Page 10 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Jake made a clearing in the snow outside the shed, unlocked and yanked open the door with more force than necessary, making the hinges protest. Inside, the diesel generator hummed, sounding more laboured than Jake would have liked, because it provided essential back up if the grid went down during bad weather. He checked the fuel levels, oil, and connections automatically, his mind elsewhere.
How in the name of god had he misinterpreted Ru’s words so badly? The guy had been offering innocent help as a thank you, yethe’dbeen hearing something altogether different. The problem wasn’t the misunderstanding. The problem was his reaction to it.
For one brief, electric moment, before rationality kicked in, he’d been interested. Very interested.
“Bloody ridiculous,” he growled, tightening a bolt that didn’t need tightening.
Monty whined from the doorway, head tilted.
“Not you,” Jake assured the dog. “Me. Being a damned fool.”
He was too old for this. Too jaded. Too battered and bruised. Too bloody careful, now, to let attraction blindside him like some green recruit. Three years he’d been on his own, determined not to get close to anybody, ever again. A deliberate decision after everything he’d given up his army career for had been ripped apart in a storm of betrayal and a loss of trust that could never be rebuilt.
Jake slammed the generator housing closed. This was exactly why he didn’t do relationships, not anymore. Didn’t do entanglements. Didn’t invite people into his life. Because, as soon as you let your defences down, all they did was shit all over you.
Except he had invited another in. Ru was in his house, eating his food, sleeping in his spare room. But this was different. Temporary circumstances, that’s all. An act of basic human decency during a blizzard. Nothing more.
Then why, when Ru’s dark hair kept falling across his forehead into his soft grey eyes, did Jake want to gently brush it back?
“For fuck’s sake, Whitby, get a grip.”
He snorted. A grip. Not the best word to use, not when all it boiled down to was sexual frustration. His right hand hadbeen getting an increasingly irregular grip, the only action he’d seen in… how long? Months and months. Christ, almost a year since he’d been with anyone. The occasional trip into Exeter or Plymouth for a nameless encounter when the solitude became too much. No names, no complications, no expectations.
Jake looked at the shed wall, as though he could see through it all the way back to the house, to a man who was as different to him as it was possible to get. A very attractive man who looked like he needed feeding and wrapping up in a blanket to be kept warm. A man who was injured beneath the surface sunshine.
“What the hell?” Did he honestly thinkhewas the one to provide all that care and comfort? He huffed out a short laugh, hard and humourless. He’d looked after somebody, once, gave them all the care he could, only to have it thrown back in his face. Jake flexed his shoulders and straightened his spine, adjusting both his physical and mental alignment.
Basic biology. That was all it was. Ru was an external stimulus. It was nothing he couldn’t control, nothing he couldn’t override with discipline and common sense. A week or so, likely just before Christmas, and then he could get shot of the distraction of his unexpected, unwanted guest. A guest he was absolutely, definitely, not interested in.
Jake closed his eyes and sagged against the wall of the generator shed. Who was he kidding? He’d been alone too long, that was the problem. Isolation did things to a person, it made them vulnerable to the first hint of connection, the first smile directed their way. He’d seen it happen to men in the field, watched them grasp at companionship in the most unlikely places simply because humans weren’t built for prolonged solitude.
That’s all this was. A perfectly natural reaction to having his isolation disrupted.
The fact that the disruption came in the form of Ru bloody Parker, with his soft, sensitive eyes and a mouth Jake found increasingly difficult not to stare at, was irrelevant. It would have been the same with any attractive man whom he’d just happened to rescue.
“Liar,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the wall.
Because it wouldn’t have been the same. Jake knew himself well enough to recognise that his reaction to Ru was specific and personal. Despite his pushback, Ru just kept on trying, kept making an effort in the face of his terse ill-temper. The offer to cook. The attempts at conversation. The way he didn’t expect a free ride. And the way he’d overcome his initial fear to bond with Monty, who was a better judge of character than most humans Jake had known.
By the time he headed back to the house, he’d regained his equilibrium. He had a plan: maintain appropriate distance, provide necessary hospitality, and wait for the weather to clear enough for Ru to continue to Bobblecombe.
Simple. Manageable. Safe.
The warm glow from the kitchen window guided him home, Monty racing ahead as always. From the utility room, where he removed his boots and hung up his coat, he could hear the clatter of utensils and the rhythmic sound of a knife against a chopping board.
He paused in the doorway, unprepared for the domestic scene before him. Ru stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he chopped vegetables. Steam rose from a pot on the stove, filling the kitchen with rich, savoury aromas. Monty had already claimed a spot near Ru’s feet, clearly hoping for scraps.
Ru hadn’t noticed him yet. Jake took a moment to observe and reset his defences. This was just Ru helping out, Ru making a contribution. Nothing more.
Then Ru looked up, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead, cheeks flushed from the heat of cooking. A smile, unsure and slightly tentative, spread across his face.
“Yep, I’m paying my way,” he said, a nervous laugh bubbling from his lips. “I thought I’d get dinner started, then it can sit until later. Found some chicken and vegetables, and reckoned a stew would be good in this weather.”
Jake’s defences wavered. How long had it been since somebody had cooked for him? He knew. Down to the day and the hour, even if he had dumped it all in a black bin bag with an attached label that saidhistory. But, he couldn’t help the jolt in his chest from coming in from the cold to find dinner cooking, the mouthwatering aroma filling the kitchen, somebody waiting for him and smiling?—
No.The word went off like a bomb in his head. Nobody was waiting for him, Ru was trying to be useful, doing exactly what he said he was, which was paying for his keep in his own way. That was all it was.
“I said I didn’t expect you to cook.”
