Love Shack (Tiny Houses, Big Hearts) (13 page)

“I want to talk about what secrets you’re trying to keep from Deborah,” he said as he leaned his body fully against the counter and crossed his arms.

This was an area to tread in lightly.

“What are you talking about?”

He pushed off the counter and pulled open her small stove. After removing the lid off the pan and placing the bacon in the oven to finish, he set a timer on his watch and refocused on her again. “We have eight minutes for you to tell me what it is that Deborah has the scent of. She knows something is up, and I think you should tell me so she doesn’t blindside me with it in this interview she’s got planned for later this week.”

Felicity took in the arch of his brow. He’d widened his stance. He looked like he had something on her, but then he rolled his left shoulder. It was the one he’d favored when he went to sleep. He always seemed to do it before he smiled during an interview. She grinned. It was always useful to figure out someone’s tell.

He was fishing for information. He’d seen the dress, but she didn’t think he had any clue where it was from. Otherwise the conversation they’d had would have gone in a completely different direction.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah. You do. You’re just not going to tell me.” He rolled both shoulders and grabbed the salad dressing out of the three quarter sized fridge. He shut it hard, but didn’t show any kind of frustration on his face by the time he turned back around.

Felicity had to admit that he was good at holding in his emotions from a distance, but she could see his jaw tick, and a vein in his head pulse up close like this. She usually kept everything to herself, and she knew she hadn’t slipped at all since they’d been hanging out together. She prayed she wasn’t talking in her sleep again. That would be the only downfall. But nine times out of ten, if she did talk in her sleep, it was gibberish.

She figured she should say something, so she went for vague. “I’m going to tell you that everybody has a past. Mine does not contain orange jumpsuits or illegal activity, so there’s no reason for me to bring it up to the surface.”

Although him talking about her secrets, having seen her dress, she felt a lot of raw wounds threaten to open up again. Slapping a mental bandage over her heart, she grabbed two forks, the dressing and tossed the salad.

“I’m all for keeping our private lives private, but I wanted you to know that Deborah smells something like a good story on you. She doesn’t seem like the type to let go easy. If you let me in on what topics to avoid, it might help me not put my foot in my mouth.”

He had to make sense. Felicity thought about the string of interviews and how she’d nearly buckled under the heat of the day and the tenacity of their questions. She thought about the news they’d dropped on her without warning. The fan mail, the donations… “Don’t discuss awards shows or my dress.”

“Do I get any reason behind that?”

“No.”

He thought about what she was saying and unfolded his arms. He might not forget about the desire to pump her for information, but he was at least letting it drop. “You realize we are living in extremely close quarters. We are going to need to talk about something. We are going to have to get to know each other at least on a friendly level.”

“What other level would we get to know each other on?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it, and she really
should
have stopped it. But all she could think of was his thin pajama bottoms, and her mouth wouldn’t shut up.

“I don’t know.” He licked his lips and opened his mouth, and his timer went off.

Felicity went to work finishing up and plating their meal. He didn’t seem like he thought of her as anything other than a nuisance, and that was good. She didn’t need someone who was a workaholic at a big business. She’d seen how all that played out before. She’d rather have a real man.

Brandon bent over to pull the bacon steaks from the oven, and a wash of heat swept over her as his slacks cupped around his ass. The temperature of the room should have dropped once Brandon shut the oven, but Felicity couldn’t seem to cool off.

Chapter Twenty-One

Brandon excused himself while Felicity plated the food. He snuck into the bathroom and typed out a few notes on his phone to reference later. He wasn’t working even close to a full shift right now, and his brain was eating itself at the lack of stimulation. That had to be the reason he was so obsessed with Felicity.

She’d seemed so stunning. Even when the reporters had been grilling her, he’d noticed a hair catch in the breeze and float above her head. His hand had twitched in his pocket wanting to tuck it behind her ear. For a moment, he’d actually thought he was attracted to her, but as he took down the notes “Awards ceremonies, Versace dress, Felicity Newhouse, 2-5 years ago” he realized he was just bored. His brain had to focus on something. In under two hundred fifty square feet, there wasn’t much else.

He washed his hands in the half sink and exhaled as he looked into the tiny shaving mirror. He had to work on something. He needed a project.

When he sat down at the table he ran a few options by his current roommate. She shot every single one down.

“Why can’t I at least make you stairs?” He took a moment to chew the bacon steak and got distracted. Why did his food never taste this good? He really needed to check out this whole organic movement. What was he talking about? Oh. Yeah. “I could work outside. You’re up against a cemetery. No one would complain. I could rent some tools and have it done in an afternoon.”

“I don’t want front steps,” she told him yet again.

“Why the hell not? I think there might be something living in your hay bale.”

She put her fork down, wiped her mouth, and stood to refill her wine. She topped his off too. Brandon wondered if she always drank this much wine, or if he might be part of the reason. Either way, he wanted more wine too.

“I just don’t want steps. I don’t need them.” She drank her wine and went back to eating.

“You don’t need a wine fridge, but it makes life easier,” he pointed out. “I need a project.”

Felicity looked at him as she swirled her wine in the glass. “Why do you want to change my house so badly?”

“I just need something to do, or I am going to start talking to the headstones.” He realized he had something he could work with. “Or we could just share stories. How about you tell me about where you wore your dress?”

“Fine. Make stairs.”

Brandon was a little disappointed that she’d rather change something about her precious house than tell him one fact about her previous life, but at least he would have something to focus on.

“I’ll head into town to rent the tools tomorrow. I know there’s a building supply store nearby.”

Felicity shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I know someone, remember?”

Brandon arched a brow in question. Apparently this was something he should have already known.

She huffed. “You read my business plan. I already have a contractor. I’ve been emailing him back and forth with all the buzz. He’ll let you borrow some tools.” She finished the last bite of her dinner and poked her fork his direction. “But he needs to help you with these stairs, and they can’t be permanent. I need to be able to take them off when I tow the house. Otherwise the trailer won’t be street legal.”

“I thought you were planning on staying in town to run your tiny house business? Why do you need to have this so mobile?”

“Nothing this good is all that permanent, Brandon. I feel safer knowing my house can come with me. Wherever I need to run to.”

“Are you running toward something or away from it?”

She didn’t say anything as she cleaned the dishes, and Brandon realized that was enough of an answer in itself. She was running from something. He helped her dry the dishes and put them away where they belonged. The shelving was open, and it was very clear what went where. All he had to do was find the spot that was empty and put the dish or glass away.

Everything had its place in Felicity’s house. It was pretty ironic that she wanted a permanent place for everything but the house itself.

* * * * *

The rest of the week went by much faster with something to focus on besides Felicity. Brandon was grateful for Thomas. The builder was excited to work with him. Brandon knew Tom was dying to start on this tiny community, and with the funding still pouring in from donations, he was chomping at the bit. Every time the contractor came over, Brandon could see Tom’s eyes scanning the land for the perfect layout. Tonight, Tom came by with a radio and a popup tent.

The rain would have deterred Brandon from being productive, but either Tom was really excited to finish up the steps, or he was bound and determined to show Brandon how he could keep on his schedule.

“You know this whole charity project is already funded by the donations from people who are following the story. You don’t have to keep buttering me up to give Felicity a loan.”

Tom grinned and pulled out a cooler from his truck bed. Inside was some of the artisan beer Brandon had been eyeing yesterday at the market.

“But…you know…I’m not going to object. Although, is it smart of us to drink and use power tools?” he asked as both he and Tom popped the bottle caps off on the side of the portable work table.

“We’re going to sand tonight. If we injure ourselves with sanding blocks, we’ve got more problems than a beer or two can compound.”

Brandon sipped his beer. This was not something he wanted to throw back and miss the taste of. The storm rolling through dropped the temperature enough that he had some time to drink it outside and not have to rush in the summer sun.

“I thought you said we’d be putting on the poly today too?”

Tom tipped his bottle toward the edge of the popup tent. “Not with a storm like this. I’ll need to take these back to my shop and get that done inside if we wanted to rush through it. The humidity will kill the finish. It’ll gum up like crazy if we try and work it out here.”

“Could I come by and see the shop?”

“I thought you were a banker? Why are you so interested in my blue collar job?”

“I just need something to keep me busy while I’m stuck here.”

Tom’s grin looked like the cat who knew how to open the bird cage. “I don’t think so. I think you’re hooked. The question is…are you falling for the tiny houses, or the female living inside one?”

Brandon’s phone dinged. He looked at his notifications, and it was an email. From his boss. Saved by the bell.

“I need to take this.”

Tom put his beer next to him on the work bench and went back to sanding the steps. They already felt smooth to Brandon, but he wasn’t the professional.

Tom got a few full strokes in as he said, “I’m sure it’s really important.”

Brandon didn’t take the time to decide whether that was sarcasm or not. He was too busy reading the email and feeling his gut drop. Felicity was hiding something, but his research would have to wait.

I’m going to meet you before the next interview. I want you prepped. That house lady is really selling herself, but we need to get our name back in the mix too. Quit being so forgettable. This is a publicity stunt. You could be a bit more public.

Wonderful. Their week one interview exclusive with Deborah was tomorrow.

We’re set up to meet Deborah at noon. What time did you want us to meet you?

The reply was almost instant.

Not the house lady. Just you. I want to prepare you separately. Meet me outside the station at nine am.

Brandon confirmed the time and added it to his calendar out of habit. When he pulled up the spreadsheet, all kinds of items blared red at him. He’d missed the conference call with corporate. He’d missed the weekly profit/loss report, and labor numbers had gone directly to his assistants this week. The realization that the bank was still standing and hadn’t burned down had him thinking.

Maybe being away for a moment wasn’t all that bad.

He returned to the tent with Tom and started sanding without saying anything. Unlike Deborah, Tom didn’t pry. He’d said what he thought and backed off. Brandon could see why his new build partner enjoyed his work enough to help him construct a minor project after he’d been on the job all day. It was relaxing.

All the stress took a backseat to the pleasure of working with his hands. He had to hand it to the man. Tom’s skill level was leaps and bounds above Brandon’s, but the carpenter never said anything about his fuckups. He instructed when he could, and polished the spots over when he couldn’t.

“Aren’t you tired after working all day?” Brandon asked when they were a solid hour and two beers into re-sanding the boards.

“I’m mostly into the project management side of the business at this point.” Tom tilted his head to the side and back as he tried to catch some stray light from the house. “Other than walking or climbing to inspect things and some demonstrating techniques to the newer guys, I’m on the computer or my phone working the logistics to get the most out of my team. Not like the old days when I did it all myself.”

Tom grabbed a cloth out of his toolbox and started to wipe down their work. Even without any poly, the wood seemed to shine.