“I-I’ll be right back,” I mutter, spinning in place and heading to the front of the house with reddening cheeks, my heartrate quickening.
I’m being stupid. It’s just Parker.
Well, it could also be that random betta fish tank that doubles as a plant holder I bought on Amazon at three A.M. during a bout of sleep deprivation… but it’s probably Parker.
And just because we shared some kind of moment twenty-four hours ago, doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t justify these butterflies and clammy palms, because at the end of the day, he’s still a closed-off brute, and I’m still a grieving widow.
With a calming breath, I pull the door open and promptly get blasted by a gust of rain-infused wind, nearly tipping backwards. Parker stands there on my porch with his ladder and tools, drenched from head to toe, his magnetic green eyes enough to pull me upright. Collecting myself and shaking out the water droplets from my hair, I step aside to let him in. “You came.”
“I said I was going to,” he says softly, his tone missing its usual bitter edge. Parker shuffles through the entryway, smelling like a rainy Colorado mountainside, and leans the ladder against my rust-colored wall. “You have company?”
“My brother and the plumber,” I tell him, chewing the inside of my lip and observing the way he tousles his wet hair back from his forehead. Little drops of water trail down his arms as he slips out of his boots, causing my eyes to follow. His skin is bronzed from the sun, his tan lines evident when his sleeves lift, revealing strong biceps. Parker isn’t overly bulky, but he’s lean and fit, perfectly in shape, a testament to how hard he works. “If you can’t finish everything today, it’s no big deal. I know the weather is going to get worse.”
“I heard there could be tornados and shit,” he confirms, rising back up and towering over me by a solid foot. “Hopefully, you have a basement.” His irises flicker like emerald lightning when we lock eyes, a complement to the booming thunder outside, and then he moves around me, towards the kitchen.
My own heartbeats sound thunderous, rattling my chest, as I think about hunkering down in the basement with Parker.
I gulp.
As I follow behind him, my brother straightens from his perch against the island, his focus drifting between us. “Hey, man.”
Parker nods his greeting, resting his toolbox on the counter, remaining silent.
I feel an overwhelming duty to fill that silence, so I chime in, “Parker, this is my brother, West.”
“We’ve met,” Parker deadpans, sifting through his supplies.
“Right. Um… and this is Shane, my brother’s friend.”
Shane sidles up beside me, tossing a beer bottle into the recycling bin, then brazenly drapes his arm over my shoulders—some kind of unprecedented, territorial move. “I’m your friend, too,” he notes, the flirtation heavy.
My body stiffens, my gaze instantly floating to Parker. I watch the way his eyes lift, zeroing in on the brawny arm wrapped around me, his jaw ticking. He forces his attention back to his tools as I unravel myself from Shane’s embrace with an uncomfortable chuckle. “That you are. Are you about finished with the pipes?”
“Yeah, just give me a few minutes to gather my stuff and I’ll get out of your hair.”
West saunters over to me, ruffling that hair with his meaty palm. “I’m taking off, too. Stay safe with the weather warnings.”
“Ugh.” I shove him away, irritated, fixing my newly disheveled locks. “Thanks. Be careful driving.”
When my brother ventures out of the kitchen and the front door claps shut, Shane begins to gather his own supplies while Parker fetches the ladder and sets it up below the ceiling hole. I catch the two men eyeing each other every now and then, so I resort to what I always do when I need a distraction: bake. As I’m pulling out baking sheets and mixing bowls, Shane makes his way back over to me with his hands in his pockets.
I swallow as I blink up at him. “All set?”
“Yep. Should we go over payment?”
“Oh, right, of course.” Swiping my palms along the skirt of my dress, I reach for my purse behind me on the back counter. “Is a personal check okay?”
Shane scratches his head, approaching me with a sluggish gait, a coy smile tipping his lips. He curls his fingers around my wrist and begins to tug me away from the kitchen.
I can’t help but glance at Parker’s perch from atop the ladder, noting how his eyes keep cutting over to us, dark and stormy, his stance rigid. Biting into my lip, I lace my fingers together in front of me and trail Shane until we’re just out of Parker’s line of sight. “You don’t take checks?”
“I do,” Shane laughs, still messing with his hair, then massaging the nape of his neck as his blue-gray eyes rake over me. “But I was thinking something a little more unconventional. Let me take you out.”
“Take me out?”
“Yeah, like a date. Dinner.”
“Dinner,” I parrot.
He chuckles again, bobbing his head. “Look, I know you’ve had a really hard year, so I’m not trying to rush you into anything. But if you’re ready… well, I’m interested.”
My cheeks heat at his proposal, and I resist the urge to repeat his words in an attempt to delay my floundering response. I’ve never been asked out before. Charlie and I just happened, all fireworks and fairytales, and there was never any need for this… formality.
And while I’m flattered, certainly, I don’t feel any sort of attraction to Shane.
I don’t think—I guess I haven’t given him much of a chance yet.
Scuffing my bare toes against the carpeting, I smile, “I’m not really sure what to say. I think I’d feel more comfortable paying you for your time.”
“You’d rather pay me than go out with me?”
“Well, I’d feel better if we kept this a business arrangement, you know? I’m not saying we can’t go out sometime… in the future.”
Shane narrows his eyes, registering my words as he runs his tongue along his upper teeth. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No, I just—”
A familiar presence closes in on me from behind, radiating warmth and command, inciting goosebumps to dance across my skin and light me up like a heatwave.
Parker stalls his feet right beside me, propping a power drill against his shoulder, and my insides buzz with anticipation as I wait for him to say something.
He doesn’t.
He just stands there, looming over us with some kind of silent intensity, some kind of control I don’t understand, glaring daggers at Shane.
Shane raises an eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?”
“No.”
I hold back an abrupt laugh, tucking my hair behind both ears.
Both ears that are currently burning fire engine red as Parker’s arm tickles mine while we stand there, side by side.
Curse my Swedish genes.
Shane’s gaze travels between us until he slowly nods his head, then scrubs at his nose. “Got it,” he mutters, but he never indicates what he “got.” “Check is fine. Just give it to West, and I’ll grab it from him this weekend.”
“Oh, I can do it now. It’s n—”