“Now.” Her squint means trouble. “Want to tell me about that mysterious roommate of yours?”
Martha’s motherly goodbye hug still lingers comfortingly on the surface of my skin when my back pocket vibrates again and I reject Jared’s call.
Back at the cabin, I look for a distraction and to give myself and Carter some space. Avoiding the charged air seems safest so I go straight to the shed in the back.
The smell of wood shavings and paint reminds me of sitting next to Sam while he worked on his orders. It makes me feel less alone. The shed doesn’t compare to his generous garage where he kept his carpenter’s tools, but it is my own space and holds everything I could afford and some hand-me-downs from him.
I love the process of scraping the worn varnish from old wooden parts. It gives me such satisfaction when thepiece is clean and ready for its next step. It’s when I can visualize clearly how I want to transform it.
This old nightstand is a bit of a headache. I’m halfway through cleaning the dreadful black paint sprayed over the original color.
Under the painting, I discovered beautiful rich maple wood, and I don’t have the heart to paint over it. I’ll probably only change the legs and the knob to fit the modern cottage vibes I settled on for my new home during the bus ride back.
I continue until my stiff back and the evening chill makes me stretch out in the chair, exposing my midriff to the pricking cold.
“Should you be handling sharp objects?” Carter’s voice booms in the dark.
I nearly topple over and drop the paint scraper.
He casts a curious glance and inches closer, stretching his neck to get a better view but I scurry out, shutting the two shed doors behind me.
Sam is the only one allowed back here. I don’t want to let a stranger in my space, especially him. I’m still overwhelmed by Carl’s blackmail, meeting Jared’s mom, and Martha’s surprise. I can’t handle his snark.
Carter looks back and then straight at me.
“Do you need anything?” I bite out.
Obvious interest is battling with his ego. “For your information, I’m not trained to sew back hacked fingers.”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’ve been doing this for years. And if something happens and you’re too scared, I can save them in a bucket of ice myself.”
“I’m not scared! It’s not advisable to use dangerous tools in your state of mind.”
“How—” I falter. “It’s none of your business anyways.”
“It might be if you have to cook with a missing thumb. You barely manage it with your hand intact.”
“What the hell!” Did he just say I’m a bad cook? “Who pissed in your porridge?”
“You might have, considering the way it tasted.”
I stare at him, mouth agape at his bluntness, when the shadow of a smirk crosses his lips.
“You awful—”
“Eliza,” he stops me. The deep timbre of his voice makes my name sound more sensual than it has any right to. “You’re too easy to rattle.” Carter shakes his head and leaves me confused about what just happened.
How can a man who has known me for less than a week sense that I’m off, when Jared didn’t even notice I’d stop eating for days after a big fight?
When I’m lying in my bed, rewinding our interaction, it hits me. Carter managed to annoy me out of getting stuck in my head and obsessing about the past couple of days.
Did he do it on purpose?
Chapter Eight
ELIZA
A girl of a certain age needs her morning routine to function like a human being. So far, I’ve had enough time before Carter’s shadow darkens my kitchen. But my good luck ran out this morning. Before I reach the doorknob, Carter stumbles out of the bathroom, startling me to death.
