Page 45 of Rare Blend
“Since moving here, I’ve been doing long distance with my best friend, too. It really does suck.”
Goose scratches at the door. She gives me anI told you solook, and we share a laugh.
She opens the door, and he happily trots back in.
“Well, not to sound like a kid on the playground, but if you ever need a friend, or a girls’ night, or anything like that, we should totally get together.”
I might need to take her up on that. Based on the information from Zoe, my stay here is going to be slightly longer than I was anticipating.
“I would like that.”
Later in the afternoon, I make the drive to Badger Canyon to pick up a very important and much needed item. A coffee maker. I decided I deserve it. I got my first paycheck and could really use the dopamine boost.
Not wanting to be tempted by everything else in the store, I opt for curbside pickup and then drive straight back to Red Mountain. I can’t let myself go too crazy with the spending after only one paycheck.
It’s not until I’m staring at the oversize box crammed in my trunk that I realize I probably should’ve ordered it online, because I don’t think I can get it inside.
It’s not that it’s too heavy, it’s that it’s too wide, and my arm span can’t handle it. I stare at it, trying to figure out what the heck to do, when I hear the familiar crunching of boots walking on gravel behind me.
“What are you staring at?” Ethan asks, his shadow looming over me.
Though we’ve come to a truce of sorts, I still tense slightly, waiting for him to flip the switch. Slowly, I turn to face him, unsure what expression I’ll find.
The expression I do see leaves me feeling more tense than if he wore the familiar scowl I’ve grown accustomed to. He’s looking at me with amused confusion. I don’t know what to do with that.
Flipping back around, I return my attention to the large box. “I bought this coffee maker and underestimated the size of the box,” I tell him, feeling much more comfortable with my back to him.
He chuckles, and the puff of air that releases with it fans across my neck, sending a trail of goosebumps down my spine. I thought I was uncomfortable around grumpy Ethan, but friendly Ethan has him beat.
“I was wondering what you were staring at. I assumed you hit something with your bumper and were assessing the damage.”
My head whips back at him. “I’m not that bad of a driver.”
He tilts his head at me. “Yes, you are.” He’s not standing particularly close, but the heat of his body is crowding me, increasing mine by a few degrees. A muscle in his cheek twitches as he tries not to smile.
I look down, not ready to see it fully bloom. “Anyway.” I cough then rapidly blink. “I was trying to figure out the best way to get it inside. I might unbox it here and bring it in part by part.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re not doing that.” His brow arches with an expectant stare, but I don’t understand what he wants from me. His eyes flick to the box in my trunk. “If you could get the door, I’ll bring it in.”
“Oh… right.”
I step aside, and Ethan comes forward, his hand grazing my thigh. I look down at where his hand brushed, convinced I imagined it. There isn’t evidence to show one way or the other, so I shake the ridiculous thought and unlock the cottage door. I lean against it, watching as he effortlessly carries in the box. He holds it with flexed arms, and I force myself to focus on his face so I don’t ogle him.
His eyes slide to mine as he crosses the threshold with a silent thank you for keeping the door propped open. As hepasses, his scent penetrates my senses, leaving me dizzy and glued to the entry.
He sets the box on the counter. “Where do you want this thing?”
I give myself an internal shake and join him in the kitchen. “There’s fine.”
The kitchen is small, but I’d already determined I would set it on the end of the counter next to the fridge.
“Fancy,” he comments, admiring the picture on the box.
“It was on sale,” I defend.
He shrugs, opening a drawer as if he owns the place—which I guess, technically, he does. Still, it catches me off guard. Had I known he’d be coming inside, I would’ve tidied up a bit. While he digs through the junk drawer, I discreetly try to clean up. A box there, a wrapper here, slowly picking up and discarding pieces of packaging. There are dishes in the sink, a musty towel on the bar counter, crumbs piled where I make my morning toast. My cheeks flush as I take in the mess. And that’s only the kitchen. There are laundry piles on the couch, shoes scattered, boxes stacked. What must he think of me?
When I look over at Ethan, I expect to see judgment, or disgust even. Instead, he’s reading the paperwork that came with the coffeemaker, not paying any mind to my mess.
