“I'm not… I'm not breathing down your neck. Just seeing what you’re doing.”
Bowen snorts and dusts his hands off. He moves around me, close enough that I can feel his own warmth radiating off his skin, to the speaker, and turns it back on. Music once again fills the space. He doesn’t offer me another glance before he picks back up where he left off.
I can feel bratty Kit hovering. Metaphorical arms crossed, glaring daggers at the big, sexy, annoying man. I can only handle feeling ignored for so long before I huff, walk back over to the speaker, and once again shut it off.
I stomp back over to the table and fold my arms over my chest. A little bratty, a little trying to contain the beating beast in my chest trying to get his attention.
The saw cuts off, and the silence rings in my ears.
“Spit it out. I’ve got shit to do, and I don’t need you hovering and pouting.”
“What are you even doing?”
Bowen uses his shoulder to wipe a bead of sweat running down the side of his face. “I’m replacing the steps.”
“You live here.” It's not a question, and he doesn’t answer it as one. Just looks at me.
His neck is wider than it used to be. He’s just…bigger. Wider. More solid.
“You didn’t know,” he finally says.
I shake my head and look over at the little cabin.
“Small cabin is off limits.”
The door is closed up, a curtain hanging over the window where one never used to be. It was always used for storage as the shed was in bad shape, and my dad never took the time to fix it. I guess Bowen is fixing it all up now. One broken thing at a time.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and ignore the burn. “How long?”
I see him go rigid out of the corner of my eye, then he relaxes and moves away from the table. He picks up a water bottle that was discarded in the grass and takes a long drink before capping the bottle. “A while.”
A while.
What does that even mean? A week? Month?
Year?
This time, when he walks back to his workbench and the saw turns back on, I take a step back from him.
This never felt likemyplace. This wasourplace. Our summer haven. And it's not justhisnow. Screw that. I glance back at the closed door and tilt my chin in the air.
Fuckoff limits.
I stomp through the grass, closing the space between Bowen’s work area by the shed and the cabin. My heart kicks in my chest, half expecting Bowen to barrel in behind me.
He doesn’t.
The handle also doesn’t budge under my palm.
The cool metal quickly warms from my clammy hand, and I give it another turn, trying to shove it with my shoulder, but it stays closed up tight.
Locked.
It wasneverlocked.
When I turn, shooting an accusing look in Bowen’s direction, he’s watching me with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
I scoff, pretending that the hurt I feel is completely to blame on the locked cabin door behind me.
