more than a dazed smile.
He toed his boots off and carried a small stack of wood to the fireplace. Once he had it placed the way he wanted it, he opened the flue and got the fire lit quickly.
The two of us stood side by side, possibly with our mouths open and our tongues lolling, surely looking completely idiotic. But there was no helping it. My mind and body could not process what was happening.
He rubbed his hands together and stepped back to admire the blaze. “Here you are, ladies. Enjoy your Hallmark movies.”
I was still staring, slack-jawed, when my mother poked my side, startling me.
“Th-thank you,” I said, concerned the words may have been incoherent. My brain was far too preoccupied to focus on syllables and pronunciation.
“You should stay for dinner,” my mother said.
At least one of us was semi-functional.
He shook his head. “Oh no, I don’t want to interrupt girl time.” He gave me a soft smile and headed for the back door.
I followed him onto the porch, where he sat on the top step and laced up his boots. “You didn’t need to do that.” I cringed. The words sounded ungrateful, which was the last thing I wanted, but I was confused and mad and really turned on.
“I wanted to,” he said firmly, standing to his full height.
My heart stuttered in his chest. Dammit, that bossy tone did things to me. “Why?”
He closed the distance between us and tipped my chin up with his knuckles so I was forced to meet his deep blue eyes.
I held my breath and locked my knees to steady myself.
“Because I don’t want you to be cold. Or hungry or tired. I care about you. And if I can make your life easier, even in the smallest of ways, then I’ll do it. Every time.”
“So this wasn’t just about putting on a show by chopping wood?” I teased, finally coming back to myself.
He smirked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I had a job to do.”
I crossed my arms and cocked a brow. “Bullshit. You knew what you were doing.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Totally innocent. Just trying to help my friend.” The way he emphasized that word hit me like an arrow to the heart. “But I don’t mind it when you ogle me.” He waggled his brows.
I made a throaty sound of dismissal at the notion that I was ogling him, even though I really, really was. “They sell firewood at the gas station. You didn’t need to bring your own and chop it here.”
He put his hand to his chest and lowered his brows, feigning insult. “I’m surrounded by wood all day. My wood is the best wood.”
I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Now you’re just being cocky.”
He leaned in close, the warmth of his body overwhelming me, and brought his mouth to my ear. His lips ghosted over the lobe as he whispered, “We both know I’ve got the goods to back it up.”
And then he turned, snagged his shirt from the railing, and rounded the house, wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Bye, Lila. Have an amazing day.”