Page 62 of Here & There

For a moment, Nate looks like a kid at Christmas. But he schools his expression into clearly feigned indifference. “Cool. Thanks.”

“Thank you for cooking with me,” I say.

“Texted who?” Mac asks, frowning.

Nate explains with shocking verbosity who Avery Lee is as they bring everything inside. After giving Cal a hug goodbye, which Mac watches closely from inside, I realize that all there’s left for me to do is relax.

I seem to get to do that a lot around here.

Chapter 16

Mac

When I come back outside, Shelby’s chair is empty.

Disappointment hits me like a gut punch.

But the light’s not on in the little shed.

When I peer over the edge of the railing, my heart lifts clear out of my chest.

She’s there, down by the fire pit, dropping a log into the circle of rocks. For a moment, all I can do is stare. Her soft, delicious curves glow in the silvery light of the moon and stars. In the gaps between the wash of ocean crashing onto the beach, I can hear her humming to herself as she moves, hefting a log and setting it down with a soft thud.

I love seeing Shelby here in my home, in the places I normally inhabit. I love seeing the way she moves. Like in this happy moment, there’s nothing weighing her down—no pain of the past or worry of the future. Earlier this evening, when we were just sitting down for dinner, she went back inside to get more lettuce for the burgers. I came in after her to wash my hands but froze when I saw her kneeling down to scratch Tink behind the ears.

“It’s been a good day today, hasn’t it, Tink?”

My dog had nuzzled into her and she’d laughed, murmuring something I couldn’t hear.

It’s almost dangerous how good she feels to be around. Like I’m on a precipice, knowing I’m leaning too far over the edge, but unable to stop myself. Toying with that center of gravity I know is going to kick my ass.

I hesitate now as I back away from the railing. She was being nice by making dinner for me, thanking me for the room, maybe. But was she just being nice when she said she wanted to sit by the fire? My gauge is broken, especially when it comes to Shelby. This is why I prefer doing nice things anonymously. I never know where the line is between people feeling obliged to thank me and them genuinely being happy I helped.

“How’s it look?” Shelby asks when I get down there. She presses her hands into her hips, clearly proud of the Jenga stack she’s made in the fire pit.

I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling as I set down the bottle and glasses in my hand. I keep having to do that around her. “Good,” I say.

“You’re lying.”

“You ever made a fire before, Ponytail?”

“Ponytail?” She reaches her hand back to touch the one she’s wearing, as if she forgot.

I could never forget. I’ve been watching it all night. Every time she moves and it swings behind her, it’s like this sexy underscore to everything she does. Like I could reach up and wrap it around my hand while I?—

“What’s wrong with ponytails?” she asks.

“Nothing.” The word comes out tight. “I like them,” I say, watching hers swing. There’s a pressure in my jeans that’s my own damn fault.

The admission immediately makes me embarrassed, though, as if she can read my mind. I meant the nickname as a joke, but now it’s out there.

She laughs softly. “Oh. Okay, well, yes, to answer your question, definitely. I have tons of fire experience. Isn’t it obvious? I make them all the time. Like every day.” She flips her ponytail again in an exaggerated show, and I have to look away as my groin tightens.

“It’s a good first effort,” I say stiffly. “Open to a few tips, though?”

She smiles. “Yes, boss.”

She’s teasing me. I fucking love it, so I frown. Then I set down the items I brought and gently rearrange the stack she’s created, removing a few logs but trying my best not to start from scratch. “It needs a little air flow. And something lighter to get it started, like that.” I point to the stack of kindling beside the pit, glad I left some wood out here during this spate of good weather.

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