Except we’d already met. And like before, nothing about me or this scene was cute.
Why did he keep showing up when I was a complete mess?
My silly, swooning heart performed a little kitten purr.
Inner Emily really needed to get up and kick my ass.
Instead, she whispered the words of “That It Will Never Come Again,” a poem I’d always treasured. She believed only having one life to live, one chance to exist to the fullest, was what made living so sweet. A strong reminder to absorb and cherish the moments at hand, because time wasn’t something any of us could get back.
Did I want to hold on to this particular memory? Filthy and embarrassed—but in Davis’s arms?
“You okay?” he asked, loosening his grip by a fraction.
I planted my hands against his chest, leaving dirt marks. “Yeah. Oh. Sorry.” I attempted to rub the stains away, but scents of his shampoo, cedar, and mint befuddled my brain.
I jerked back, suddenly sure I smelled like sweat, burned cake, and topsoil.
“Still trying to burn the place down?” He cast a pointed look around the hazy kitchen.
I pointed to the sink. “This was an accident.”
“You have a lot of accidents.”
“Two is not a lot.” I bristled, stepping away to cross my arms.
Davis tucked his hands into his pockets, gaze sweeping to my ruined dessert. “What is that?”
“Black cake,” I said pitifully. “I was outside trying to protect my garden, and I lost track of time. Then I fell off a chair.”
I glanced at the open back door. I’d forgotten to close it after using it as a giant fan.
“Good thing I came when I did. I tried the bell, but you probably didn’t hear it over the blaring smoke alarm and all your cussing.”
I nearly rolled my eyes. There was the curmudgeon I’d met before.
“When I didn’t see you through the window, I came around to check the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” I took another step away from him and leaned against the sink, still too buzzed from his nearness to think clearly. “I wasn’t expecting you until later. Last time you came after work, it was already dark.”
He bent to right the toppled chair; then he lifted the broom from the floor and returned it to the corner. “I wrapped things up early to have dinner with my buddy Clayton, at his bar.”
I frowned, trying to imagine Davis with friends. Strange that one of his friends owned a bar. Grace’s friend Olivia owned a farm, and on IBOOM she’d often mentioned visiting another friend’s pub on game days. Maybe local business owners had their own little community.The possibility made me wonder about Davis and his dad. According to Michael at the bookstore, both Sommers men were well known, and the elder was deeply involved in local affairs. What would Davis’s dad be like? Probably a middle-aged grouch. If not from genetics, then from dealing with his frown-faced son for thirty-four years.
Davis moved his hands to his hips, clearly impatient to get going. “Your text said the hot-water heater and furnace are giving you trouble?”
The words pulled me back to the moment. “I had to heat water on the stovetop and haul it upstairs in pots for a bath,” I blurted.
My traitorous bottom lip wobbled at the remembered trauma. I bit the insides of my cheeks to maintain emotional control.
Davis shifted, and I knew he saw my unshed tears.
“I’ve had a very frustrating couple of days,” I said, apologetically wiping the corners of my eyes. “And a very cold couple of nights. I’m tired, sore, and I hate asking for help, but can you please—” I cleared my throat and swallowed before forcing the final words from my lips in a whisper. “Please help me.”
His expression softened, and he shoved one big hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “I’ll look at the hot-water heater first,” he muttered. “Then you can clean up, if you want, while I move on to the furnace. And I’ll show you how to make a fire.”
Emotion pushed against my eyes. I straightened my spine and nodded. “Thank you.”
Thirty minutes later, I was waist deep in a hot, but not steamy, bubble bath. Not exactly the luxurious, relaxed soak I’d fantasized about before my arrival, but I was trying to appreciate the small wins. Even if Davis was somewhere in the manor, fully dressed, banging on vents and pipes. I nonsensically wished for one of those curtains on a rod around the bath, then scrubbed a little faster. The next time I filled the tub, I vowed to light a candle and bring a book. Maybe I’d even use the new loofah I’d brought to pamper my long-ignored skin. Maybe I’d buy a cedar plank and set it across the porcelain to hold my things.
