Page 18 of The Way Back Home

He chuckles, as if what I just said was hilarious. “They don’t work. I can fix them, but I’ll need a part.”

I frown. “I don’t need your help.”

He turns to me with an eyebrow raised. “You one of them feminists? I don’t need a man to do anything for me?”

“No. I’m not a feminist, I just don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been fending for myself for a long time.”

He walks toward me and drops the chain into my hand. It’s old, and greasy, but it’s not rusted, just covered with a thick layer of dust. I nod. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back for the chain.”

“Don’t worry about it. We got a couple lying around here anyway, so if that doesn’t fit, let me know. Dad kept every little piece of junk that came his way in this shed. Mamma couldn’t stand it.”

“I said I’ll pay you back,” I say sternly.

He shrugs and slides a tub of grease across the counter littered with tools and dust. “Suit yourself. You’ll need this too. I’ll leave you to it.”

I don’t say another word as he walks out of the garage—I just stare down at the chain in my hands and the tub of grease. August’s fingerprints are stamped in the dust. I place my thumb over the largest one and smile at how big his prints are compared to mine. The memory of walking in on him in the bathroom flashes unwanted into my mind, and all I can see are those big hands wrapped around his big ...no!August Cotton is a potential client; he’s not to be manhandled, not even in my wildest fantasies. That can never happen, but damn, if that big broody Marine doesn’t make me want things that I have no right to want.

Long after the sun has set, I have the bike chain all greased up and not at all where it should be, and it’s clear that I have no idea what I’m doing. This is a lot different from scooping up dog poop or changing a fuse. I’m out of my depths with this one, and I need help. But I’ll be damned if I’ll ask for it, because August isn’t the only stubborn adult occupying Tanglewood right now. I wipe my hands on a grease-stained towel I find on the work bench and set the bike to one side of the shed, then I climb the stairs to the house. The scent of tomato sauce, dough, and cheese assaults me.Pizza, again. I need to freshen up, so I have no idea why I’m tiptoeing down the hall toward the kitchen like a creeper.

“Auggie, why we hawe to hawe the pizza again?”

“Because, it’s pizza or toast,” he replies gruffly around the dull clanging of plates and the sounds of the cupboard thudding softly closed. “Now, be good and help me set the table.”

“’Cwause why?” Bettina complains. The legs of a chair scrape along the floor. “Mamma never made pizza or toasts.”

“Mamma ain’t here, Bett. You got me. You’re stuck with me, and I don’t know how to do nothin’ else.” My heart breaks with the hopelessness in his voice, and I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, so I quietly ease away from the kitchen.

“Why can’t Wivvie cook?”

“Because Olivia is a guest. You don’t make guests cook,” he says impatiently. “Besides, she don’t belong here. She’ll be gone soon enough, and it’ll be back to me and you.”

I take a step back, and the boards creak beneath my feet. I wince and hightail it up the stairs, my heart racing at the thought of being caught listening in on August and his little sister.

I run the bath, and I try my best to remove the grease stains from my hands in the sink without staining the vanity with it. When I’m done, I pour in a ridiculous amount of bubble bath, and I sit on the edge of the tub with my hand swishing the foam around in the water. I wonder what it would be like to share this tub with the angry Marine. I wonder if there would even be room enough for me, given that he’s built like a tank.

No!No sharing bubble baths with August Cotton.You cannot afford to be thinking of a naked, wet August right now.Or ever. He might not have signed up to my program yet, but I have no doubt he’ll come around, and taking bubble baths with clients is a huge no-no. Daydreaming about sharing more than just a pizza with this man is a very dangerous thing. I’m just about to strip off my clothing when there’s a soft tap on the door.

“Olivia, are you decent?”

Am I decent?That depends on whether you’re taking my thoughts about our naked bodies slipping against one another in the tub into account, now, doesn’t it?

“Mostly,” I say, and give myself a mental smack down as he opens the door.

“How much of that did you hear?” That’s August for you—right for the jugular. He doesn’t like to mince words.

“Hear? Hear what? I didn’t hear nothing,” I say too quickly, which of course is code for “I heard every damn word you said, mister.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean—”

“Nothing by it?”

“I just don’t want her getting too used to this,” he says, staring at the steaming bathwater. “I don’t want her getting used to having you around.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I went to the realtor today. Apparently there’s not a single rental in all of Magnolia Springs, though I don’t know if it was payback for yesterday or there just really isn’t any rentals here. Either way, I’ll be gone as soon as possible,” I say with a sigh. “As soon as I can find somewhere else to stay, but in the meantime, I don’t mind cooking for you and Bettina.”

---