“I need to go to Clayton’s,” she says, breaking me from my musing.
Good thing, too, because it’s definitely too soon to wonder about things like kids with her. Hell, we barely know one another.
“For a stud finder?” I shake my head. “No need. I have one you can borrow. Better yet, let me help you get those hooks in. My drill’s charged and I have all the right bits.”
She blushes beautifully, and I realize what I just said. I mean, I truly wasn’t trying for an innuendo, but she obviously went there, and now that she has, I do too. I glance at her t-shirt again and try not to smirk at the hilarious artwork. That would only add to her embarrassment, I’m sure, and as cute as she is blushing like that, the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable.
It doesn’t work though. She glances down at her chest and crumples into herself.
“Oh, my Goddess,” she huffs, trying to hide the graphic with her hands and arms. “I can’t believe you’re seeing my hoe shirt. I forgot I was wearing it. I didn’t think I’d meet anyone today.”
She rushes back into her shop, and I follow, chuckling. I can’t help it, it’s too funny, and not just the shirt. Although I have to admit, I like the joke. Her t-shirt has the slogan, ‘A Dirty Hoe is a Happy Hoe’ artfully drawn around an image of one of thoseRosie-the-Riveter-type women carrying a gardening hoe over her shoulder.
“My cousin gave me this shirt,” she defends, pulling the green sweater I’d seen her in earlier over her head. “I honestly forgot it’s what I was wearing. Oh, Goddess…” She shakes her head again, re-situating her clothes, and I laugh.
Even rumpled and flustered, she’s so damn adorable.
“What?” she frowns, reaching up to her hair. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She pats down the flyaways caused by the static from pulling her sweater over her head, and I can’t help myself. I step closer and reach a hand out to help her.
She jumps and steps back so quickly, I wonder if someone has hit her before, and unadulterated rage boils in my gut at the thought.
“Whoa, easy there,” I soothe, my voice thankfully calmer than I feel. “I was just going to help—”
“I’m good. Thanks, Jake.” Her words are curt. Short. And she’s crossed her arms over her chest again, her hands fisted this time, resting in the crooks of her elbows.
I raise my hands, palms out, placatingly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Holly.” I intentionally soften my tone and lower my voice, taking slow, calm breaths in an attempt to help her co-regulate. “No one is going to hurt you here.”
I won’t fucking let them.
I don’t say that aloud, though. Instead, I say the only thing Ican. The truth.
“I thought your shirt was funny, and I don’t think you’re a mess. Not at all. In fact, I think you’re beautiful and brave and strong, and a complete badass for opening your own shop here. I’m glad you’re my neighbor, and I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot here, Holly.”
She sighs and drops her arms. “Sorry, Jake. Instinct. I don’t know you, and…” Her eyes dart to the door and then to the plants lined up on the floor next to the wall. “I would like your help, only…”
She swallows heavily and shakes her head, obviously working herself up to something, and suddenly I want to know everything that led up to this moment in her life. And I want to know who hurt her, because somebody did.
And that’s not okay.
Thoughts of what I’d like to do to whatever asshole hurt her swirl, and I should probably be freaked out by how protective I am of this woman I’ve barely met, but I’m not. Instead, I feel more grounded than I have in ages. There’s a deep sense of rightness in her presence, and I find myself wanting to give her everything. All that I am, and a life without pain.
I know that’s not possible. Pain is a part of life. We live in a dualistic universe. Both sides must exist. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to do everything in my power to mitigate that side of the coin for her.
I take a step back and crouch down a bit so my eyes are at her level. I’m a good half-foot taller than her, and I don’t want herto feel like I’m looking down on her in any way. Not now, not ever.
“I’ve got you, Holly,” I tell her softly. “Whatever you need. Just tell me. You want me to go, I’ll go.” I know I’d hate it, but I’d do it anyway if she wanted me to.
Anything for her.
When you know, you know.
And I know.
“You want me to help you hang those plants? I’ll do it.” I search her face, fighting the urge to hold her close and tell her everything’s okay.
Truth is, I don’t know what’s in her mind right now, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t good.
“What are you thinking, Holly?” I ask gently. “I can’t honor your wishes if I don’t know what they are,” I add when she doesn’t reply.
