Page 6 of The Summer Dare
Okay, Mr. Grumpy Pants, point taken.
Raising a brow of my own in challenge, I say, “With you working out here, I doubt anyone will bother the place. But if you’d rather have to find the key so you can pee, be my guest. It was myattemptat being hospitable.Obviously,I’ve made a mistake.” Exaggeratedly, I click the lock on the door and slam it shut.
“Christ, that’s not what I meant,” he mutters.
Turning on a dime to face him, I ask, “Whatdidyou mean then?”
Shaking his head, he mutters, “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
“Then why did you say anything?” I hedge as I stare at him waiting for a response.
Taking a deep breath, he finally meets my eyes. “Look, you’re here—alone and I don’t want you taking any unnecessary risks, for my sake.”
“Seaside is a pretty safe place,” I remind him.
“Not the point,” he grumbles then shakes his head. “Sorry. I appreciate the gesture. But I’d rather use my key to the back door if you’ll be gone long. I’d rather you keep it locked in caseI suddenly get pulled to our other job site in town or have to run and get something.”
That makes sense.
“I’m just running down the boardwalk to grab something for breakfast. Then I’ll likely grab some things at the store on my way home. Need anything while I’m out?”
Why the hell am I asking him that?
It’s not like I owe him anything.
“Uh… no. I’m good, thanks.” Reaching for his phone, he swipes it open. “Would you mind if I got your number so I can keep you up to date on everything? I’ll shoot you a quick text, so you can have mine, too, if you need anything.”
Since he’ll be here for the foreseeable future, it makes sense. Quickly, I rattle off my number, then I hear a notification ping from my phone shortly after he hits the final button.
Grinning, he says, “Thanks. Enjoy your breakfast, Melanie.” And with that, he moves past me up the deck to get back to work.
“It’s Lanie,” I state as a peace offering. “I’m only called Melanie when I’m in trouble or when solicitors call.”
Without waiting for a response, I bounce down the steps and walk toward breakfast.
I swear I feel his eyes follow me as I retreat, but I refuse to glance his way to check like my body wants to.
Wouldyou mind if I got your number so I can keep you up to date on everything? I’ll shoot you a quick text, so you can have mine, too, if you need anything.
Gah, could I bemorelame?
Seriously. It’s like I’d been transformed into an awkward pre-teen asking my crush for their number. With her being the only local contact for this job, it made sense to get it, but I could’ve been a little smoother in asking her.
And why the hell do I care if she leaves her door unlocked? It’s not like hundreds of locals around town don’t do it daily.
Hell, I have no idea.
But for some reason, I felt protective.
Which makes zero sense.
Other than scaring the crap out of her this morning and her grandmother dying, I know nothing about her.
So why am I still obsessing over her?
Somehow, I’ve managed to clear nearly all of the siding from the lower part of the wall I’d been working on by the time I spot her walking up the path from town.
Holy crap. How much did she buy at the store? Her arms are loaded and I swear they’re teetering on the brink of spilling across the pavement.
