Page 41 of Wood Riddance
Like a restaurant kitchen, we started from scratch every morning.
Evening cleanup was a team effort. But the day had been so nice, and the sky was so clear. I wanted my staff to enjoy it, so I’d sent everyone to Richardson’s for ice cream. And yeah, maybe part of my motivation to shoo them out was because I wanted to be alone.
My favorite Taylor Swift playlist was blasting and I had just taken off my coveralls when Finn showed up.
And wouldn’t you know it. He knew how to catalog and sort wrenches exactly the way I liked it done.
Bastard. I busied myself silently but couldn’t resist sneaking looks at him. Because the sight of this man holding tools in his massive hand—especially with a rag thrown over his shoulder—was doing something to me that I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Though I’d been itching for time alone, I couldn’t deny I was appreciative of his help and his initiative. So the least I could do was attempt to be polite. Which, in my case, meant remaining silent. If I opened my mouth, I feared I’d either hurl insults or attempt to shove my tongue down his throat.
I’d narrowly missed the latter on the Fourth of July. I had almost mauled him in the woods that night. Thank God Clive had the good sense to cause mayhem. Because if I’d besieged him the way my body had demanded in that moment, I never would have recovered.
Merely brushing my lips against his had altered my DNA and sent me into a weeklong lust spiral. Now I was finally getting a hold of myself. There was no way I’d allow myself to tempt fate again.
“You know,” he said, locking one of the storage cabinets. “You struck me as more of aReputationgirl.Folkloreis an inspired choice.”
My heart tumbled in my chest. “You a Swiftie?” Could it be possible that this man could discuss the divergent tones and themes of each album?
He smiled. “Of course. I have a ten-year-old daughter. Sometimes we have entire conversations using only T-Swift lyrics.”
God, why did he continually and unwittingly have to remind me of what a great dad he was? It only poured gasoline on the simmering fire of attraction I was desperate to extinguish.
“Also—” He pulled the hair tie out of his hair, shook his head, then pulled the strands back up again.
I made a mental note to snap my jaw—which had hit the floor—shut. His hair was thick and shiny but just wild enough to be sexy.
“I wanted to thank you. For what you did at the diner.”
Dropping my chin, I busied myself with wiping down one of the worktables. “It’s no problem.”
“Adele.” The tone he used was sharper than I’d ever heard from him.
I stopped my assault on the stainless-steel surface and looked up.
His blue eyes were dark, penetrating. “I’m serious. You stood up for Merry and me when no one else would.”
Forcing a grin, I brushed off his praise. “Most people in town are bigger assholes than I am.”
He stalked toward me and splayed his hands on the table, edging in close to me so I was forced to meet his gaze. “You are not an asshole.”
“Right.” I huffed and lifted one shoulder. “I’m a bitch.”
He slammed a hand down on the table, making it vibrate beneath my fingers. The sound echoed through the cavernous space. “You’re not a bitch. You’re fierce and brave, and you don’t owe me anything. But you went out of your way to protect my kid, and that’s a big deal to me.”
I nodded, feeling like I was going to swallow my tongue. He didn’t walk away or even break eye contact. When I’d jumped up and berated the townspeople in the diner, it hadn’t felt like a big deal. It was something that needed to be done. But now, the weight of it sat firmly on my chest. The daughter of Frank Gagnon publicly defending the son of Mitch Hebert.
The town was no doubt still gossiping about it.
Still standing too close for comfort, he nodded toward the main door to the shop. “I like the sign.”
Following his line of sight, I turned to the sign hanging directly across from the door to the shop. It read:Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. I had made it myself years ago. When I’d taken over here and was trying to get my footing.
He held out his left arm and twisted it until his palm was turned up. I leaned in and studied the intricate knot tattooed on the inside of his forearm.When you’re at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hold onwas inked around it in script.
“You’re a TR fan,” he said softly.
His words did something funny to my heart. It almost felt like it was floating in my chest. Very few people knew the origin of the quote on the sign.
