Page 48 of Hand Picked
“Please, Mr. Williams,” Aiden begged. “Please, please, please? Dad and I can show you how to skate. Then once you know how, we can play hockey. Murray said your parents never taught you.” He said this like it was the saddest turn of events he could imagine.
Drew and I exchanged a laughing look over Aiden’s head.
“That’s true,” I agreed. “But I don’t think—”
“My dad says the best way to learn something is by doing it. And we have skates. Like a billion pairs. And you can borrow some.”
I hesitated.
“My dad said it’s important to be friendly with your neighbors,” Aiden said pointedly. “So you really kindahaveto come.”
I huffed out a laugh as he hoisted his backpack and ran off to get his coat.
“He’s right,” Drew said gently. “You really should.”
“Webb doesn’t want to spend his afternoon teaching me to skate,” I argued. “He’s busy.”
“Too busy sometimes,” Drew agreed. “He’s responsible for everyone and everything—it’s just his way. Which is why the man needs to remember to take an afternoon to go skating every once in a while. And he’ll be more likely to do it if you’re there.”
Would he, though? We might be friends—neighbor friends who texted, even—and we might be accidentally handfasted, but I highly doubted that he wanted me all up in his business.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised before packing up my own belongings and heading home.
As I turned off the main road and onto my driveway, I slowed way down. The long, gravel surface had become a sort of obstacle course over the past week thanks to the confusing Hokey-Pokey dance that Mother Nature was doing. By day, bright sunshine forced the snow to melt into springtime mud puddles, but then at night, winter bounced back, freezing the mud into solid ruts.
No judgment on Mother Nature, though, since my feelings for Webb were doing the same kind of dance. During the day, I reminded myself we were friends, and that was fine. That he wasstraight, straight, straight,not attracted to me at all, and that getting involved with a student’s parent was never smart.
But at night?
When I was alone in the trailer, shivering under a bunch of afghans?
All my good intentions fell away, and I kept myself warm with fantasies of Webb’s big, callused hands roaming my body, and the hard, muscled wall of his chest against my back—
My fantasy replay cut off when I pulled around the house and found the driveway next to my camper was already occupied by not one buttwogiant pickup trucks, in addition to Murray’s. I recognized one of them—and that recognition made my heart rate pick up—but I’d never seen the other before.
What the heck?
I stepped out of the car just as Murray emerged from the barn, his red hair glinting in the sun.
“Murray? What’s going on here?” I demanded.
“Hey, Mr. Luke! Oh, that’s just the guys taking some measurements.” He grinned broadly as he ambled in my direction. “It’ll be nice to have that roof done, eh?”
“The roof?” I repeated. “How? I mean…who?”
“Oh, Jerry Walcott—you know, Walcott Roofing?—got one of his guys up there to see the condition so they could maybe repair it.”
“But he can’t!”
“No, he can’t,” Murray agreed sadly. “I heard ’em say it’s in real bad shape and needs to be totally replaced. But they might be able to get it done next week. Won’t that be great?”
I shook my head, speechless.
For months and months, I’d felt like a total outsider in the Hollow. Then suddenly, I blew a bugle with the town’s favorite son… and suddenly I was the target of nonconsensual home repairs?
I knew who’d been the driving force behind this, of course. I would have known even if I hadn’t seen his truck. And when I spotted him coming around the corner of the house, looking way more sexy in his work boots and flannel than anyone had a right to, I was tempted to give the man a piece of my mind.
I folded my arms over my chest and walked toward him, and his eyes widened when he saw me.
