Page 5 of Make Mine Sweet
Ian’s already at the back of my car like he’s waiting for instructions, so I try again.
“This is a great place out here. Do you do a lot of hiking on the trail?” A path starts just past the duplex’s back yard. I’m not huge on hiking myself, but it seems like a safe enough topic.
“No.”
I refuse to sigh. I shouldn’t have expected more conversation from a man Amy described as living in a “self-imposed hermitude,” but I’d hoped he would at least be responsive to small talk. This is fine, though. I’ll just keep trying.
Ian drags a big box to the edge of the hatch, but I stop him.
“That one’s a beast.” It’s got my extremely expensive, extremely precious, extremely heavy mixer in it.
He cuts me a look like he and his giant biceps don’t appreciate the warning. He scoops it up without a struggle. With those arms, I’m not sure a washing machine would be a struggle.
I grab a much lighter box and follow him into the house.
“Where do you want this?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Just on the kitchen counter, thanks.” I tuck the box of August’s toys into his room and join Ian. “Amy says you haven’t been in town very long. Where did you live before?”
“Colorado.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t offer more. “How do you like Sunshine?”
Apparently, my only goal in life is to smother this man with smiles and get him to talk to me in more than single sentences. I’m probably doing too much for the first day, but I can’t stop myself. We don’t have to become BFFs, but I have to hope we can reach some level of non-glaring social interactions one day. Otherwise, guilt over my too-cheap rent will crush me down to a powder.
“It’s changed since I was here last.”
“When was that?” I don’t remember ever seeing this man before. You’d think a guy who looks like he’d fit right in on a Viking longboat heading off to plunder a village would stick out more in my memory.
“About fifteen years ago. I worked as a rafting guide one summer.”
My triumph over him saying two sentences together pauses. Freezes. Crumbles away entirely.
Ian Vaughn.My heart somehow speeds up, slows down, and sinks into the crawl space beneath the duplex all in one go.
Amy never told me his last name, but now that I’ve connected the dots, it has to be him. The red hair should have made it obvious, but he’s just sodifferentin every possible way. Back then, he’d been all breathtaking boyish good looks and handed out wide smiles to everyone. I’d been instantly charmed. He’d effortlessly turned the summer before my senior year of high school into a twisted knot of unrequited infatuation.
My hands go clammy, and my stomach floods with anxious moths. My stab at independence relies on me befriending my old crush who’s become some bizarro-world version of himself?
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
August runs into the kitchen. “Mister, can Dutch come inside to play in my room?”
“His name is Ian.”And your mom was hopelessly obsessed with him when she was a teen.
“Ian,”August says solemnly, “can Dutch come inside?”
Ian gives him another cautious look. I get the feeling he hasn’t been around children very much. “Probably not a good idea, kid.”
August’s smile only slips for a moment. “Can I give him some of my snack?”
“I don’t think dogs like apple slices,” I tell him.
He thinks for a second, his five-year-old brain working overtime. “Can I eat my snack on the porch with Dutch if I don’t give him a single bite? Not even one?”
I look to Ian, who shrugs indifference.
“Sure, buddy,” I tell my son. “Can you get your snack out of my bag?”
