Page 52 of Love is an Open Book
Gavin trundles by, pushing a wheelbarrow. On his way past, he shakes his head at their antics. “It’s not always like this.”
“Usually he joins in,” Morris says. “But he’s on his best behavior for you.”
“Gavin’s never been on good behavior around me.” I glance over, sure he’ll agree, but he’s already out of earshot. A groupof people spreading mulch beckon him over, and he pulls a box cutter from his back pocket, then stoops to slice open a bag of mulch with decisive strokes that accentuate his biceps in a way that has me taking a swig from my water bottle.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What I mean is, we’ve known each other forever. We don’t worry about impressing each other.”
Morris and Riley share an unreadable look. “Does Gavin ever come to your book signings?” Morris asks.
“Whenever they’re local, yeah.”
“And do you want things to go well when he’s there, or is it business as usual?”
“I get a little self-conscious,” I say. “But that’s not his fault. He’s super supportive.”
“Okay,” he says. “But think of it this way. This is his chance to show he’s good at what he does. Since you two are close, your approval would mean even more.”
“I hang out with him while he works in his yard all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.” Morris brushes his hands on his baggy jeans. “Here, he’s not just working for himself. He’s a project manager. He’s running things, people look to him for leadership and expertise.”
I glance toward where I saw him last and see he barely made it halfway to the road before he got waylaid by two men with pickaxes. He lifts the clipboard he brought off the pile of dirt in the wheelbarrow and flips to a new page, scribbles something on it with a pencil.
I think back on all the times I teased him for playing in the dirt. I love getting a rise out of him, but I know how it feels to have people judge you for your profession—plenty of trolls talking about how romance is cliché and worse. Landscaping isn’t a profession that gets a lot of love, either, but making the world more beautiful is important work.
As someone whose genre gets ridiculed for being silly and pointless when it’s anything but, I should’ve known better than to tease him. I finally grasp what Morris is getting at. It’s not about impressing one another, it’s about validation.
I’ve been focused on how I could make it through fish-out-of-water with my dignity intact, but Gavin is in his element. I’ve entered his world, and this is my chance to show him it matters, like he’s always done for me.
Sixteen
Gavin
I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off Mia working alongside the crew. She’s basically been left to her own devices since we arrived, even though I planned to stick by her side. She’s never done this sort of work, but I got pulled away the moment I got out of my truck, and every time I’m on my way to check in with her, someone else finds me.
I didn’t even get a chance to join her for lunch, but that hasn’t stopped me from keeping an eye on her. She’s held her own in every task, keeping up with Riley, who’s the toughest worker on our crew. But for some reason, I’m suddenly feeling protective. Maybe even territorial.
Morris’s laughter drifts toward me and I look over and see the two of them taking a water break on a boulder in the shade. As always, his shirt strains to contain his pecs and biceps—the man is built like a pro wrestler—and I try not to grit my teeth at how close they’re sitting. Not much space on the rock, I tell myself. But when she gets up and heads in my direction, I’m embarrassingly happy.
I pull a roll of sod off the pile in an attempt to look busy. “You want to call it a day?” I ask when she walks up. “I know this isn’t your thing.”
“Nah.” She leans against the open tailgate. “It’s growing on me. No pun intended.”
“Really?” I don’t mean to sound incredulous, but this is the same person who I caught watering her monstera with day-old coffee.
But she nods, pushing off her hat so it hangs by the string, treating me to a view of her brown eyes, framed by dark lashes. “When we showed up, this lot looked like you’d get tetanus just from setting foot inside.” She lifts her chin toward the tangle of car parts and rusty barbed wire protruding from the top of a dumpster.
At the thought of barbed wire, I can’t help risking a glance down at her legs. Her shins are glistening with a sheen of sweat, knees smudged with dirt. Normally I’d justify it by telling myself I’m only looking to check for injuries. It’s my job to make sure no accidents happen on the job. Not that I’m not concerned. I am, because even though she’s strong and capable, she’s new at all this and she’s barely sat down all day.
But even after I assure myself there’s no telltale welts from poison ivy or scratches from bristly yew branches, my eyes linger on her skin, cataloging the shapely curve of her thighs. And after how close we came to kissing this morning, it feels like there’s no point in denying it: I’m totally checking out my best friend.
“Now this lot looks ready for a game of kickball,” Mia says, pulling my attention back to the conversation.
“I thought recess was your least favorite part of school.”
“Just because I resented the rule about no reading at recess doesn’t mean I’m not fully in support of giving the neighborhood kids more space to play,” she says. “It’s impressive what we’ve managed to accomplish in less than a day.”
“You’ve all done such good work, but I haven’t been able to pitch in as much as I’d like. Had to keep putting out fires.” It comes out like a humblebrag, but I mean it. I’d rather be getting my hands dirty, but people keep coming to me for guidance.
