“Nothing,” he says, but now he’s smiling at me, his sea-blue eyes sparkling with humor. Teddy looks so endearing…er, I mean efficient… in his white painter’s overalls, and his grin is so infectious that I feel my lips curving upward of their own accord.
“Stop it!” I cross my arms. “This isn’t funny.” But then Teddy starts to chuckle… and I wind up laughing, both of us practically slap-happy with fatigue.
When we get our giggles back under control, Teddy looks at the swaths of green paint and tilts his head to the side. “Actually, I think they’re all too dark; you might want to consider a lighter green altogether.”
I tap my chin with one finger, thinking about all the shades of green I’ve ever seen. Then it comes to me, and I dash over to the back door. “I know the perfect color! Come on.”
“Hang on,” calls Teddy, who puts the paint brush in water and closes the lids on the various samples before following me out the door. “Where are we going?”
“The beach.”
“Sophie, I don’t think we have time to?—”
“I know just the color for the bakery—” I break into ajog, and Teddy easily keeps up “—but I’ve only ever seen it by the shore.”
We jog the four blocks down to the water’s edge, and then I lead him up a hill toward the dune grasses clinging to the rocky incline. I bend down, break off a clump, and turn around, holding up the tall grass in my hands. Grinning, I say, “See? It’s perfect!”
“It certainly is,” murmurs Teddy softly. He pulls out his phone and snaps a few photos of me holding the cluster of grass against my chest like a bouquet.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s for theBefore and Afterscrapbook,” he explains.
Teddy has been taking photos of the bakery in each stage of repair for his scrapbook, but he’s also taken a lot of photos of me—with paint on my nose, or a glob of glue on my cheek, or a smudge of dirt on my forehead. Once, when I was in a particularly foul mood, I accused him of taking photos that could be used to blackmail me later, but at the hurt look in Teddy’s eyes, I told him I’d only been joking.
“But I don’t have paint, or glue, or dirt on my face… do I?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“Nope. I merely wanted to capture the moment when you found the right shade of green.” He holds up his phone. “Do you mind if I take a few closeups?”
I arch an eyebrow but shrug. “Suit yourself.”
Teddy steps closer, so close he looms above me, the sunlight making his shoulder-length, blond hair look like spun gold. He tenderly pushes a lock of my plain, brown hair off my cheek, and I inhale sharply as my face tingles at his touch.
When did my skin become so sensitive that even a simple brush of Teddy’s fingers causes a reaction?
He steps back, snaps a few more pictures, and reaches out to take my hand. A pleasant warmth that has nothing to do with the summer weather spreads up my arm and into my chest, and my pulse accelerates like the lead car at the Indy 500. Despite my resolve to keep Teddy at arm's length, I don’t pull back when his fingers wrap firmly around mine.
“Let’s get to the paint store before that grass dries out,” he says. “They’ll be able to produce a custom paint color for us; I think we should call it ‘Sophie’s Greenest Green.’ What do you think?”
A burble of laughter escapes from me as Teddy helps me climb down the rocky hillside. As we head toward the road, my eyes glimpse a movement between two cottages. I spot a tall, dark-haired, muscular man in jeans and a black tee; when he gazes at me, my joyful mood crashes, and I stumble.
Teddy catches me; when he notices I’ve gone still, he frowns and then starts turning toward Rafe, but I squeeze his hand. “It’s alright; I thought I saw someone I knew, but I’m mistaken.”
Teddy nods, and we jog back to the bakery. I think he senses I’m not being truthful, but the last thing I want is for Teddy to confront Rafe on my behalf; I can take care of myself. Besides, I don’t think it would end well for Teddy, who doesn’t need a bully like Rafe on his case.
I’m preoccupied as Teddy drives us to the paint store, debating whether to talk to Jake. I decide to wait and see;if Rafe makes another appearance in Riddle Hill, then I’ll tell Jake everything I know.
“Are you okay?” asks Teddy.
“I’m fine,” I reply curtly, and he doesn’t press me for details I’m obviously not willing to share. I blow out a puff of air. “Sorry; I don’t mean to be cranky, it’s just… ” My voice trails off.
“I get it; you have a lot on your mind right now. Just remember I’m here to help. Don’t feel like you need to shoulder all the responsibility by yourself.”
“Thanks... I appreciate it.” And I really do; I’d never have been able to get the bakery refurbished this quickly without Teddy’s tireless dedication.
But he’s not being entirely frank with me either. Teddy never speaks about his last pack; I’ve tried probing a few times, but he instantly shuts down, his face turning into an impassive mask. He’s seen me at my worst, when my wings were clipped, and it hurts he doesn’t trust me enough to be vulnerable about his past. Even worse, Teddy has never explained why he suddenly moved out of the cottage; he’s now living in a studio apartment above Rob Wolferman’s garage, paying rent he obviously can’t afford.
Teddy’s behavior doesn’t add up… and until he explains himself, I won’t be opening up to him either.
