She released a silent exhale. Of course he was going to be a smartass.
The box highlighted the grain in the cedar, gold against red, and she stroked that smooth surface, too. “Do you do this with Wally?”
“No.” And there went another dark mark across red cedar. “I do this, and Wally harasses me.”
A smile tipped the corners of her lips. She could see that.
“Hence why you thought I was Wally?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug, although he never broke his concentration on the repetitive task in front of him. “He’s the only one who hangs out in here with me.”
“Because I didn’t know about this.” She started to heft onto the table running along the back wall, thought better of it, and leaned instead. Biting her bottom lip, she watched the muscles flex in his forearms. “Am I intruding?”
That earned her a break in his focus and a quick look over his shoulder, his brows twisted together. “No.”
She nodded, folding her arms over her midriff. “So it’s not a big secret.”
“A secret? No.” He shook his head, reaching for his knife to sharpen the pencil. “Private, yeah, but not a secret.”
“You donate your work.” She inhaled, glancing sideways at the blue-infused board again. “Anonymously.”
“I do.”
So complicated, layers and layers of emotion and meaning. She didn’t always know how to read him, especially when he was as spare and elliptical as Hemingway. She ran a fingertip along that river of blue again. Spare and elliptical, but as rich and detailed as Fitzgerald. Talented. Gifted, maybe.
He said she wasn’t intruding, but being here felt like stepping on his sacred ground. He hadn’t invited her here, butrather she’d simply stumbled upon the moment. With a last caress over the smooth wood and resin, she pushed off the table.
“I’m going up to the cabin to chill a while.” He must love how she acted like she already lived here. She almost lifted her thumb to bite the nail. Instead, she brushed her bangs to the side and smiled. “Take your time here. Maybe we can go to dinner later.”
He flicked a sideways glance at her. “Yeah. Maybe.”
With a smile, she walked out, melancholy a sharp tug at her heart. Sometimes his loneliness came into sharp focus, moments like these where the years of being by himself lined up like a museum display of shadowy portraits.
But not completely alone, since he allowed Wally into this part of his life.
Sighing, she made her way back to the driveway, collecting the parcels that could live here. He’d had a resolute quality to his stance, too, something still and steady, and what had happened during this golf game, anyway?
Conscious of the slight weight of her phone in her back pocket, she leaned over Polo to stack the boxes on the hearth. She would not call Tick and interrogate him. One, they had a no-interference rule. Two, he’d only stall her. And three . . . doing so involved violating Colt’s privacy. He’d tell her when — or if — he wanted her to know.
She stepped back, studying the fireplace and furniture arrangement. A nice fir would fit into the left corner in front of the window. Sue would probably show her how to fashion a garland from cedar swags and magnolia leaves, so tomorrow, she might drag him into the woods along the river. And lights . . . she had plenty, boxed up carefully in her garage. She could light up the porches, front and back.
“What are you plotting?” His rich voice, all bourbon and honey, cut through her reverie. He stood in the doorway on theright side of the fireplace, disheveled and barefoot. She wrinkled her nose at the aroma of dried sweat. He must have gone for a run before burying himself in woodwork.
She gave him a cheeky grin and waved at the fireplace. “Holiday decorations.”
His brows winged upward, almost disappearing into his ruffled hair, falling on his forehead.
“We need a tree there.” With an airy gesture, she pointed at the window. An image flickered through her mind, lying in bed, his arm around her with his hand tracing lazy caresses on her shoulder, her head on his chest, the room lit with the soft, cheerful glow of fairy lights. “And maybe one in the bedroom.”
His brows dipped downward, confusion twisting them tight. “Why do we need a tree?”
Lord, he was ridiculous.
“Hey, we could do that tonight.” She brightened at the idea of tromping through the tree lot, surrounded by the smell of pine sap and holiday music. “Two for here and three for my house . . . wait, three for here so one can go on the porch, too.”
“Three.” His eyes looked a little dazed, brows still tied into a vee. “For both houses.”
“Yes.” She slapped her hands against her thighs. “You really should get in the shower. We can hit the Millhouse or somewhere for supper. Oh, you know what would be great? A hot pretzel dog and apple cider. The lot does those some years.”
