There’s always food for me but she never makes a plate for herself. She always has an answer on the tip of her tongue when I ask her. Thinking back on her reaction when I was an idiot and made fun of her for losing so much, I can’t help but wonder. Is she broke? A Rawlings always pays on time, and I don’t suspect my mother of being forgetful.
She’s frowning at the phone and a nagging thought makes me blurt out, “Your ex?”
“Don’t worry. This won’t ruin the rest of your holiday. He might try to talk to me again, but I’ll work as fast as possible to finish the other cabin.” She’s absentmindedly braiding a strand of her light strawberry hair.
“What is even there to finish? It needs to be demolished. Also, I’m not a fan of him coming there instead.” I tap the countertop so I can catch her eye. “Where you’ll be alone.”
“I had somebody appraise Sam’s place. I’ll have to strip it myself so I can stick to the budget,” she says more to herself. “You don’t have to get rid of everything that looks broken, you know? It just needs a bit of love.”
I don’t miss her poor attempt at evasion and my body tenses. Maybe she wants to fix her relationship too. Does she see potential in going back to that asshole? I dated for social events and casual sex. Fixing broken trust or houses is a waste of time.
“I’m on sabbatical.” I don’t know why I tell her this. “Not a holiday.”
“You didn’t take time off voluntarily.”
“How perceptive of you.” I’d rather be joking with her and having her roll those pretty eyes at me than telling her the truth. After rehabilitation, my mother said she would stop talking to me if I didn’t take a break and reconsider my life.
“Why would you do math so bright and early?” she asks with a grimace, squinting at the Sudoku on my tablet.
“It’s not math. It helps me concentrate.” It sharpens the focus I need before I dive into the industry updates and reports every morning.
She wrinkles her nose. “It looks headache-inducing.” Eliza keeps tilting her head as if maybe a different perspective will help her make sense of it.
Up close I stare at her pouty mouth, scrunched in concentration when she nicks her lower lip. The image lights up my insides so abruptly a shudder rips through me, my senses on alert.
“Are you any good at it?” Luckily, she’s still focused on the tablet and doesn’t notice I have to shift my position on the bar stool.
I can’t suppress the twist of my lips, and she gives me a side eye and groans.
“I’m competitive, what can I say? Top 1% of people who play online.”
“You want to show the world you’re better. Nobody would know if you did it the old-fashioned way.”
“I don’t have to try very hard,” I smirk. “It comes naturally.”
She bursts out laughing and the soft sound takes me by surprise. But it’s not as shocking as another jolt to my lower abdomen.
“Do you want me to leave you something for lunch?” she asks, leaving my side. “It will take a while at the store.”
“I’ll survive. Going on a shopping spree?”
“I guess going on a supplies run counts as shopping therapy for me,” she huffs another gentle laugh, bending to get her shoes, and for some reason, I don’t want her to leave yet.
“Do you need a hand?”
Eliza snaps her head up and her eyebrows press together.
“Um, thanks,” she says, tucking a strand behind her ear. “I’ll just make a list with Thomas for the renovations and get some paint for the fence here.” Eliza tilts her head and bites her lip nervously. “Do you mind? I can paint when you’re away or something.”
“I can do it for you.” Why did I say that? Her eyes become round with wonder, and I never thought I could shock somebody into silence by offering to help.
“Do you know how to paint a fence?” she asks hesitantly.
“Of course I do.” I have no idea what I’m talking about. “I have nothing better to do anyway.”
The more she insists I shouldn’t, the more intent I am to start. To prove to her I’m capable of painting a damn fence.
But first, I’ll stock the pantry and fridge while she’s gone. I wonder what she likes to eat. Only because I hate wasting ingredients. I’m nothing if not efficient.
