I rub the toe of my boot into the rough blanket Wyatt has laid down to protect the wood floor. "I know."
"Jo?"
Wyatt's tone is tentative, like he's dipping a hand in bathwater to test its temperature.
My blue eyes lock onto his brown. I wonder if he knows he has gold flecks in them? "Hmm?" I ask, the sound vibrating my throat.
His gaze searches mine, and it feels as if he's reaching into me. My chest heats and the tops of my thighs pulse as memories of our night together flood my brain. When he speaks, I'm positive they aren't the words he planned to say. "Do you like the finish? Of the cabinets?"
I come closer until I'm standing beside him. It's a mistake, I think, to be so close to him. The air is thick with the scent of him, something male that's difficult to describe. It mixes with the earthy sawdust, the alpine air from the open window.
I force my gaze down to the workstation, and the three cabinet doors lined up there. My fingers are poised to touch them when I realize I probably shouldn't in case he has recently applied something to them. "Did you stain them this color?"
"That's what was underneath when I sanded them down. You can touch it."
My fingers drag the length of one small, square door, bumping over the ridge leading into the design cut into the center. "I can't believe how pretty they are under that paint." They are a beautiful medium brown, the ugly green paint stripped away to reveal the wood beneath.
"Layers."
"Layers?" I can't help it. I turn my head to him, even though his nearness transforms my breath to honey, makes it stick in my throat.
"It seems to me most things are made up of layers. People, too. We layer on the primer, the paint, the protective coatings. But under it all, we're just ourselves. As natural as this wood started out."
I watch him speak, his mouth forming these words that don't seem like they should be coming from him. Was he always this deep? This reflective? Did I just miss it? Was I too busy seeing his protective coating to notice what lay hidden beneath?
I turn back to the cabinets. "I love them. Thank you."
"You're welcome." His response is warm and deep, a caress I'm not supposed to want.
To put space between us, I walk away from him and into the master bath. The space is large for having been built thirty years ago. Large bathrooms and expansive kitchens weren't in style three decades ago, according to Dakota. This house has both. The master bath is missing a bathtub though, which I find odd. And disappointing. I say as much to Wyatt, calling out to him. He answers from a few feet away, startling me.
"I thought that was weird, too. It's almost as if there should be one over there." He inclines his head to an open space by the second window. "There's a spot for plumbing."
I picture a clawfoot tub, a crimson and burnt orange sunset, a glass of wine. "That would be perfect. Baths are kind of my indulgence, but it’s been a while. My bathtub at Shelby’s is really small.”
Wyatt's looking at me now, doing that thing where his eyes darken, his thoughts bundling together and staying inside his mind. He has so much to say, but keeps it tucked away. I've always thought that about him.
I look out the window at my property.My land.I came here with nothing when I was sixteen. I scraped and saved from eighteen on, serving tables and taking on odd jobs so that I'd never have to ask my mother for anything. Here I am, almost thirty, and I finally have something to show for it all.
"Do you want to get some candy?" I thumb outside, toward my car. "I feel like celebrating.”
Wyatt raises an eyebrow. "With candy? I can think of other ways to celebrate."
My throat tightens. "How?"
A smile tugs one corner of his mouth. "Champagne comes to mind."
"It's only mid-afternoon.”
He frowns. "You shouldn't let the clock tell you what to do and when to do it."
My lips twist as I face him. Me, with my sensibilities, my basic ideas of propriety. Him, with his propensity to challenge any rule set forth.
He wins.
Why? Simply because his way sounds a hell of a lot more fun.
I walk past him, leaving the bathroom, taking great care not to let my shoulder touch his. "Champagneandcandy, Hayden."
