Page 36 of She Was Made for Me

“It’s fine,” I say, yanking my hand away, turning toward the house.

“Violet.” Kyle steps in my path, hands on his hips. “It’s not fine.”

I glance up to find his face lined with worry, his eyes on my left hand. What happened to the grumpy fuck who came out here to lecture me?

“You’re hurt,” he murmurs, reaching for my hand again. I uncurl my palm and let him examine the damage. His fingers are rough and calloused but they’re gentle when they brush against my skin, sending tingles up my arm. I’m shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s from his closeness or from nearly falling to my death. Somehow, they almost feel the same.

Kyle’s gaze moves from my hand to my face, assessing. His green eyes swim with concern, and there’s a wrench in my heart.

Don’t be nice to me, I silently plead.If you start being nice to me while looking like that, it will be game over.

“Come on.” He motions over his shoulder to the house. “I’ve got a first aid kit inside. Let’s get that cleaned up.”

“I don’t need your help.” I give him a defiant look, well aware I’m being a brat, but too afraid to give in to his kindness. “I can manage it.”

“Of course you can,” he says, speaking with the indulgent tone one uses with a child. “But I’m going to help anyway.”

I follow him inside the house, back through the basement. He gestures for me to sit on my air mattress, which I didn’t deflate today because I knew they were working upstairs. He hands me a washcloth to press to the wound while he goes to fetch the first aid kit. It’s the same washcloth I used on his forehead after I hurled my phone at him the first night here, and I think back to that moment, to his words.

Every time you laugh, or smile at me…

God, I wish he’d finished that sentence.

Kyle reappears with the first aid kit, lowering himself onto the bed beside me. The mattress shifts under his weight, making me lean closer. I should move back but I don’t want to. I can smell his scent, a combination of an earthy, musky cologne, and something woodsy—probably sawdust. It’shissmell, I realize. So perfectly him.

With a gentle touch, he takes my hand in his, turning it over so my palm is facing up. I watch as he carefully cleans the cut, which isn’t too deep, thankfully. It must have been a thorn or something on one of the weeds I was tackling.

He doesn’t say anything as he works, but there’s no need for words right now. Not with the way he’s touching me so tenderly, with the attention he’s giving the task, with the way I can feel his warmth beside me, on my bed.

I press my eyes shut, imagining for a moment what it would be like to close the distance between us, to brush my mouth over his and pull him down on top of me.

As he dresses my wound with such care, I can’t remember what I was so mad about outside. All I can remember is the nice version of Kyle—the one who made me a desk, who helped me convince Dad about the restoration, the one who laughed and flirted with me in Joe’s and nearly asked me out.

He did. I’m sure of it. I’ve always been sure of it, regardless of his denial, and I’ve always wished he had, that Dad hadn’t shown up at that moment.

I stare down at Kyle’s gentle hands, my heart thrumming in a steady rhythm. I’ve been kidding myself that I haven’t been into him this whole time, messy hair or not. It was easier to deny when he acted like a jerk, and it was definitely easier to pretend before he tidied himself up.

But now that he’s sitting here, being so kind and caring, looking so fucking good and smelling like some kind of sexy forest…

Crap. I’m in big trouble.

15

Kyle

“Good work today, guys.” I close the door as Ryan and Phil leave, glad it’s quitting time. It’s been a long, hot day restoring the oak staircase on the upper level, and I’m ready for a drink.

I think back to my house on Lake Cobbossee, wishing I could dive into the cool water right now. I haven’t minded being back in New York as much as I thought I would—especially not here in the Heights—but I miss the beauty of Maine and the convenience of living by the lake in the summer. I can’t exactly go for a dip in the East River.

Oh well. A cold beer and a good meal will have to do.

I enter the living room to find Violet peering down at the cold scraps of pizza left over from the lunch she ordered for the team today. I wrinkle my nose. That was shitty pizza six hours ago; there’s no way it’s gotten better since then.

“Are you sure you should eat that?”

She looks up at me with a frown. “Don’t body shame me.”

I recoil in shock. “What?”

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