Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(26)
Author: Irene Hannon

 

After tugging down his baseball cap, adjusting his sunglasses, and pulling up the scarf around his neck as high as possible, Jon slid from the cab. Clipboard in hand, he crossed the lawn to join her.

 

“Good morning.” She smiled as he approached, the warmth in her tone chasing away the early morning chill. “I didn’t expect to see anyone out here at this hour. Our meeting with BJ is at eight, right?”

 

“Yes. I wanted to get here early and take a few more measurements around the gazebo. What’s your excuse for being out and about at the crack of dawn?”

 

She made a face. “I think I have jet lag—minus the jet. The time change must have messed with my circadian rhythm. If yesterday is any indication, I’ll be dragging by six o’clock tonight even if I manage to sneak in a nap. On the plus side, I didn’t have to commute to get here early, like you did.”

 

“It’s not much of a commute. I could walk it if I didn’t have equipment to haul.”

 

Her eyebrows rose. “You live around here?”

 

“Yes. Next house down on Windswept Way. I was walking home the day you saw me with the chain saw.”

 

“Ah. Now your appearance out of nowhere and your disappearance down the road make sense. My nerves have yet to recover. A masked man with a chain saw is more than a little scary.” A cute dimple dented her cheek.

 

He tried not to stare at it. “Sorry about that. But you’d have been more scared if I hadn’t been wearing the mask.” He motioned toward the gazebo area. “Why don’t I go ahead and—”

 

“Are your scars really that bad?” She wrapped both hands around her mug as she asked the quiet question.

 

He froze.

 

So much for his attempt to move on to less personal subjects.

 

“Depends on your perspective.” He forced up the corners of his mouth. “My sister says the shock value wears off fast, but she isn’t exactly impartial.” Nor did she have any idea how difficult it was to live with surreptitious peeks, shocked expressions, and sometimes outright gawking.

 

Especially for someone used to being stared at for far different reasons.

 

“Sometimes family members are more honest than strangers.”

 

He took that opportunity to point the spotlight back at his client.

 

“You have opinionated siblings too?”

 

“No. Only child. But I have an opinionated mother who isn’t thrilled with my new venture.” She swept a hand over the house and grounds.

 

“What’s her beef with it?”

 

“Not just with this. With my whole career choice. It’s hard for a high-paid Silicon Valley executive to understand why anyone would be drawn to a low-paying job in history.”

 

“I take it you two don’t get along.”

 

“On the contrary. For two people who live in different worlds and have different priorities, we have a decent relationship. I know Mom loves me, so I accepted long ago that she’d never understand my passion for this field. Do you get along with your sister?”

 

“In general.”

 

“But you don’t think she’s being honest about the scars?”

 

They were back to that.

 

He gave a stiff shrug. “Her opinion is honest. I’m not certain it’s valid.”

 

“You could always ditch the disguise and see what happens.”

 

His stomach clenched, and despite his effort to maintain a neutral inflection, a touch of resignation crept into it. “I know what would happen. They’d make people uncomfortable.” Or worse.

 

“How can you be sure of that?”

 

The image of Melinda’s sudden and total loss of color during their first meeting after the accident in the handful of seconds before she lost her lunch strobed across his mind.

 

“Experience.”

 

Parallel creases appeared on Ashley’s brow. “I can see how scars might shock people at first, but once they got to know you, your appearance would be less important.”

 

She and Kyle must be on the same wavelength.

 

That’s not how it had worked with Melinda, though, and she’d known him well before shrapnel ripped through him.

 

“What sounds logical in theory doesn’t always pan out in real life.”

 

“Mmm.” She sipped from her mug as she regarded him. “I expect there’s an element of vanity involved too.”

 

Vanity?

 

Frowning, he pulled the brim of his cap lower.

 

He’d never been vain, even back when his appearance had mattered.

 

Had he?

 

No. Not that he could recall.

 

But could vanity be a factor in his decision to cut himself off from the world now? Had he become a hermit to keep other people from feeling awkward—or because he was self-conscious and embarrassed . . . and vain?

 

As the silence between them lengthened, pink spots bloomed on Ashley’s cheeks. “Sorry. That was too personal. I don’t know what came over me. In the future, I’ll stick to my area of expertise and stop dabbling in psychology.” She hefted her mug. “I need a refill. Would you like a cup?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“Go ahead and take your measurements while I get another java infusion. Hopefully that will activate both my brain and my diplomacy. Be back in a few minutes.”

 

With that, she pivoted and sped toward the house. As if she couldn’t escape fast enough.

 

For a full minute after she disappeared around the side, toward the carriage house, Jon remained where he was, mind whirling.

 

What had just happened here?

 

One minute they’d been talking about landscaping around the gazebo, the next about his scars and his rationale for masking up and maintaining a low profile.

 

Conversations like that weren’t going to help him keep his distance from his new client.

 

Meaning they couldn’t happen again.

 

But while he could continue to hide his physical wounds going forward, somehow Ashley had managed to unmask his invisible scars. The ones left by Melinda as well as the ones he’d inflicted on himself.

 

Like self-pity and isolation and loneliness and resignation and resentment and a host of other unhealthy emotions.