I roll my eyes at how shit I am at small talk.
“Oh my God. My phone,” she says suddenly, and I notice it’s sitting on the corner of the porch, propped up by half of a broken planter. “Shit. Hang on.”
“You don’t want to be leaving it outside where anyone could steal it,” I say.
Isla turns and shows me her phone, the red recording dot glaring at me.
“You were filming?”
She freezes for just a second. Guess I wasn’t polite in the way I said that. “I…yeah.”
I nod and feel weirdly honored that she didn’t try to hide it from me. I like honesty and trust above all things. “For what?”
“You’re going to think I’m silly.”
I shake my head. “I doubt it.”
She steps toward a box that’s way too heavy for her to lift and tries to get it off the ground.
I nudge her out of the way and pick up the box. “I’ve got it. Tell me what you’re filming for. You want some kind of diary about the renovation?”
She slips her phone in the rear pocket of her jeans. Jeans I’ve noticed hug her ass.
I’ve always had a passing interest in women’s bodies but never acted on it. As I got older, the more embarrassed I became that I’d have to tell a woman they were my first. Not sure I could handle the look on their face if I disappointed them in bed. It never really mattered because I met Kai.
But for some reason, it’s impossible to keep my eyes off Isla’s ass. Or the way her sweater raises an inch above her waistband when she steps up onto her toes to drop something into the truck. I find myself wondering what it would feel like to run my tongue along the dip of her waist.
“It’s for my channel,” she admits finally. “And my social media platforms.”
“Your…channel?”
She puts her palm to her forehead. “You know, places online where you share videos and pictures. Surely you’re not that much of a dinosaur, old man.”
“Yeah. I’m not that old. But I don’t understandwhyyou would want to have one. Isn’t it all”—I throw air quotes—“influencers and shit? People who get paid for doing nothing but sharing themselves going about their lives.”
She huffs. “It’s a bit more than that. It’s renovation stuff, because people love a good home makeover. But it’s also turned into a bit of an exploration of…well…grief.”
Oh.
Oh, shit.
That’s way deeper and more personal than I was expecting, and now it sounds like I was making fun of it.
A loose strand of hair blows in front of her face, but before I can reach for it to tame it for her, she snaps it behind her ear.
How the fuck do I respond to this like a normal person? “This is for…people?” I manage. “Like, people watch it?”
She lifts her phone and shows me a clip. Isla’s hands trying to lift the room’s carpet. Her voice talking about the memories she has of Christmas mornings on this carpet. But how, in reality, you have to let go of things that have served a purpose if they don’t make you feel good anymore. And how doing that opens up space for new good things.
I feel like someone just put their foot on my solar plexus.
“This helps you?” I ask, quieter than I intended.
Isla nods. “It gives me purpose. And if I know I have to post something, I’m going to make time in my day to do something worth posting. Which pushes me forward in getting this place fixed up.”
I swallow. Twice.
Kai and I are in this together. Our home will get fixed up over time, as it’s much more livable than this place. I want to saysomething supportive to this woman who’s taking on such a big job on her own.
