Reckless Hearts (7 page)

I
look over to where Lottie and Sawyer are stationed by the grill.
They’re watching us closely, but quickly turn away, pretending
to talk about the meat. “Fun, with zero sense of boundaries
sometimes.” I look back at Will. “Don’t you miss
everyone, back in New York?” I ask, curious. “You must
have left friends behind, family . . . ?”

He
picks up his beer and takes a slow sip. “It’s not too
far. I’m actually closer to my folks now, so I’m already
getting the third degree about when I’ll come visit more.”

I
laugh. “Tell me about it. My parents moved only an hour away.
My mom seems to think that means I should be over for dinner three
times a week. I mean, I love them, but . . .”

“Not
that much,” Will finishes, grinning.

The sunlight hits his face,
making his tan glow golden, and his messy dark hair looks threaded
with light. I feel something tighten in my chest, an inexplicable
desire to reach up and push it out of his eyes, lean into his broad
shoulders, find that nook against his chest where I already know I
fit just right.

I
grab the bubble wand instead. “I can’t believe you bought
some place without calling me first,” I say brightly, trying to
get the conversation back to safer ground. “You had my realtor
card and everything.”

Will
chuckles. “So you’re just mad you lost out on a sale?
Sorry to disappoint. The truth is, it all moved pretty fast. I looked
around online, found a spot, and bought it before I even stepped foot
in town.”

“That’s . . . impulsive,”
I say.

He
smiles. “Guess I was just ready for a change. When it’s
right, it’s right,” he adds, holding my gaze.

My
cheeks flush with heat, and I feel it again, that restless, nervous
buzz in my veins. Electric.

Dangerous.

I
scramble to my feet. “You guys need any help?” I call
over to Sawyer and Lottie, needing to put some distance between us.

“All
set,” Sawyer announces, waving his grill tongs in triumph.
“Time to eat!”

We
feast on hot dogs, burgers, and all the fixings, sitting around the
table on Sawyer’s back deck under the shade of the old oak
tree. I’m relieved to find it’s not awkward at all with
Will; he fits in easily, chatting with Lottie, and talking sports and
music with Sawyer like he’s always been here.

“We’ll
have to go to the county fair,” Lottie declares, already
planning our summer. “Ooh, and we can all rent a boat and go
out on the water, there are some great beaches you can only get to by
sea.”

“Easy
there,” I tell her. “Nobody ever tell you to play hard to
get?”

Lottie
laughs. “Please, I’m desperate, I need new friends,”
she tells Will. “My sister just up and left, and now I’m
all alone.”

Sawyer
snorts. “And what does that make us?”

“I
thought you were meeting all these cool moms?” I ask.

“Yes,
but they’re all the way over in Beachwood Bay.” Lottie
sighs. “Nobody can just hang out without making all these
plans.”

Will
leans back in his seat, giving a slow smile. “So what you’re
really saying is you need a new last-minute babysitter.”

There’s
a pause, then we all burst out laughing. “Busted,” I tell
Lottie as she tries to pout. Sawyer grins, and sends another beer
sliding down the table to Will.

“Welcome,
buddy. I can already tell you’re going to fit right in.”

We
clear the table and head inside, while Lottie takes Kit upstairs to
clean up. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the
afternoon?” I ask Sawyer, cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Lottie
roped me into doing a Costco run,” he replies, setting dishes
in the sink.

“Ha,”
I laugh. “She tried that one on me, too.”

“It’s
OK.” He shrugs. “I need some stuff. And you know how she
gets when she pulls the whole puppy-dog eyes thing.”

“You’re
a soft touch.” I smile. “Enjoy the multipacks of kitchen
towels. I’ll be sitting around at the auto shop. I need Eddie
to take a look at my car.”

“Let me guess,”
Will’s voice comes. He’s leaning in the doorway. “You
need to override the locks again.”

“Not
this time,” I protest. “The engine’s making a weird
rattling noise whenever I go too slow.”

“I
can take a look,” he offers.

“No,
it’s OK.”

Will
looks at me. “How long is this Eddie going to take? It might be
a simple fix.”

I
pause. I have showings all week, and if I can’t get the town
mechanic to skip me to the front of the line, I’ll have to
reschedule them all. “Sure,” I finally agree. “Thanks.”

I
lead him out front and start the engine, while Will lifts the hood
and peers in. “It’s your carburetor,” he says,
after listening for a moment. “Shouldn’t take more than
five minutes to fix. I’ve got my tools back at home.”

“Really?”
My hope rises. “You’d be doing me a big favor. This thing
has been nothing but trouble. It almost makes me wish I’d kept
Berta.”

“Berta?”
Will closes the hood, smiling.

“My
old beater,” I explain. “She wasn’t glamorous, but
she never let me down.”

“Give
this guy a chance,” Will says. “You just need to get to
know him, that’s all.”

I
wonder for a moment if he’s still talking about the car, but
then Lottie comes out. I grab my stuff and say my goodbyes, then get
behind the wheel, following Will’s ancient truck as he heads
out of town.

Way
out of town.

I
peer at the winding road ahead. I know pretty much every square mile
of Oak Harbor, but even this is getting rural, way out in the woods.
Private. Alone.

I
feel a shiver, but immediately scold myself. What am I so worried
about? Will isn’t the kind of guy to jump me.
No,
but you might just wind up pinning him down for another kiss
 . . . 

I
flush. A short, wild fling is one thing, but Will lives here now,
which means he has “boyfriend material” written all over
him. Roughly translated to, a very bad idea. I can keep my hands to
myself if it means keeping things simple. Friendly.

Totally
platonic.

I
follow Will off the main road and down a twisting, bumpy dirt track.
I’m already regretting the mud on my tires by the time we pull
up in front of . . . well, let’s just say
“shack” is being generous. I scramble out of the car and
look at the run-down buildings in horror. “Tell me which
realtor sold you this pile of crap, and I’ll go kick his ass,”
I vow fiercely.

Will
bursts out laughing. “Relax, I’ve got it under control,”
he says. “They’re fixing the roof, and there’ll be
running water by next week.”

“There’s
no running water!” I yelp, before catching myself. I take a
deep breath. This is his business, and it’s not like I’m
going to be hanging out here. “Sounds . . .
great,” I say instead, following him around to the workshop in
back. Unlike the rest of the property, this space is spotless: swept
out and scrubbed down, with two work benches already set up and tools
hanging neatly on the wall. Will heads for the boxes stacked in the
back while I wander, taking it in. “What are these?” I
ask, trailing my fingertips over some weird metal tools.

Will
looks up from a box. “That’s a sander and the big one is
a jig,” he explains. “They were my grandfather’s.
He worked as a craftsman, building furniture and restoring old
houses.”

“That’s
great,” I say, then notice a couple of chairs in the corner:
their wood smoothed to an antique sheen, with cracked leather seats,
so soft-looking I have to stop myself from taking a seat. “Are
these his?”

Will
straightens up. “No, I made those.”

“Really?” I move in
to take a closer look. “They’re beautiful. I could swear
they were a hundred years old.”

“That’s
the point.” He looks almost bashful, his hands shoved in his
pockets. “I love working with old, reclaimed wood, vintage
materials. It’s like everything’s already lived a dozen
lives over, this is just the latest chapter in their story.”

I
look at him anew. I never would have guessed. “Is this what you
did back in New York?”

He
gives a short laugh. “No. I had a studio space, where it all
just sat, gathering dust. But I thought, maybe, down here, I could
spend more time on it . . .” Will pauses, a shy
expression on his face. “There are some great design stores in
the city. I thought maybe when I have more of a portfolio, I could
see about them carrying a few pieces.”

“That’s
great,” I say, impressed.

He
shrugs, still low-key. “We’ll see. Keeps me busy, at
least.”

“No,
I mean it,” I insist. “You have a real talent, Will. You
should be proud of it.”

Will
glances up, and our eyes catch. “Thank you,” he answers
softly, his eyes green in the cool shadows of the old workshop.
Something pulses in the air between us, a dry static, sharp and hot,
making my pulse kick and my body shiver with awareness. The silence
washes over me, the stillness, so far from town. There’s nobody
here, no-one to stop me if I took a step closer, and ran my hands
over the broad planes of his chest, found those cool, steady lips
with my own—

Will
looks away. “Now, let’s see about your carburetor,”
he says loudly, and I snap out of it.

What
are you thinking?
I
remind myself, as he collects his tools and heads outside.
He’s
off-limits, remember?

Back
out front, Will opens the hood of my car, then reaches to tinker with
the engine. I decide to keep a safe distance away, back by the house,
but it turns out there’s nowhere on the property safe from his
charms, because after a moment, he notices the grease he’s
getting on his shirt, and pulls it off—balling it into a wad
and tossing it to the ground so he’s just working in his jeans,
his broad shoulders naked under the hot sun.

Shirtless.
Sweaty. Greasy.

Be
still my heart.

I
sit on the dusty porch steps with a thud. He’s not the only one
getting hot now; even though I’m in the shade, I feel my body
flush, watching his muscles ripple under the tanned skin of his
torso.

What
the . . . ?

How . . . ?

I
mean . . . 

Wow
.

I
swallow, my throat dry. Talk about thirsty; I could watch this guy
work all day, but too soon, he tests the engine, and listens to the
smooth purr. “All done,” he calls over, closing the hood
with a snap. I get to my feet, still way too distracted by the sight
of his gorgeous sweaty body.

“Thanks,”
I answer, feeling awkward. “That’s the second time you’ve
rescued me now. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

Will
chuckles. “Don’t worry, no-one would mistake you for a
damsel in distress.”

“I’ll
take that as a compliment.” I grin.

He
smiles at me. “Please do.”

He
strolls over, dangling my keys from one finger. When I reach to take
them, his hand closes around mine for a moment. “Have dinner
with me tonight.”

I
struggle to keep my cool. “I already told you—”

“I
know, not your style,” Will finishes, echoing what I told him
before about me and relationships. “But I’m not getting
down on one knee here. Dinner, you and me,” he says again, with
an irresistible smile. “Consider it me collecting on your
offer, back when we first met.”

“Will . . .”
I murmur, torn. But who am I kidding? I lost this battle the moment
he took his shirt off.

No,
before then, when I saw what he’s been crafting in that
workshop of his, and realized there’s more to this guy than I
ever imagined.

“OK,” I say,
snatching my hand back. “One date.”

Will
grins, triumphant. “That’s what they all say.”

I
can’t help but laugh. “Someone’s feeling
confident.”

“Sure.”
Will shrugs, backing away. “But all my confidence is in you.
Pick you up at eight,” he calls, disappearing around the back
before I have a chance to warn him I mean it: one date, that’s
all, no promises, no happy endings—of any kind.

Who
are you kidding?

When
my friend Eva was still in denial that her fiancé, Finn, was
the love of her life, she dressed in the most boring, shapeless
clothes possible for their dates together. Now, looking at my
wardrobe trying to get ready for tonight, I finally get where she was
coming from. Everything I have is way too short, too tight, and too
flirty for a night out with Will. For once, getting a guy hot under
the collar is the last thing I want. I change half a dozen times
before finally settling on jeans and a plain red tank top. Still,
when the doorbell rings at eight and I go to let him in, I realize
that my outfit is the least of my problems:

He
looks good.

Way
too good.

Will’s
in a sky-blue button-down and jeans, his hair damp from the shower
and that delicious jaw-line cleanly-shaven for the first time in a
week. His eyes crinkle with a smile when he sees me, and my heart
lets out an answering thump. Damn, the man’s a walking
temptation—and I’m a girl with zero self-control.

Except
tonight, I remind myself firmly, holding the door wider. “Hey,”
I greet him, “you’re right on time.”

“Always,”
Will smiles, then pulls one hand from behind his back, and presents
me with a small bouquet of flowers: roses and hydrangeas tied up with
brown string. “For you.”

I
pause, shocked. I don’t think a guy has ever bought me flowers
before, but Will must mistake my surprise for something else, because
he adds, “They’re not fancy or anything, I know, but the
yard at my place is overflowing, so I figured . . .”

Wait,
he picked them himself?

I
feel a little light-headed as I take the flowers and beckon him in.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” I say. “I’ll,
umm, find a vase. I won’t be a second.”