Ex and the Single Girl (19 page)

“
Careful with that thing,”
I said, nodding toward the shotgun. He tosse
d it to the ground.

“
It
’
s not loaded. I
’
d blast my own foot off, I
’
m sure.”
He let out a sharp exhale and looked at me. “
What the hell are you doing here?”

“
Working on the barn.”

“
Working on the...”
He huffed. “
It
’
s one o
’
clock in the morning.”

“
I couldn
’
t
sleep, and I thought maybe working on the barn would help. I would have knocked on the door when I got here, but I didn
’
t want to wake you.”
His eyebrows shot up. I raised my hand, motioning for him to settle down. “
I
’
m sorry. I didn
’
t think the hammerin
g
would be loud enough to wake you up.”
He ran his hands through his hair, skewing curly brown tufts in all directions. “
I wasn
’
t sleeping.”

“
What were you doing?”

“
Writing.”

“
I thought you wrote in the mornings.”

He shrugged. “
When I
’
m writing, I write. Al
l day. All night, if necessary. I
’
ve tried to limit it to just mornings, but...”
He trailed off, ran his hands through his hair again.

“
In a bad place with the book?”

He gave me a half-smile. “
I
’
ll get past it.”

“
Well,”
I said, picking up my lantern, “
I
’
m
sorry I scared you. I didn
’
t mean to. I would have called, but
…”

His smile went from half to full. “
Ah, so it
’
s my fault for not having a phone installed out here, is that it?”

“
Come to whatever conclusions
you'd
like.”
I grinned and picked up the hammer.
“
Sorry to have bothered you. You can go on back to your book now.”

I walked over to the support I
’
d been assembling and raised the hammer. I saw the beam of the flashlight move behind me, and then I heard Ian pick up a plank of wood. I turned.

“
What are y
ou doing?”

“
I
’
m bloody stuck,”
he said. “
I can
’
t get past this one scene, and it
’
s for damn sure I won
’
t be able to sleep now.”

I nodded, stuck a few nails in my mouth, and hammered them one by one into the support. Ian walked over to the back wall and fli
cked a switch. The barn lit up with a series of track lights that huddled on the floor against the back wall.

“
Oh,”
I said, pulling out the last nail. “
I didn
’
t even realize you had lights in here.”

He plugged in the table saw and put the goggles over his
eyes. “
You
’
re not the only one who turns to barn restoration when insomnia strikes.”

We exchanged smiles. He picked up a plank of wood and marked the angle on it. I watched him as he set it on the table, pulling the whirling blade down to cut. It wasn
’
t un
til he
’
d finished and pulled off his goggles that he realized I was still watching him.

“
What?”

“
Tell me about your block,”
I said.

He looked at the wood, then back at me. I picked a nail out of the pocket on my tool belt and placed it against the support
plank I
’
d been working on.

“
No, your story. Maybe I can help.”

I smelled coffee and opened my eyes to see a steaming I
’
D RATHER BE FISHING mug sitting on the coffee table. I rolled onto my back, adjusting my head on the couch pillow and noticing that at so
me point, someone had covered me with a blanket.

Ian.

He was sitting down at the desk facing the front window in his living room, his back to me. His laptop was blazing, as it probably had been all night. He placed his mug quietly down on the table and pul
led out the chair, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“
Ah, you
’
re awake.”
He nodded to the coffee next to me. “
I decided to do as the Romans do. I hope I made it right.”

I smiled. “
How
’
d it turn out?”

He sat, still facing me, and sipped his coffee. “
I think
it might be a little strong...”

“
No,”
I said, laughing. “
Tan and the smuggler. Did he jump in the harbor?”

Ian smiled, glanced quickly over at the laptop, then looked back at me. “
No, actually. The water
’
s too cold that time of year. He
’
d die of hypotherm
ia, and then there
’
s the end of my series, and then I
’
d have to get a real job, and we can
’
t have that. But”—
he waggled a finger at me
—”
I did use your idea to throw the disks on the boat before it explodes.”

I sat up, grinning. “
Only they
’
re not the real d
isks?”

He nodded. “
Right. It means I
’
ll have to rewrite that bit in chapter four, but I think it
’
ll work.”

I smiled. “
Thank you.”

He shook his head. “
For what? You
’
re the one who was up all night helping me slog through this mess.”

“
I had fun,”
I said, str
etching. “
What time is it, anyway?”
He checked his watch. “
Quarter past seven.”

“
I
’
m gonna have to get back soon. The Page opens at nine.”
He stood up. “
I
’
ll get your jacket.”

He walked into the hallway, and I heard the closet door open. I smiled to mysel
f as I slipped my feet into the sneakers I
’
d kicked off sometime during the night. Ian returned with my windbreaker and draped it over my shoulders, his fingers lingering for a second before he pulled them away.

“
Sorry,”
he said, his smile flickering.

I ke
pt my eyes on his. “
No. It
’
s okay.”

He raised one eyebrow. “
Are you sure? I
’
d hate to inspire another hostile visit from your little redheaded friend.”

I laughed. “
I think you could handle it.”

He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My heart
went into a Sammy Davis, Jr., tap dance number. I felt a smile spread across my face as his hand landed lightly on my shoulder, sending a pleasant zing down my spine. His body was maybe an inch from mine and I was sure he was going to kiss me until he gav
e
a small laugh and looked away.

“
All right. Time for you to go.”

My face must have registered my disappointment, because he laughed again, and his eyes did a quick self-conscious jig.

“
I haven
’
t brushed my teeth this morning, and I
’
m rather firm on positiv
e first impressions.”
He picked up my hand and kissed my palm, his eyes on mine. “
Come over for dinner tonight?”

“
Yes,”
I said, barely whispering.

“
Seven o
’
clock? I
’
ll pick you up.”

“
You don
’
t have to...”

He put a finger against my lips. The warmth shut me
up. I was one touch away from melting into a puddle at his feet.

“
First impressions,”
he said. “
Humor me.”

I smiled. “
Consider yourself humored.”

His fingers traveled from my lips to my face. His arms fell around me, pulling me to him, and as I pressed my
cheek against his shoulder, I felt that soul-deep comfort that you can usually only get from things like hot tubs and eiderdown. I
’
d never gotten that from another person before. I liked it. When he finally released me, I let out a small groan of grief.

“
Off with you, then.”

I stepped back, pulled my windbreaker around me, and walked to the door. When I turned to look back through the front window, I could see him standing right where he was, watching me. I smiled.

It felt good to be watched.

Chapter Sev
en

“
Vera, I
’
m sorry about the fondue. I should have been more supportive.”

Vera and I sat in the back office at the Page, sharing a lunch of veggie subs, lemon-kissed tonic water, and organic blue corn chips. Mags and Bev were busy gossiping at the coffee
bar with Marge Whitfield, giving me and Vera some time alone.

“
No, darlin
’
, don
’
t you worry about that.”
She sipped her water. “
You
’
re right. I should be past it by now.”

“
I didn
’
t mean to make you feel that way,”
I said. “
I just wanted to unde
rstand what happened.”

Vera looked panicked. I held up my hand. “
Not now. Not if you don
’
t want to talk about it. I
’
m just saying, there are a lot of things I don
’
t understand that I wish I understood.”

Vera picked up a chip and broke it in two pieces. “
Su
ch as?”
I raised my eyes to her. Technically, pumping Vera for information was a violation of the truce with Mags, but Vera asked. Surely that was a mitigating factor.

“
Such as what
’
s going on with Mags. Why she
’
s disappearing in the mornings. Why she
’
s se
tting farm animals free.”

Vera gave me a long look, not justifying my line of questioning with an answer. I huffed and grabbed a chip out of the bag.

“
Okay. Fine.”
I sat back and watched her. “
Tell me about Jack, then.”

Vera blinked. “
Why?”

“
He
’
s my father
, and I hardly know anything about him. That
’
s why.”

Vera looked down and brushed some crumbs off her shirt. “
You know I can
’
t talk about that.”

“
No, I don
’
t. Why not? Because of the Miz Fallon code?”

“
Don
’
t be silly. We don
’
t have a code.”

I raised an eye
brow at her. She gave me a look and kept going.

“
It
’
s not my place, Portia. If you want to know something, ask Mags and leave me out of it.”

I widened my eyes in sarcastic surprise. “
Ask Mags? Gee, I never thought of that. What a simple solution. How could
I have missed it?”