Page 101 of My Favorite Hero

I made sandwiches, and he took a break, eating and sipping the iced tea I’d made.

“Do you think you’ll really get it done this afternoon?” I asked.

He nodded, wiping his mouth. “I have the legs set and level. I’ll build the boxes and attach them. Tomorrow, we can line them before I go to work. You can stay busy and out of trouble while I’m gone and plant stuff.”

I ignored his words. “The open house at the station is Friday?”

“Yeah. Ten to three. You still gonna come?”

“Of course. I’d love to. Martha will be there, right?”

“Yep. Mark, the other guys.” He frowned as if a thought had occurred to him, and I was sure I knew what it was.

“It’s okay, Jesse. You don’t have to introduce me to people. I’ll wander around and introduce myself.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. I was thinking about something else. I can introduce you as my tenant, my neighbor, my friend. Any of those works.”

“So just not fuck buddy?”

He shook his head. “You’re incorrigible. If you want to send Martha to the hospital or one of the other old biddies who will show up like they do every year, that’s your business.” He winked. “Pretty sure they’ll tell you that you can do better.”

I laughed as I stood and took our plates. “More like they’ll ask how to get in on the gig. Jealous old bats.”

He pulled me down and kissed me. “Incorrigible,” he repeated.

“And you love it.”

I stayed busy putting out the “shit” I bought. I wondered how long it would take him to notice the doormat I put on his front step. It was plain except for the words, WE DON’T WANT ANY, in the corner with capital letters. It made me laugh because it was so Thorne. I knew as soon as he found it, I would hear about it.

I headed to the backyard when I heard him call my name.

“Okay, I need you to take that piece of wood—” he pointed to the long one close to me “—over to the platform I’ve got ready. I’ll finish cutting this one and come and mark where I need to cut the forty-five-degree angles.”

“Okay.”

I picked up the heavy cedar and swung around without thinking. I heard the crack of the wood hitting something and turned back, seeing Jesse stumbling and holding his head.

“Oh my God!” I yelled.

In my panic, I spun the opposite way, this time clocking him on the other side of his head. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and I dropped the wood, racing over to him. I tore off my hoodie, tucking it under his head, propping it up.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “Oh God, Jesse, are you hurt?”

He blinked, staring up at me.

I cupped his face. “Jesse, talk to me.”

“Who are you?”

I gasped in shock, and he winked.

“Stop it!”

“Seriously,” he muttered. “I had no idea you were still pissed over this morning.” He rubbed his head. “Jesus, woman, for a pixie, you pack a wallop.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I wailed.

He rubbed my arm. “I know. But seriously.”