Page 9 of Kissed By The Lumberjack
3
EVERETT
The phone call was nothing. A supplier confirming delivery times. I could have ignored it.
I didn't want to ignore it. I wanted to get away from Rowan Cafferty and those hazel eyes that see too much. From the way she looked at me in that basement like she understood something I hadn't said out loud.
I stand on my porch now, staring at the tree line, listening to the creek that runs behind the property. The night air is cold. Good. I need cold.
Then help me prove you deserve to keep it.
She said that like it was simple. Like three generations of blood and sweat could be reduced to paperwork in cardboard boxes. Like I could just hand over the evidence of my family's worth and trust her to see it for what it is.
I hear her moving around upstairs. The creak of the guest room door. Water running in the bathroom. She's getting ready for bed, and I'm standing out here like a coward because I don't trust myself to be in the same house with her.
My phone buzzes. Mama.
Did she settle in okay?
I type back:
She's here.
Be nice to her, Everett.
I'm always nice.
You're never nice. Try harder.
I pocket the phone without responding. Mama thinks she's playing matchmaker. She doesn't understand that Rowan Cafferty could end everything I've built. Everything my father built. Everything my grandfather started with an axe and a dream.
The screen door creaks behind me.
"Couldn't sleep," Rowan says.
She's wearing sweatpants and a faded university t-shirt. Her hair is down, falling past her shoulders in waves I didn't expect. Without the clipboard and the professional armor, she looks younger. Softer. Human.
"Coffee's in the kitchen," I say without turning around.
"I don't need coffee."
"Then what do you need?"
She steps up beside me at the porch railing. Close enough that I can feel her warmth against the cold night air. "I wanted to apologize."
That makes me turn. "For what?"
"Earlier. In the basement." She's looking at the trees, her profile lit by the moon. "I pushed too hard. Asked questions that weren't about the audit."
"You asked why I hate you."
"Which isn't professional."
"No. But it was honest." I lean against the railing, facing her. "I don't hate you, Rowan."
Her name feels different in my mouth than Ms. Cafferty. More dangerous. She notices too. I see her shoulders tense.
"Then what do you feel?" she asks.
