Page 5 of Bad Decisions

Already, I can see Will running toward me. Either I’m a little late or he’s early today.

He stops a short distance away at the shoreline, raises his hand in greeting, then walks the last few yards toward where I’m now sitting on the soft sand, just above the high-tide mark.

“I’m glad I didn’t scare you away from the beach yesterday,” he says by way of a greeting.

My lips tip up in a friendly smile. “I don’t scare easily, and how could I stay away from this?” I gesture toward the ocean sparkling in the dawn light, looking like glitter has been sprinkled from above. Each rippling wave on its way to shore is another shimmering roll of foamy dark blue.

Will drops down beside me with a thud, pulling his knees up. A comfortable silence settles over us for a few minutes, both of us caught up in the sight of the new day dawning as the sun creeps above the horizon.

“What are your plans today?” he asks, his deep voice rolling gently across the silence.

“Books. Lots of books to be sorted. My father was an avid reader, and there are stacks in every room except maybe the kitchen. I need to decide whether to keep them or give them away. There’s a charity group that runs a secondhand bookstore, and they’re happy to take anything I don’t want,” I admit, wrapping my hand around my long hair, attempting to stop it from whipping across my face.

“That sounds interesting. I love reading too. Do you need some help?”

“Really? You want to spend hours sorting through dusty old books?” I tip my face toward him.

“Absolutely. I’ve got nothing else to do except wander aimlessly around the Carlson house by myself, or even worse, binge another Netflix series that the rest of the world probably watched five years ago.” When my brow rises, he explains, “The military didn’t leave me a lot of time for Netflix.”

I nod, smiling back at him, then add, “If you’re sure, I could certainly do with some help.”

He springs to his feet. “Let’s exchange numbers so you can send me your address. I’ll clean up and come straight over.”

I pull my cell from the pocket of my jacket and type his number in as he recites it. I text him my address, and we say goodbye until later.

Clearing out my dad’s house has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The task has been daunting, and while I’ve set daily goals for myself, progress has been painfully slow.

For the first time, I feel energized at the thought of what the day will hold. Today, the heavy burden resting on my shoulders feels lighter than yesterday.

A thump at my door makes me jump. He’s here.

If this is me learning to accept help, then I need to accept it more calmly than this skittish overreaction. I take a deep breath to still the odd little flutter in my stomach, then go to let him in.

Wow. Will scrubs up well. His running gear has been replaced with dark, fitted jeans that encase his thick, muscled thighs almost as snugly as the panty-melting compression joggers. A charcoal-colored chunky cable-knit sweater stretches across his broad shoulders, making them appear larger than a New York Giants quarterback’s. But it’s his still-damp hair that looks like he’s just stepped straight from the shower and the smile creasing the corners of his eyes that leaves me searching for a full breath.

Maybe having this level of testosterone in a tiny house was not the best idea.

“Umm … sorry,” I drag out in a raspy voice. “Hi. Come in.” I step aside and let him pass. A waft of cologne trails him. It’s a tempting mix of citrus, spice, and burnt wood that has me leaning forward to fill my lungs. He turns, and I jerk my head back. His mouth ticks up at the corners. Damn it, I’ve been caught almost drooling on the man. Heat creeps up my neck into my cheeks, and I duck my head down, hoping a curtain of hair will hide my embarrassment.

“This way,” I stammer, stepping past him and through the doorway of the first room off the short, narrow hallway. “We can start here in the living area.”

While I was waiting for Will to arrive, I began to work my way along the floor-to-ceiling shelves that line one wall of the room. Already, I’ve cleared the bottom shelf, and I’m halfway along the second row. The furniture has been pushed back to give us space, and cardboard boxes are scattered across the faded, threadbare rug. A couple of the boxes are already full, and beside them is a small stack of books I was sorting through.

Will stands in the doorway, looking around the small room with that statue-like stillness I’m learning is not unusual for him. I get the feeling from the concentration lines marking his forehead that when he assesses new surroundings, he doesn’t miss one detail. I imagine that kind of intensity directed at me, and a fresh spike of heat rushes to my cheeks. At this rate, I may need to turn the small gas heater down. It’s already way too hot in here.

I shake the thought from my head and turn to find a different kind of distraction in the solid wood shelves still crammed with more than a hundred books. That’s what we’re here for, and those aren’t going to sort themselves.

With a determination I didn’t know I possessed, I force my wayward imagination to the task at hand. But while I continue to stare at the shelves like the wall holds some priceless artwork, it’s difficult to ignore the prickle of sensation across my back due to Will standing only feet behind me.

“That’s a lot of books,” he says, and I turn to see his firm lips relaxing into an easy smile. “What’s the system you got going? And how can I help?”

My eyes widen at his enthusiasm for the task. “Well, I guess if you could pass them down to me, I can sort them into the boxes as keep or go.”

He steps closer to the bookcase and runs his fingers along the bindings. “This is some collection your dad had,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

“My father loved to read. He would sit in his favorite chair over there by the window with his latest paperback.” The memory makes me smile. My first true smile since I heard the news. “I’m going to take his chair back to my place in Brooklyn,” I murmur to myself, the words slipping free before I can stop them.

I’m sure Will isn’t interested in my plans, but somehow the urge to tell him overrides my normal reticence to share. This man has an uncanny ability to turn my internal thoughts into words.