Chapter 33 - Ginger
Ginger
This morning, I took my laptop back to the cute little bookstore attached to Timber’s Treats to get some work done.
With Hutch doing demo on the other side of the duplex, it’s almost impossible to concentrate.
We’ve been together every night for the past three days, and every morning, he sneaks out before the sun comes up, and it’s getting harder to watch him go every morning.
I’ve spent time with Wren and the girls, had dinner with Hayley, fallen asleep way past my usual bedtime, and after he leaves, I’ve passed back out and slept past eight every morning. Glorious is an understatement.
I almost told Wren everything when she stopped by to have lunch, but Nat asked if she could join us for her break before I could.
Afterward, I spent another couple of hours working in the bookstore.
When I came home a little over an hour ago, Hutch’s truck was gone, and the house was quiet for the first time all day.
Hayley invited me to her book club with Finn and Josie this morning, but spending the night wrapped up in a blanket with a glass of wine sounded like a lot more fun.
Don’t get me wrong, I came to Timber Forge to have fun and visit friends, but I honestly don’t get much alone time these days, and knowing I could be out with friends if I wanted to was enough.
I turn on the TV to a show I’ve seen a hundred times and head upstairs to change before making something for dinner.
I’m searching high and low for my slippers when I spot them under the edge of the bed.
Bending over, I catch sight of the flannel shirt Hutch was wearing the other night.
Picking it up, I shake it out, that familiar cedar and woodsmoke scent filling my nostrils.
Flicking my eyes to the door like someone might suddenly appear and catch me sniffing his shirt, I bury my nose in the collar and almost moan.
Why does he have to smell so good? And be so damn sexy?
It took everything in me to kick him out of my bed the other morning.
I wanted nothing more than to be underneath him again, to feel the crushing weight and heat of his body against mine.
The need to have him fill me is like a physical ache I can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how many times I try.
Glancing down at the soft fabric in my hands, I’m tempted to wrap myself in this stupid flannel like a love-sick teenager, but I don’t. I fold it up and set it on the dresser before I do something stupid like wrap it around a pillow and dry hump it until I come.
An hour later, I’ve eaten, downed two glasses of chardonnay, and watched three episodes of mindless TV. But I still can’t stop thinking about Hutch. I consider texting him, and then change my mind, pulling up the thread between Wren and me instead.
Ginger: What does it mean when I miss someone I have no business missing?
I take another sip of chardonnay, already regretting sending the text in a buzzed state. After a few minutes, her reply finally comes through.
Wrenley: Uh oh. Is this a text conversation, a phone conversation or an, I need to find a babysitter conversation?
Huffing out a laugh, I tap out a response.
Ginger: I think I’m in trouble
My phone rings in my hand, Wren’s picture lighting up the screen with a FaceTime.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
I blow out a breath, dropping my head back on the couch. “God, where do I even begin?”
Her look is sympathetic. “How about at the beginning?”
Wren narrows her dark eyes at me and holds up a finger.
“Okay, one: define ‘fucked around a bit’ and two”—she adds another finger—"why is hooking up with Hutch the last thing you should be doing? You’re both adults, and at the risk of sounding like a broken record, fun is something you are in short supply of right now. ”
My lips twitch with a crooked wince and I speak out of the side of my mouth. “You really want a play-by-play of your brother-in-law’s face between my thighs?”
She grimaces, then chuckles, glancing away from the phone before looking back at me. “Yeah, no. You’re right. That’s weird. But you never did give me details. I need something.”
Might as well lay it all out there. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the lashing I'm about to get, and likely deserve for withholding this information from my best friend.
“The first time was the night you had the girls.”
“That was almost nine months ago!” Her laugh is incredulous.
She tilts her head. When I stay silent, her eyes go soft again. “Hey, I’m not judging. You’re a grown woman.” She pauses, the mischievous sparkle returning to her gaze. “Where did this happen?”
“Which time?”
“Ginger!” she admonishes, laughter dancing in her eyes.
“The first time was...out on your deck.” She doesn’t seem bothered by that admission or shocked in the least.
“And the other?”
“Your wedding.”
Her jaw drops before she bursts out laughing. “I knew something was going on between you two that day! When I couldn’t find you for like, an hour, and then suddenly there you were, creeping back in within seconds of one another. You really are a sneaky little slut.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “It was not an hour, and I was not creeping.” I watch her face for any sign that telling her was a mistake. “You’re not mad?”
She waves a hand through the air dismissively. “Why would I be mad? It’s about time you got some.”
Phew.
It feels really good to get all that off my chest. Wren and I have been friends for a long time, and I never wanted there to be secrets between us.
At least now she’ll understand the predicament I’m in.
Falling into this pattern with Hutch has been too easy, and now I think it’s turning into something that will only complicate the shit sandwich that is my life right now. Even if it is super-hot.
“We messed around on the road trip a bit and then again the other night after the birthday party for Jasper and I don’t know…it worries me.”
“What does?” she asks.
“Honestly, it’s so easy with him, Wren.” I pause, wondering if sharing so much is a good idea, but it doesn’t stop the word vomit from flowing.
“He annoys me to no end, constantly pushing my buttons with stupid jokes and innuendos. He’s this weird combination of quiet confidence and cocky bravado that I can’t help but be drawn to.
Plus, he can be really fucking sweet. Like, I can’t believe I’m really saying that. ”
Wren smiles.
“And don’t get me started on his hot, stupid, bearded face. And all that hair? Seriously, it should be illegal for a man to grow hair like that.”
Even more illegal for me to practically drop my panties every time I’m around him.
Wren laughs but stays quiet, letting me process through my feelings about Hutch and our precarious situation.
“But it’s deeper than that. It’s like he sees me, Wren. Like really sees me. He listens and…he gets me. On more than a physical level.”
She lets out a low whistle. “Honey, you’ve got it bad.”
I blow out a breath. “Don’t I fucking know it.”
“Have you talked to him? About how you’re feeling?”
I shake my head. “I mean, not really. When we first started this whole thing—on the road trip, I mean—we said no strings. And I meant it.”
“But?”
And I’m touch-starved enough to let him do whatever he wanted to me.
All those tattoos and washboard abs make it tempting to keep this going, even though I know better.
Especially now, with these feelings creeping in—feelings that could wreck me if I’m not careful.
Because this is temporary. I’m not staying in Timber Forge; whatever this is between us ends when I leave.
But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I groan, “God, Wren, I don’t know. Am I stupid for feeling this way?”
She lets out a long breath. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Ginger. But I think you do need to be careful.”
I huff out a breath. “I know.”
“Look,” she says after a couple of beats. “Hutch is a great guy. He’s funny, successful. But he’s…”
“Emotionally unavailable?”
Wren chuckles, but there’s sympathy in her eyes. “I was going to say he’s been hurt before, and he doesn’t let people in easily, but yes.”
“So what do I do?”
“Well, I’d tell you to talk to him, but I think you already know that. It’s what you told me with Hank.”
“And if I don’t want to talk?”
“Then don’t. But…be careful, okay? I don’t know what happened with him, but it’s clear he’s got some walls. He’s not a bad guy, but you’re the only one who can decide if it’s something you want to take on knowing he might never feel the same way.” She shrugs, though empathy still lingers.
“How about this?” she says when I don’t answer. “The boys won’t be here for a while. Have a little fun with Hutch,” she says, her voice turning soft. “And if things get too serious, you can cool it off.”
“So, you’re saying I need to let my walls down and keep screwing your brother-in-law? Because although I love the idea, it could very well blow up in my face.”
Wren shrugs. “You’re right. It could.”
As the conversation moves on to other topics, we chat for over an hour before saying goodnight.
I wish I could say I feel better having talked it out with Wren, but I don’t.
And even after another glass of wine, the only thing I’m sure of is I want to spend more time with Hutch.
I just hope I don’t end up regretting it.