Page 26 of When We Were Us
My cheeks are flushed,and I barely make it to the top of the stairs on shaking legs. I was not prepared for the assault on my senses when I stepped into Hank. Never mind the fact that his hand had felt warm and familiar on my arm. Or that, even though I am nearly five-foot-nine, he absolutely towered over me in a wall of sheer man. No, because the scent that enveloped me had nearly dropped me to my knees.
The subtle hint of lavender and lemon, mixed with something spicy and woodsy, combined with a scent so uniquely Hank. I was instantly reminded of the all the times I’d spent riding next to him in the middle of the bench seat of my granddad’s truck. The afternoons spent with my arms and thighs locked around his body from behind as he drove us through endless trails on the ATV. Then, snuggled close around a campfire, with him pressing soft kisses against my temple and playing with the ends of my hair.
Images of our summer together roll through my mind like a highlight reel, and I have to remind myself to breathe as I make my way down the hall.
Nothing could have prepared me for the way my body responded to his.My pulse pounded in my ears, damp heat broke out across the back of my neck, and my core clenched as our chests pressed together. The way his breathing became shallow and rapid against my hair when I whispered in his ear.
Electric.
I can think of no other word for how I’d felt being that close to him. I’d thought I was so clever by turning the tables on him, but little did I know that it would leave me a quivering mess of naked desire.
I round the corner and make it into my room just as I hear the roar of his truck engine coming to life. My heart gives a tug. I have zero reason to feel sad that he’s gone. I told him to go, after all. But a small part of me had hoped he would storm after me, with his scowl in place. Even if it was just so I could tell him to get over himself.
He’s clearly the world’s biggest jackass. But if there is one thing that is clear after tonight, it's this: Hank may hate me, but there is still something very much between us. And I’ve never felt more confused in all my life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
wrenley
On Saturday,I drive into town in search of the hardware store. Finn confirmed that Timber’s Tack and Hardware still exists, but that it had moved to the west side of town, just off Main Street on Big Timber Road. Because I had yet to go farther than Timber’s Treats since coming back, I figure now is as good a time as any to pick up the few things I need.
I pass the volunteer fire station and the market before turning off onto Big Timber Road. The hardware store is two blocks west, and I have no trouble finding it. Things have changed in seventeen years, but not that much.
When I pull into the parking lot, I realize it’s directly across from what used to be the Sunrise Bed and Breakfast. The corners of my mouth tip down because now it’s nothing but an empty lot. I only remember it because I had applied for a cleaning job there the summer I turned seventeen. They ended up giving the job to someone else, and I was hired the very next day at the market as a grocery bagger.
I pick up the list from the passenger seat and scan it. There are a couple burned-out light bulbs, one being the porch light, and I have a broken doorknob to replace in the main floor bathroom. Most ofthe inside of the house is in pretty good shape, but I figure I can do some of the cosmetic stuff before selling.
I would like to sell the place without having to do any major renovations because I can’t stay in Timber Forge indefinitely. A couple of months at the most, and only because I know that Derek will keep everything afloat, even with things being over between us. He’s a gigantic asshole, but he’s never been a reckless businessman.
I understand most places sell better if they are staged, and I don’t think very many buyers will be impressed if thirty mismatched, decorative plates and dingy, old curtains were the first things they saw when they came to look at the house. Considering the paint had faded incredibly behind said plates when I’d taken one off the wall yesterday, the living room, at least, would need to be painted. After that, I could order some nice window coverings and call it good.
I am pretty handy, and I can handle paint, but that will come later… After I have time to clean things out and get rid of the outdated furniture. I am pretty sure I can handle reattaching the falling shutter Hank had complained about, but I will have to get someone to replace a couple of the boards on the back deck before it can be sold. The exterior paint is peeling in a few places, but I don’t relish the idea of waiting for the entire exterior to be painted before I can sell.
I make a mental note to check for a bulletin board or something once I’m inside. Small towns still have those, right?
Maybe I can find a handyman to come and do an inspection of the place to see if there is anything else they can help with that I might have missed. Then, after I fix most of the small stuff, I’ll meet with the realtor and get the ball rolling on selling the place.
Pushing my sunglasses on the top of my head, I climb out of the Jeep and go inside. The cool interior of the store feels amazing compared to the eighty degrees outside.
According to the weatherman on the radio, this summer was among the hotteston record for this part of Montana. It was barely July, but with an elevation of nearly five-thousand feet, Timber Forge rarely sees temperatures above seventy-five. My grandparents’ house didn’t even have air-conditioning because it just wasn’t something you typically needed in Timber Forge. Even during the heat of the summer, it was usually in the low fifties at night.
A man calls out to me from behind a low counter with two registers sitting on top of it. I wave hello.
“Can I help you find anything?” he asks and ambles over with a slight limp, leaning on a crooked wooden cane. He’s dressed in jeans, and wears suspenders over his large belly, covered in a brown button front shirt. The store’s logo is embroidered on the left, and his name, Larry, is on the right.
“I need light bulbs and a doorknob, for a start, and maybe some masking tape, and wall putty.” He nods and turns around, motioning for me to follow him. The store isn’t large, but I figure that if he just shows me where things are, it might be quicker.
“I also wondered if there might be somewhere I can find a handyman? If you might have a bulletin board or a business card of someone for hire to do a few small repair projects for me?”
“You remodeling?” he asks as he shuffles along, scanning shelves as he goes.
“Getting ready to sell my grandparents’ house. Actually, I guess it's my house, now.” It feels strange saying that. Sure, I grew up there, but I still think of it as theirs. For the most part, anyway. Even though, lately, it's starting to feel more like mine again too.
“Vern Hardcastle’s place?” He eyes me, watery blue irises searching my face.
In a big city, this would be a strange question. People die every day, but in a town with a population of less than two thousand, it’s not an everyday occurrence. “That’s right. Did you know my granddad?”
“Sure, sure.” He bobs his head. “I went to school with his son, Tom.” He looks at me again. “That would make you his daughter. Your mother…” He trails off, and I force a smile. I knew it was just a matter of time before someone brought up my dead, alcoholic father and my absentee mother.
