Page 77

Lane

The next morning, I was halfway up a ladder replacing a worn section of siding near the corner of the house when the screen door creaked open behind me. Every repaired board made the place look a little more like someone believed it was worth fixing.

I did not need to look down to know it was Cali. I had become embarrassingly good at recognizing the sound of her footsteps in the short time I’d been here.

“Lane.”

The warning in her voice pulled a grin from me. After securing the piece of siding, I glanced down. She stood at the base of the ladder with a mug of coffee cradled between both palms. The morning sun caught loose strands of her hair and made them look ablaze, and the fading bruise beneath her eye was losing a little of its color.

“What’s up?”

Her gaze climbed the ladder until it found me. I recognized that look. It was the same one she’d been giving me since we were teenagers and I’d offered to help with something.

“You know,” she said, “if you fall off that thing, I can’t afford to replace you.”

A laugh escaped. “Replace me?”

She nodded seriously. I groaned. Here we go.

“Your shoulder is probably worth more than my car.”

Almost anything was worth more than that clunker, but I kept that to myself.

“My shoulder isn’t worth anything.”

“That seems unlikely, and it doesn’t change the fact that you’re expensive.” She took a sip of coffee as she worried the rim of her mug with her thumb. Warmth spread through me.

“Cali baby, it’s almost like you’re worried about me,” I said, giving her a wink.

She harrumphed. I’d bet money she was rolling her eyes. She tipped her mug toward the ladder.

“One slip and suddenly I have a six-foot-three former professional athlete folded into the back of an ambulance.”

“Maybe I’ll be lucky and need mouth-to-mouth.” I smirked as pink spread beneath her freckles.

“I think you’re forgetting that your body is a valuable community asset.”

I nearly missed the nail I was driving.

“My what?”

“The town would be devastated.”

“Because I’m such a beloved citizen?” I asked.

“Nope.” The smile she was fighting finally broke free. “Because every woman over forty would need grief counseling.”

I barked out a laugh.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“A little.”

That answer stole my next comeback. For a second, I just looked at her. The teasing remained, softened by something that hadn’t been there a few days ago.

“You’re staring,” she said.

I braced a hand against the side of the house.