Page 16 of Almost Perfect
SEVEN
Calla
Jeans were not adequate snow pants. I knew this, but I had no other option. I didn’t have snow gear, and my porch steps were completely covered. More than that, I needed to get out of this little house, and shoveling the porch and maybe some of the path to the driveway would double as a little exercise too.
Mostly, I couldn’t stand being alone with myself in there any longer. I’d cried more since arriving here than I had in the last decade combined. Even when Candy died and at her funeral, I’d barely teared up. I’d been in a weird shock and damage control combo mode that kept me jumping through the next hoop and moving forward.
Some of that had been fueled by the anger. I didn’t call Candy “Mom” or “my mother,” even in my own mind, because she’d shifted from being a mom to a manager slash friend slash pimp around fifteen, when I’d been spotted at a mall. She’d had me at sixteen, so she’d been barely thirty, and young-looking at that.
She’d missed out on a lot by keeping me and raising me. She’d had my grandmother’s help for the first twelve years, until Gran passed, but the older I got, the more I understood why she wanted to be my friend and relished being mistaken as my older sister.
I became her ticket. Not just to wealth and fame and access to things, but to a life she never got to live for herself. And by being my manager, she didn’t even have to live vicariously. She was there, in it.
She died there, too.
I heaved that thought and a shovelful of snow off the porch onto the ever-growing pile and huffed, working to catch my breath. I’d heard jokes about thin air in the mountains, but right now, my lungs had an intimate understanding with that reality. My lower back ached already, so I pulled in my stomach muscles and dropped my shoulders. I didn’t want to pay for this little escape with any injuries. I’d been doing my yoga, but shoveling should be a cardio class in itself. Maybe I could monetize that somehow and become a cardio shoveling maven instead of a popstar.
“Let me do that for you.”
The deep voice startled me from the rhythmic push and lift of my efforts. I straightened to see Wyatt Saint standing a few feet from the porch steps, knee-deep in snow. He wore the same canvas brown jacket from every other time I’d seen him but this time held a shovel in gloved hands. His eyes were shaded by sunglasses, and for some reason, this whole look was really working for him, until I remembered how rude he’d been.
“I’ve got it,” I said, only slightly breathless, returning to my work. “I should do it.”
“You could hurt yourself.”
“Uh, so could you.” I refused to breathe as hard as my lungs demanded, so I kept my mouth shut and sucked in air slowly through my nose instead of panting like I wanted.
He leaned on the shovel’s handle. “Less likely since I do this often. When was the last time you shoveled? Or for that matter, did anything at this altitude?”
Um, never?“Don’t recall.”
“You’ll end up with altitude sickness. Or having a heart attack.”
I shot him a glare without really looking, then scooped another pile of snow off the side, effectively clearing the main area. I just needed to get the stairs, then a few feet of the path, and I’d call it good.
He heaved a breath like I’d already worn through his patience, then took a few steps so he stood at the bottom of the three stairs. “I’m happy to do it.”
“So am I. You don’t need to trouble yourself.”
His lips pursed just slightly. “It’s no trouble.”
A disbelieving laugh shot out of me. “I’ll be fine.”
“Listen, I don’t mean to be pushy, but we can’t have you hurting yourself, all right?”
Something about that comment made me stop. “Do you mean that generally, or me specifically?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We just don’t want anyone getting hurt. Shoveling, especially at this altitude, can sneak up on you.”
His cheeks were flushed, but they had been when he approached. He didn’t meet my eye, and it clicked—his brother had told him who I was. Why it annoyed me so deeply that he wanted to take over the shoveling when I already felt completely exhausted by the fifteen minutes I’d done didn’t make sense. Years of suppressing any flare of emotion like smothering a fire had burnt away my ability to back down and walk away.
Maybe because I’d been by myself and suddenly felt desperate for conversation. Maybe because it really pissed me off that he thought he knew anything about me. Then there was the whole raging fire set in a parched grassy field.
Whatever the reason, I let my temper get the best of me.
“I don’t know why you find me so intolerable, but please just leave me alone. You don’t need to talk to me, and I’ll do my very best to avoid you. Deal?”
He reared back. “I have no issue with you.”
