Driving up their long driveway through the forest of trees, I realize the worst part about my parents’ remote location is that if someone stops by to see me, I can’t just keep driving until they leave. I’m stuck.
So as my van pulls up to the house and a dark gray truck comes into view, I curse to myself. I already know who it is and my stomach sinks. I calculate my chances of pulling down the driveway and acting as though I didn’t see him, but that’s shot to hell when the driver’s side door opens.
I say one last prayer that Hank has apprentices working under him and it’s one of them in the truck. He must have employees. I’m sure he wouldn’t be too keen on seeing me either.
But just like every other facet of my life lately, this situation doesn’t go my way either. Two long legs attached to work boots hit the pavement as Hank unfolds himself from the truck. He’s bigger than I remember. Taller, broader. There’s scruff along his face that’s darker than his honey-blond hair, which is longer than I’ve ever seen it, as if it’s weeks past a haircut but not so unruly he looks unkempt.
Just like all my friends in Arizona thought all men in Alaska looked like, he’s wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and brown work boots. He pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head and offers me a wave.
I can only smile. Nausea hits my stomach as I turn off the ignition and slide out of my minivan.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say immediately.
He side-glances me, getting something out of his truck. “Your mom called me this morning.”
“I’m sorry. I told my dad I would get someone else. I’m not even sure…”
He pulls a toolbox out of the back and looks at me. His gaze slithers across my body side to side, up and down, and when his gaze meets mine, the hazel eyes that would pierce me from across the room in high school make me want to sigh. Hank Greene.
“Hey,” he says in an easy way. As if it hasn’t been twenty years since we saw one another face to face.
“Hi.”
He nods. “Welcome back.”
I fidget with my hands and balk when I look down at my feet. I have on my mom’s flowery rain boots, my dad’s too-big flannel pants, and oh my God. I cross my arms over my chest. His chuckle says he wondered when I would figure out how I look.
“So the water heater… I have a key to your parents’ place, but I didn’t want to barge in.” He changed the subject. At least I can be thankful for something right now.
“Oh, thanks. I have to warn you.” I walk up the steps to the house. “We’re still getting settled, so it’s a little mess—”
“Marla?” his deep voice says behind me. “I have teenagers. I understand.”
I whip around, guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. “I wanted to reach out and say how sorry I was to hear about Laurie.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
Okay, just open the door and let him go look at the water heater. If he really wanted to have a conversation with me, he would’ve reached out when I first arrived in town. Not that I blame him that he didn’t. If I would’ve had anywhere else to go after Jeff decided his side piece was the love of his life, I would’ve gone there. But I have no money of my own since I quit my job almost twenty years ago to raise the kids. So pathetic me now lives in my parents’ house. I’m a billboard ad for why women should be independent.
“It’s right in here.” I open the door.
“You didn’t lock the door?” he asks once we’re inside.
I scramble to pick up all the dirty clothes and dishes that make it look as if we live in a frat house. “I was in a rush. I don’t make it a habit to wear my dad’s clothes either.”
He laughs and his gaze falls over my body once again. Shivers follow the path of his vision, raising the hairs behind my neck.
He slides by me, heading to the basement. “I’ll let you know what I figure out.”
Then all I hear are his pounding footsteps down the basement stairs. I fall onto the couch and wish there was some magic way it could suck me in and swallow me whole.
After a few minutes, I see that wish isn’t going to be fulfilled either, so I do the best thing I can think of—get dressed in anything but what I’m wearing.
I take off the rain boots, leaving them by the door, and shed the sweatshirt on my way to the stairs, leaving me in my cami and flannel pants. As I’m passing the basement door, the footsteps grow louder and I freeze, searching for a place to hide. But unlike my eight-year-old self, I’m too big to go under a cabinet, and before I know it, Hank is standing at the top of the stairs. He stares at me, focused on my breasts straining the white fabric.
“I was just about to go change.”
He nods, and his gaze bounces back up to meet mine. The smoldering look on his face is foreign to me and my body says, “Just take what you can and suffer the consequences later.” I’m so desperate to have an orgasm that isn’t self-induced, I’m dreaming about men. But I remind my unquenched libido that I know nothing about Hank. For all I know, he’s seeing someone.
I step forward and he steps to the side, thumbing toward the front door. “You’ll need a new one. I’m just going to run to Handyman Haven and pick one up.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’ll call your dad first.”
“Okay.”
We stand in awkward
