“It’s my pen name.Iuse it for everything except my driver’s license and passport.”
The mystified look morphed into surprise. “You’rea writer.”
“Author,”Iclarified. “Novelist.Whateveryou want to call it.”
“What kind of books do you write?” he asked casually as he tacked the floorboard back in place and swept away the specks of wood dust with his hand. “AnyImight have heard of?”
“Probably not unless you’re an avid romance fan.Butit doesn’t matter.I’mretired.Movedon to greener pastures.”
“Like unqualified home renovations?” he teased with a smile.
I found a discarded cleaning rag and chucked it at him, smacking him in the back as he jogged down the staircase to finish the steps.
7
JACK
MIND YOUR MATTRESS
“You stupid fucking mattress!”
I could hear my neighbor’s cursing from down the beach.Sweatsoaked my skin, dripping off my torso in thick rivers asIjogged down the packed sand.Mylungs burned asIsucked in lungfuls of the warm morning air.Myfeet sunk into the soft sand asIclimbed up the grass-dotted dunes that separated our houses from the beach.
WhileIhad been on duty the previous day,Aurorahad tackled the front lawn, pulling weeds and manhandling an ancient push mower to knock the grass down to a manageable level.WhenIdrove by this morning on my way home, it looked like someone had given the small yard a buzz cut, but kept changing the clipper guard setting between each pass.
It was . . . shorter.
Honestly, she needed to take it down to the dirt and either reseed the damn thing or landscape it with low-maintenance shrubs and mulch.ButIwasn’t about to tell her that.
A large dumpster had been rented and placed on the property, straddling the yard and the curb.Shehad been filling it all morning with furniture that was too damaged and dilapidated to salvage or donate.
I slipped around the corner of the oldWhitlockplace just in time for a guttural battle cry to rip through the serene morning air.
Aurora was standing on the deck with a mattress perched on the railing.Itwas a good thingIhad replaced the broken steps and shored up the posts.Themattress would have collapsed the old one.
With one heaving shove, she catapulted the mattress off the deck, sending it flying one story down into the dumpster.Itsounded like a bomb exploded as it hit the metal siding and sunk into the cavern.Aflock of seagulls dispersed at the crash.
I looked up and caught a glimpse of her face as she stood with her hands braced against the railing.Hercheeks were flushed red and her hair was piled in a knot on the top of her head.Shewas in a tight spandex bra, denim shorts, and work boots.
At least it wasn’t flip-flops today.
“I see you’re getting an early start on scaring the birds away this morning,”Ijoked asIleaned on the staircase railing.
Aurora scowled. “Thereare six mattresses in this stupid house.Noneof them are usable and the donation place won’t take them.Six!”
I glanced at the dumpster where the lone mattress sat and quickly understood.Shehad five more to go, a few of which probably had to come down a second set of stairs from the third floor.
Sweat burned my eyes as it dripped off my forehead. “Hangtight.I’llgive you a hand,”Isaid asIpulled off my sneakers and dumped out the sand before stomping back into them.
“Not necessary,” she snapped.
Ah.Soit was a crankyAuroraday.Shehad softened toward me after we found the floorboard letter.Honestly,Ithought we had a missed connection.Ihad wanted to kiss her, but she never gave me an inclination of whether she was into it or not.
Now, we were back to square one.
“I don’t need any help.Thankyou for the stairs.Yousaved me from karate chopping the boards in half with my bare hands.ButI’mperfectly capable of?—”
Her words faded asIstripped off the old t-shirt that was missing the arms and sides, and used it to wipe off my face and chest.Iballed it up and chucked it over the hedgerow separating my house from hers.
