Laughing, I let my guard slip. “I don’t know anything else. It’s what I grew up in.”
“You don’t even sweat,” Tyler exclaims, gesturing to my body. It’s true, I don’t. A dewy glow is all I get. Even after a workout, a thick sheen is my sole sweat reward. I heard it’s good to sweat, so it’s not a quality I’m proud of, but it is convenient.
Shrugging, I throw a leg over my bike as daintily as I can with the kitschy dress. “Is that an opening for today’s joke?” I ask. “You don’t have to follow me home today.My daddy isn’t there, so you won’t be able to work him.”
I meet his eyes for the first time, and it’s a mistake. “Who said I was trying to workhim?”
Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath. “How long are you going to do this?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tyler replies, not missing a beat. “I was just working out yesterday. It’s a free country. I can run anywhere I please.” He grins. I don’t miss the joke. “Are you going to come out for a drink with me tonight?” he asks. “It’s Friday.”
“Oh, there’s the joke. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your impeccable touch.”
Tyler winces, an exaggerated gesture, while flashing white, perfect teeth and dimples. “That wasn’t a joke, but I didn’t have one for today, so it can be if you want.” A bead of sweat slides down his neck and cuts a path down his rippled, tattooed chest.
A slow blink cuts my view, and I suck in a deep breath. “What if I get a drink with you? Will you leave me alone and let me make a decision about the airport in peace?”
“I enjoy your company,” he replies, hopping on his bike, facing me. It looks ridiculous. He’s so enormous. His bathing suit is hung so low on his narrow hips I know he’s wearing nothing underneath. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Let me be useful. I saw the paint cans yesterday. I’m a monster with a paint roller. What do you say?”
Even if he’s only paying attention to me because hewants something, I can’t deny how it makes me feel. I’ve never felt like this before. This sort of mix between lusting for something I know is bad for me and the vulnerability of knowing I don’t have the first clue how to deal with a man like Tyler. He’s sweating everywhere now: his face, arms, legs, and gleaming torso. I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes. “You help me paint the harder-to-reach areas, I get a drink with you, and then you leave me alone. No more bad jokes or stalking me at work,” I say, waving my arm to the diner and then back to him.
“Deal. Can we get going now, though? If I don’t get some airflow, I’ll melt.”
I smirk and start pedaling for home. His bike squeaks behind me until we reach the hangar. I didn’t lie about my daddy being gone, but I forgot what that would mean. I’d be here by myself with this man. Parking my bike, I try to ignore the flip-flop sensation in my stomach. Tyler reaches over and grabs his shirt out of the basket on his bike. I hold the door open after I unlock it and enter. “You need to grease your bike. It sounds like something out of a horror movie,” I remark, making my way to the office to see if there’s anything pressing I need to deal with. This building has a faint smell of oil covered in the vanilla scent I use to pretend my house is normal—not an airplane hangar.
Tyler uses his T-shirt to towel off the sweat while standing in the office doorway. “I bought it at a yard sale while I was walking to the diner today,” he admits. “I’llget it fixed up.”
“You sure are adjusting to small-town living rather quickly,” I say, thumbing through the stack of mail, eyeing his muscles as he bends to wipe his legs.
I pull out one of the envelopes I know is a bill and rip into it. “The whole reason I’m here is for a change of pace. I figured it would serve me best if I took full advantage of everything Bronze Bay has to offer.” The double entendre was covered well, but, of course, I heard it.
“What’s it like?” I ask, unable to keep my curiosity under wraps.
“What’s what like?” Tyler replies, without looking up.
I clear my throat, and hot shame rises for asking something so personal. “The war? Living in a big city? Life outside of here?” It’s personal on my side, too. It rips the small-town girl wide open, showing all my stereotypical cards.
Tyler stands, sighs, and walks away from the doorway, toward the paint cans at the base of the spiral staircase that leads to my home. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” he says, picking up the four cans, two in each huge hand, and starting up the stairs. “I have to know what a house inside a hangar looks like,” he states, like he’s actually, truly curious.
I follow behind him, grabbing the brushes, rollers, and the bills I need to sort later tonight. “It’s homier than you would think. It’s taken a couple years for me to getit to this point, but I’m living here full time now. Finally out of my parents’ house. They live just over the hill to the east.”
Tyler laughs and presses himself against the railing so I can get by to unlock the huge, black, iron door. “What’s funny?”
“I guess that everything is so perfect here. It’s like this place is unaffected by everything. It’s hard not to get caught up in the mirage of safety, that’s all. Your town, Bronze Bay, is the exception, not the rule. You talk about your parents’ house over the hill, and everyone rides bikes and no one gets shot at, and I’m wondering what planet I’m living on.” He shakes his head. “I guess that must be the whole point. Why I’m here instead of back there.” He didn’t say “instead of home,” and I wonder what that means.
He inadvertently answered my questions about the war and city life. “Are you trying to be offensive because, like I said, I don’t need your help.” I push open the door and motion for him to enter first. He does, leaning over to drop the cans by the front door. He keeps his head up as he takes in the huge room before him.
Shaking his head, he says, “Didn’t mean to sound offensive, it’s a big change, that’s all. For me.” His gaze widens as he takes in my pride and joy. People looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was building this apartment, in an airplane hangar, at the airport. They don’t understand me. Not one bit.
The floors are salvaged hardwood from an enormousshed and stable that was destroyed by a hurricane a few years ago. I hauled most of it in here by myself after taking months to sort through it. The walls have been painstakingly lined with brick to make it more secure, and the exposed pipework curves around the ceiling like a maze. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says, walking in further to look out of one of the huge back windows. It’s one of my favorite features. It has a view of the runway, and I can see planes take off and land in the distance. There’s green as far as the eye can see, and a sliver of beach off the coast side. The view holds everything I love in a snapshot. Leave it to an outsider toget it.
“I love it,” I admit. “I plan to stay here forever, so I wanted it to be perfect.”
His eyebrows raise and lower in surprise. “I can’t say I blame you, and that’s pretty shocking.”
I look at him sideways. He’s wearing his sweat-soaked shirt. “How is it shocking?”
He shakes his head, as if he’s daydreaming. “No, I didn’t mean it’s shocking you’d want to live here forever. It’s shocking that I can understand why. I’ve been everywhere, you know? All over the world, and there’s never been a place I’ve wanted to be for longer than a little while. This place is really beautiful,” Tyler says. “I can’t wait to skydive over it.”
