“So are you ever going to tell me how you know Spanish?” I asked, heading for a pile of leaves next to the stairs.
“I was born in Spain and then moved to the US when I was three years old. I grew up in a bilingual household. My father is originally from Spain, and my mother is aCalifornia native,” he said, clipping away. Sweat had roughed up his hair in a way that somehow made him look less designer/doctor and more rugged/lumberjack. There was still a little grease on his knuckles from the fridge job, and I felt a twinge of guilt at all the manual labor he was doing.
“Did your parents meet in college or something?” My brain started spinning stories about how two people could have met from very different places.
“My mom was studying abroad in Spain when my parents met.” He paused his clipping and glanced at me with a teasing smile. “What about your parents? Are they from around here?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. I really didn’t want to talk about my parents.
“As much as I would just love to tell you about my parents, I think that’s a conversation that would be better saved for another time.”
“Maybe our third collision? When you run into me on your morning jog?” It was impressive how quickly he veered the conversation after I shut him down.
“More like a walk. I don’t really do running.”Smooth, Hope.Way to admit you’re about as athletic as a houseplant.
“No?” His eyebrow perked up, another amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
“I’m not really the physical exercise type.” I gestured to the rakes we were holding and gave him a look of disdain.
“Hmm… well, that’s where we are opposite, then, because I love it.”
I blinked at him. “You enjoy this?”
“The fresh air, the exercise, the smell of the trees—absolutely.” His tone suggested it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I crouched and started raking out the sticks and leaves wedged beneath my porch. “I like all those things. Minus the exercise part.”
“Oh yeah? And what would you rather be doing out here in the fresh air?”
“Reading,” I said instantly.
He chuckled. “That does sound relaxing. But can’t running be relaxing too?”
I froze mid-rake. A very unladylike snort burst out of me before I could stop it. “Running to relax? That’s an oxymoron.”
“It’s possible, trust me. You just have to get into it.”
“I’d rather sit on my porch and watch you do it instead.” The words slipped out before I could catch them, and the moment they left my mouth, I wanted to reel them back in.Ugh, that was so not how I meant for it to sound.
He laughed again, and holy molar, I liked the sound of it way too much.
“I’m determined to prove to you that the outdoors and a bit of exercise can be just as enjoyable as reading.”
“Good luck with that. My best friend’s been trying for years. No progress.”
He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, maybe I’m a little more persuasive than your best friend. Trust me—I can be very convincing.”
The way he said “very convincing” made something in my stomach flip. I had no witty comeback, so I ducked my head, focusing very intently on my rake. Yard work was safe. Flirting, on the other hand, I wasn’t so sure.
We slipped into an easy rhythm after that, and I wanted to ask him more questions about his job and the lady who talked to him about knitting club at the store. But the questions faded into the background as yard workbecame all-consuming. We trimmed back the wisteria that had basically swallowed the porch, raked leaves into haphazard piles, and dug out the dead branches and shrubs from the flower beds along the front walk. Jay even steadied the ladder so I could scoop handfuls of leaves and pine needles from the gutters without falling to my death.
The sun was starting to get lower in the sky, and I was about to call it a day when I decided to check the north side of the cabin. That was when I noticed one of the window sills had a broken plank, barely hanging on by a single nail.
“Hey, Jay? You wouldn’t happen to have a hammer, would you?”
He stepped around the corner, took one look at the problem, and nodded. “Yeah, and I have some nails too. Hold on.”
A moment later, he returned, and I accepted the hammer and nail. He then proceeded to hold the crooked piece of wood in place.
