One of These Nights (6 page)

“If you start feeling like you might Hulk out and start smashing, you call me. If I can't come help, Em will. Okay? We're good distractions, and we've got your back.”

“Thanks,” Zoe replied, mustering a smile for her friend. “I'm sure it'll be fine.” After all, this was Jason they were talking about, a country boy laid up in a log cabin. She could handle him when he was walking around, so this should be less trouble. Even with the addition of his mother, how hard could this really be?

She didn't know, Zoe realized. She was no longer sure she wanted to. But right now, there was nothing for it but to enjoy the night as best she could and take some solace in the fact that if nothing else, this would be an experience neither of them would forget . . . even if they wanted to.

S
aturday evening, Zoe stood on the front porch of the cute little log cabin in the woods with two plastic bags full of food and her “I mean business” boots on. Because Zoe Watson was a woman of her word. Her thickheaded, hastily given word. And they'd made a deal.

Damn it.

She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked at the door.
It's just Treebeard,
she told herself firmly, even as a flurry of butterflies began to flop mindlessly around in her stomach. Something—some
one
—thumped around inside, and a volley of sharp, high-pitched barks started up.

“Hang on!” Jason's gruff voice carried through the door. He sounded thrilled, as usual. Must be his mother hadn't passed on any of that frightening enthusiasm she was said to possess. A bang, followed by a muttered series of curses that would have made a sailor blush, only reinforced her opinion.

“Take your time,” she drawled, turning her head and letting her eyes drift over the riot of flowers that bloomed, lush and full, across the front of the house. And around the base of the wrought-iron lamppost in the front yard, like something out of Narnia. It was an ocean of color. Some part of her had expected to find that Jason lived in a dilapidated little shack in the woods, equipped with nothing but a hot pot, an outhouse, and an old black-and-white TV with rabbit ears on top. Instead, he lived in a cozy cabin that, from the outside at least, was completely charming. He obviously took a lot of care with it, and with the neatly trimmed, thick green lawn that rolled back behind the wooden split-rail fence surrounding a yard that backed up to the trees.

There had been a brief, disconcerting instant upon pulling into the driveway yesterday when she'd been hit with a wave of homesickness, brief but strong and bittersweet. There was something about this spot—not so much the look of the house, but the feel of it—that put her in mind of the long, lazy summer days of her childhood, of the time before she'd lugged her adult worries around like a sack of bricks. This had the look of a warm place, a
safe
place. And because it belonged to a man who had never struck her as either thing, she'd walked up onto the wide, low-slung front porch with more apprehension than she'd expected to feel. All her ideas about yesterday's visit had scattered the moment she'd walked onto his territory.

In retrospect, she should have taken it as a sign and hightailed it out of there while the getting was good.

Rosie was barking for all she was worth right on the other side of the door now. Zoe shifted her weight from one foot to the other and tried not to think about how hungry she was. She had a sneaking suspicion that the sound of Rosie's scrabbling paws against the wood was more about the smell of dinner than about the human carrying it. She still found it strange—the Treebeard she knew might want to plant himself in the earth and hang out in nature, but it was weird to think of him being bothered with any one small creature in it. Especially when that creature was of a sort known for needing attention and affection. Between this and the hints of vulnerability she'd seen yesterday, Zoe thought, maybe she'd been wrong about him.

“Jesus, Rosie, knock it off before you give yourself an aneurysm!”

Or not.

The door opened suddenly, and she found herself staring through the screen into a pair of wary brown eyes that should have been far too familiar to be causing the punch of pure, liquid heat she felt at the sight of them. Especially because he looked as though he'd just caught her in the act of leaving a flaming bag of poo in front of the door.

She'd had moments where that idea did hold some appeal.

“Hi,” she said brightly, hoping that being friendly from the get-go would set the tone. For once, she was in no mood to argue with him. She was also anxious to see what kind of a job her friend Alex Hoult had done earlier. Jason's house had desperately needed a thorough decluttering, and Alex had been able to work him in this morning. Not that he'd bothered to pick up his phone when Zoe had called to let him know. And not that she'd let that stop her from scheduling it anyway. Alex had reported ‘surprise and satisfaction . . . I think.'”

Zoe decided his current expression fell more into the “I think” category.

“We need to talk about boundaries,” he said.

“I know what they are. I'm standing in front of one,” Zoe replied. “Can we talk about boundaries later?”

“You paid to have my house cleaned,” he said. “Without asking if I
wanted
my house cleaned.”

“I tried to ask. You don't pick up your phone.”

“You didn't leave a message, and I don't know your number,” he pointed out.

“Well . . .” He had a point, but Zoe quickly brushed it aside. He could have picked up the phone. She had a local number, not 1-800-BUY-STUF. “You said yourself the house looked like hell. You haven't been able to clean it, and your mother is coming tomorrow. Do you really think I'm going to make a good first impression if she sees I've been letting you fester in your little hovel here, slowly sinking into the paper plates and soda cans?”

She had him there, and it hadn't even been hard. He stared at her, looking silently annoyed. Zoe flexed the fingers that gripped the handles of her plastic bags, tired of standing there with them.

“Jason, I'm hungry. I brought food, which I'm going to eat even if I have to go back out to my car to do it.” She looked down at Rosie, who was staring up at her wagging her glorious plume of a tail for all she was worth. “Your dog can join me. She looks like she's ready to be good company.”

“Of course she is. She was just as excited about finding and eating a dead spider earlier. It took me three tries to find a dog food she wouldn't turn her nose up at, but spiders are some kind of delicacy.” He frowned at his dog, who looked completely unfazed.

“Then I guess she'll like Chinese just fine.”

“Probably. Whether or not it agrees with her is a different issue. One I have a personal stake in.” His eyes moved down to the bags of takeout. “House of Gee?”

“Only the best for my fake boyfriend. Unless you're fake breaking up with me, in which case I'll be taking my gourmet takeout elsewhere.”

Jason's lips twitched. “That a hint to let you in?”

Honestly.
“Do I look like I want to carry all this crap back to my car?”

“I thought you said it was gourmet.” He lowered his head a little to examine what she carried, and she couldn't help but notice that he really did need a haircut. Though she would never say so, she could appreciate the fact that he always left it long enough to show off the loose curl it had—but he was letting it turn into a mop. She bit her tongue, though, and tabled the discussion for later. The house was clean. That was one step toward getting his life back in order.

The pleasure she felt at the thought worried her. She loved projects, but she was pretty sure Jason would be the kind of project that was both thankless and never ending.

His eyes lifted back up to hers, missing their glimmer of humor. “I would have bought dinner.”

“It was on my way. I came straight here from work, and once again, I am
hungry
. It's not a big deal, Jason. Though if you want to cook out of a sense of honor or something, be my guest. I'll just drag home all these leftovers. These piping-hot, amazing-smelling leftovers.” She rattled the bags a little for effect, hoping the scent that wafted from them would push him to end his teasing. And that's what this was, too—
teasing
. Rusty, maybe, but effective.

She might celebrate its normalcy if her stomach would quit growling.

“Well . . . I'm paying you for the maid service,” he finally said. Zoe tipped her head to the side and widened her eyes to stare at him.

“Fine. Write me a check. I only hired them because I knew you wouldn't, and I don't do clutter. I bet your mother doesn't, either. Now, are you going to open this door or what?”

“Oh.” He looked so surprised at the realization that there was still a screen door between them that Zoe couldn't suppress a laugh. She wondered how many other people got the screen-door treatment and never got inside. Most, probably. “Yeah. Sorry. Come on in.”

Relieved, she opened the door, cooed a hello to Rosie because her hands were full, and marched right past Jason toward the kitchen. Rosie padded along at her ankles, tail flying like a furry flag.

Alex and her crew had done a fine job, she decided, glancing around as she walked. Jason had a home that was as appealing on the inside as it was on the outside now that it had been cleaned and decluttered. Most of the log cabin was one large, open space, with the exception of an area off in the back that she assumed concealed an office or a bedroom. There was a big family room with a stone fireplace as its focal point to her right, open to a spacious kitchen in the back of the house. A cozy dining area was to the left, with a nice rustic table she hadn't been able to see yesterday. Stairs climbed into a loft overhead, its contents hidden but presumably more organized now. The honeyed color of the wood lent a feeling of warmth everywhere she looked. It was a good layout, Zoe thought, her habit of mentally sizing up spaces for decoration taking over for a moment. He'd even done a decent job of placing the furniture . . . and the pieces he'd been buying from Two Roads. Those made her smile.

Not bad, Treebeard. Not bad at all.

Zoe deposited her two bags of food on the counter, marveling that the kitchen, post-excavation, was one she liked almost as well as her own. Everything was just so . . . put together. Was that his doing? she wondered. Even if he hadn't chosen all the materials, he'd picked the house. Then he'd made it a home, somewhere she'd be inclined to settle into and be comfortable. Well, if Jason weren't in it.

How a guy like him had managed to create such an inviting space was something she knew she'd be mulling over later. It would require at least one cup of tea. Probably more like a whole kettle, though.

An odd noise pulled her out of the impromptu home inspection. Zoe looked down, frowning, then burst into laughter.

“What's funny?” Jason asked, making his way over. Zoe didn't look at him, but the
creak-thump
of his movement on the crutches was unmistakable. She wouldn't have thought there would be a way to make his clomping footsteps even louder, but he'd found one.

“This dog,” she said, pointing downward. “You sure she isn't actually a groundhog?”

“Oh, that,” he replied with a low, rumbling chuckle. “That's one of her signature moves.”

The Pekingese sat very steadily on her butt, perfectly balanced, paws drawn up in front of her. Every time she caught Zoe's eye, Rosie waved her paws insistently and made some sort of strange, cartoonish sound.

“She sounds like an alien. Or a Muppet.”

“Well, she also looks like she's been chasing parked cars, so I don't know what you expect,” Jason said.

“Oh, now, that's mean. She's beautiful.” Zoe reached down to ruffle Rosie's ears, surprised when the little dog ducked her head sideways and gave her what was an unmistakably dirty look.

Jason laughed again, low and warm. “One of the many things I've learned about Pekingese in the past two weeks. If they're begging, you don't interrupt them. Even if you're the one they're begging from. It's a personal space thing.”

“Pekingese have a personal space thing?”

He snorted. “You have no idea. She's educating me on that. Seems to think I'm kind of a slow learner, though.” The way he looked at Rosie, who'd gone back to waving her paws and looking between them expectantly, was so unguardedly affectionate that warmth bloomed deep in Zoe's chest, flooding her with a lot of completely unwanted affection of her own.
Knock it off, girl. You don't even really know him. And what you do know isn't all sparkly rainbows.

Of course, all of that begged the question:
So then why are you here?

She knew very well why. Embarrassingly, it had nothing to do with either kindness or charity, and it barely qualified as mercenary. It did, however, have a lot to do with how his butt looked in his old, faded jeans every time he stomped out of her gallery.

“I'm sure you pick up just fine when it's a subject that interests you,” Zoe said, trying to shake off the nerves that seemed to go hand in hand with her attraction. Jason looked down at her, and Zoe realized she'd never been quite this close to him before. Heat seemed to radiate off of him . . . or maybe that was just the effect he had on her. She had to fight the urge to fan herself.
Stupid.
He probably had enough women tripping over themselves around him, even with that attitude of his.

The thought left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Now, there's a backhanded compliment,” he said. “I bet you've got a long list of things you think don't interest me.” He seemed more entertained than offended, and she couldn't resist taking the bait.

“I do. At the top of that list are manners and dirt removal. As evidence, I have a special doormat at the gallery that looks almost as new as the day I bought it despite
someone's
assurances that they'd make an effort.”

“Maybe that
someone
just has cleaner shoes now and doesn't need fancy doormats.”

“I'm afraid my vacuum cleaner says otherwise.”

“You should never trust machinery when it starts talking to you. Don't you read any science fiction?” They were toe-to-toe now, and Zoe realized too late that she'd moved as she was talking, drawn to him without even realizing it. He was looking down at her with the oddest expression. There wasn't a bit of hostility in it. Instead, his gaze skimmed her face, long, dark lashes dropping as he focused on . . . her mouth? Oh God, was he looking at her mouth?