Chapter 6 Shannon
Shannon
The first time I met Wesley Parker, I thought he was handsome—those dark blue denim jeans snug on his strong thighs, a grey shirt clinging to his broad chest and biceps, tall, broody, and tattooed.
But my God was I wrong.
Out of all the people in this bloody town, he just had to be the one running the building company.
Sitting there all high and mighty on his crappy wooden throne, behind his shitty desk.
Those sexy, ripped, dirty jeans, hi-vis clinging to his thick, tattooed arms, like a neon sign daring me to look.
I could smell him, clean, mixed with his manly scent, begging me to climb him like a tree.
His big… solid, masculine self, teasing me like the last strawberry cupcake—it practically whispers, “Go on, Shannon… bite me.”
My brain short-circuits, imagining him manhandling me in nothing but his dirty work boots, jeans around his ankles, his huge hands gripping my hips, while he bends me over his desk, my fingers curling the discarded sheets of building plans. Marking me with his raw, masculine scent.
My core clenches at the thought.
Talia warned me about men who worked outdoors, or with their hands. She’d dated a mechanic, said he had an unmistakable smell only men who worked on engines had.
Oil, diesel… and grit.
I knew he’d be a dangerous combination, he should have his own calendar, just him, twelve months of the year, flexing his biceps and power force thick thighs.
I’d buy a copy for every room in my house.
Wait… what am I thinking? “Shannon, you really need to get out more.”
Even if he did look… dirty in the best way.
He’s still a bloody arsehole.
I blow out a breath and fan my face with my notepad while I wait for my dad to return after he dropped me off earlier, so I could show him where I’m planning to set up the glamping site.
Of course, I forgot the one thing he’d been banging on about.
“Don’t forget to pick up the tape measure, Shan.
” Now I’m sitting out on the porch of what will be my new home come Friday, and all I can think about is Wesley Bloody Parker.
If it’s not his calendar body, it was the look on his face when he realised it was me sitting in his office, the way he ran his tattooed hand through his thick dark hair.
Sighing, I shake away thoughts of him, and instead, I soak up the peace and quiet of my new surroundings.
Apart from a few cows in the distance, grazing on the grass, there’s no one around, not even my new neighbours who I’m curious to meet.
“You’ll get nothing done, Shan, sitting on your bloody arse.” Dad startles me, yelling to the back of my head.
“I’m enjoying the weather, Pops,” I reply, knowing he’s rolling his eyes.
“Come on, let’s get the measurements sorted, then I can go to the pub.” He strides past me towards the side of the house away from the neighbours.
“Hey!” I huff, getting to my feet and trailing behind him. We meet in the secluded part of the garden, where the glamping site will go. The tall hedges could do with a proper trim, as well as the grass needing a good cut. It’s the only part of the garden left to nature and is pretty much overgrown.
There’s a single archway, the only way to get into the garden. We’ll need to remove one row of hedges so we can work on it properly: no point doing it yet, not until the planning permission has been approved. Another thing to add to my ‘Pull your bloody finger out and get on with it list.’
“Do you think the back hedge should come down?” Dad’s eyes follow the direction of my finger, pointing out the back section of the hedges. It’s set out in a square, which makes it simple enough to put up a new fence and decent gates.
“You’ll need to do it, Shannon, for safety, as well as getting those pods in, love.” He nods towards my notepad. “Start jotting everything down.”
I pull out my pink highlighter and draw a line across the top of the page, then scribble the words Glamping Materials. I can feel my dad’s eyes flicking between me and the pad. He tsks when I start adding neat little black dots down the margin.
“What’s them?” He taps his finger on the pad.
“Them’s called bullet points, father.” I snicker at how he doesn’t even know what they are.
“I know what they are, Shan, but yours are heart-shaped.” He taps his finger over the page.
“I know, but they look pretty.” I waft his hand away.
“I’m going to rewrite it and add it to my portfolio.
” I glance up at him. He still hasn’t got a clue what I’m talking about.
“You know, so I can document the whole process and share it online, to help others.” His mouth opens…
then shuts again. Bless him, my dad’s always been the more hands-on type of bloke, getting his hands dirty.
He didn’t really focus much on school; he was aiming for a career in rugby, but then I came along and suddenly he didn’t think it was important anymore.
Then he got a job in engineering, and of course, the position came with training.
It turned out my dad was a bloody good engineer.
He always wanted kids, unfortunately, Mum couldn’t have any more, but she’s always said how lucky she was to have me.
We measured out the whole area, and just as dad thought, I could either fit three smallish pods or go for a medium-sized one and a larger one. We go through the list together; he points out everything I’ll need to research, as well as getting prices for everything I’ll need.
I know it’s going to make a huge dent in my savings. “Do you think it’ll be worth it, Dad?” I ask, worrying my lip between my teeth. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, giving it a squeeze as we both look over the empty space.
“It’ll be perfect, love.” He kisses the top of my head. My heart clenches when I think of everything my parents have done for me, and how lucky I am to have their support.
“Right,” Dad says, clapping his hands together.
“I’m off to the pub. Do you want a lift home?
” Glancing around one more time, I decide I’d rather stay.
Might even do a bit of weeding, push the boat out on some much-needed exercise, I read somewhere gardening is classed as a workout.
Plus, we found a bag of old gardening tools earlier, tucked beside the bungalow next to a stack of firewood.
“Nah, I think I’ll stay and get a bit of weeding done.”
He gives me a look, one eyebrow raised, a smirk plastered on his face.
“What?” I snap, already on the defensive.
“I didn’t say anything! Call Mum when you want picking up.” He kisses my cheek before he wanders off, rounding the corner. I should have just driven here myself.
Kicking off my wellies, letting my bare feet breathe and sink into the soft grass, I start by tackling the small flower beds near the back of the garden.
It looks like someone’s already been tending to the weeding, maybe one of the neighbours?
I know it was them who sold my little scrapbook house, though we were never told why, and it didn’t seem like the right question to ask.
I crawl across the garden on my knees to the next bed, finding it full of dog daisies.
Technically, they’re weeds, but I like them.
They blend in with the rest of the wildflowers scattered around the garden. Plus, they're good for the bees.
The only ones I feel like pulling up are those bright yellow things Talia used to chase me with, saying if it landed on me, I’d piss the bed, but even those are swarming with bees.
It doesn’t take long to finish up, and already the garden’s looking much better. The grass has been cut back, with just a few buttercups and small daisies peeking through. I can’t help the smile spreading across my face as I take it all in.
My new home.
Back inside, I wash my hands and get ready to take measurements for the living room curtains.
Pulling out my phone to check the time, still the signal’s shit, barely one bar.
I really need to get the phone lines sorted.
My insurance job relies on a decent internet connection, and I’d quite like to watch my shows, download a few things, maybe order some new books.
Scrolling through the available wi-fi, my neighbour’s network comes up straight away, five perfect blue bars. Of course, it’s password-protected, with the most basic name imaginable. Home-int.
How creative.
You just know it’ll be some long string of random letters and numbers.
“Not even worth trying to crack.”
With dad finally gone, I can whip off my bra and let the girls breathe.
Much needed boob airing.
I head into the first bedroom to measure the floor.
All the rooms are painted in a plain cream colour, straight over newly plastered walls.
The sockets and light fittings are all chrome with the clear blue plastic covering them ready to peel off.
They’ve clearly thought of everything, with money well spent on quality fixtures, there’s no cutting corners.
Technically, it’s ready to move in, you wouldn’t have to do a thing.
Only, I’m a sucker for a bit of colour.
I’m on my knees when I hear a vehicle pull in, presumably the next-door neighbours. Then a door slams shut, followed by heavy footsteps. They are getting closer. I pause, straining to listen, but my only pen rolls out of my hand and disappears under a small set of drawers someone’s left here.
“For fuck’s sake,” I snap, bending over with my arse in the air, reaching underneath to grab it.
A sudden loud crash makes me jump; it sounds like someone’s directly outside my window.
On my bloody porch.
“Shit.” What if my dad came back and had a fall?