Читать книгу Once Bitten Twice Shy - Sommer Marsden - Страница 7

The sheets were wet. Tears or sweat, she wasn’t sure. August stayed there, sprawled on her back, heart pounding. Sunlight, meagre and new, which meant it was just now dawn, slipped between the slats of the Venetian blind.

‘Fuck,’ she said. Wishing for the millionth time she’d bite the bullet and get a pet. Someone to hear the random words she spilled into the empty air every day.

She rolled towards the clock, towards the left side of the bed she always thought of as empty. Aaron slept on the left. She slept on the right. At least that was how it had been.

Three minutes after six. She should still be asleep. She should still be blissfully unconscious. Instead she was awake, in damp bed linen, with her heart doing a sickening little jig in her chest.

The explosion. She’d seen it in her dream. It wasn’t the first time, but even after all these years, that sound, that shock of orange and red glow, always seemed like the first time when she relived it. Awake or asleep.

She ran a shaking hand through her hair and found it, not surprisingly, plastered to her head. She needed a shower, coffee and to get into motion before the lethargy that renewed sadness often brought set in.

She pushed herself up, found her slippers and shoved her feet into them. Her cottage’s hardwood floors were lovely but viciously chilly this time of year. In the bathroom she stared herself down in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Dark circles under her eyes, dark blonde hair matted to her head, sallow. ‘It was just a dream,’ she said to her reflection. Almost surprised when the woman in the mirror’s mouth moved in time with her words. That didn’t look like her. That woman looked haunted.

‘After all this time,’ she muttered, slightly disgusted with herself. She refused to be a victim in life. It wasn’t fair to wallow. But sometimes, more than a decade after Aaron’s death, she still felt a hollow ache that threatened to buckle her knees. Today was one of those days, and she had no doubt at all it was a surging wave of guilt for finding one stumbling lawn guy attractive. Attractive enough to make her blood jump in her veins.

She stepped into the hot spray and did her best to push it all out of her head. There were canvases to plot and stationery orders to fill, and a day to move through – mechanically or not.

And Jack will be coming back…

The thought was as wispy as the steam that filled the small room. Yes, Jack was coming back. True. But Jack was coming back to do a job and nothing else. He’d asked her out, she’d said no as nicely as she could and that was that. Case closed.

She was towelling her hair dry when the phone rang. The landline, which only meant one thing.

‘Good morning, Carley.’

‘Good morning, sunshine! What are you doing up?’

Nosey as ever, August figured her best friend had earned the right. They’d been tighter than tight since grade school. It was Carley, above all others, who had gotten her through Aaron’s death. It was Carley who had forced her out of bed some days, brought food to her bed on the days she refused to get up, and it was Carley who had finally given her the kick in the ass to start shopping her paintings around and create her small indie stationery store online. Carley got to be nosey if she wanted to.

‘How did you know I was up?’

‘I saw light from your little window. I was on my way to pick up doughnuts for the office and shot down your street and there it was. The little glow of a little lamp. You up? Dressed? Alone?’ Carley snorted. ‘What I’m trying to say is I have an extra coffee – can I come in for a minute?’

‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, the lifeblood, August. Coffee. And if you’re up this early, with the hours I know you keep, then you must need it.’

‘Desperately. Use your key. I’ll be out in a moment.’

She pulled on her favourite paint-speckled black leggings, an Om tank-top – because she sure as shit needed some Om after that dream – and a big sweater that had once upon a time been Aaron’s. A marled grey knit, soft as sin. So big on her that she swam in it, and she liked it that way.

She was cuffing the sleeves as she wandered into the kitchen. A kitchen that blissfully smelled like coffee and doughnuts offered by a smiling face. She needed that smile as much as she needed the Om.

‘Uh-oh,’ Carley said, the smile caving somewhat.

‘What?’

‘What happened?’

‘What?’

‘You’re wearing –’ She pointed to the sweater as she handed August a large, hot cup of coffee. August quickly took a swig even though it burned. Perfect – cream, two sugars and hot as hell.

‘I’m wearing…? Clothes?’

‘Aaron’s clothes,’ Carley said, sitting on a kitchen stool. ‘And that only happens any more on anniversaries, birthdays, severe sadness or…bad dreams. Was it a dream?’

August bit her tongue to try and prevent the tears that wanted to come. She failed. Only a few slipped out, though, and she felt some victory at that. ‘Yeah, dream.’

‘Big boom dream?’ Carley said. August sighed. The only person who could get away with describing it that way was sitting across from her, her dark-brown hair twisted up into a knot, and no doubt late for work. Despite the bare-bones description, Carley’s big green eyes held a lot of empathy and worry.

‘Yep. The explosion. I woke up all gross but full-on awake, so I got up.’ August shrugged. ‘Took a shower then my house was inhabited by a jabbering alien lifeform known as an early riser.’ She attempted a smile.

‘Alien lifeform! I brought you lifeblood, girl.’ Carley pointed to the cup of coffee that August was using to warm her hands. ‘I brought you sugar, too.’ She pushed a cinnamon sugar doughnut toward her and August took a bite. But just one. Her stomach was still tight and hot from the dream.

Carley surprised her by taking her hand. ‘What prompted this? It’s usually something specific now – after all this time.’

August shrugged again. Nothing she wanted to talk about, but she couldn’t tell her friend that. She almost always wanted to talk to Carley even if it was about stuff that hurt. ‘No idea.’

‘I call bullshit,’ Carley said. She tried to be casual but August caught the glance at the clock. She was already late for work and would probably get nailed for it by her boss if she was any later.

‘Nope,’ August lied. ‘Not bullshit.’

‘I call double bullshit,’ Carley sighed.

‘But you have to go or Todd the dick will make your day hell for being late.’

Carley winced. ‘True. But I don’t like leaving you like this.’

‘Like what? Slightly sad but otherwise OK and drinking coffee I didn’t have to make?’

‘Yes. Well, part of it. Look, call me later. You damn well know what triggered that nightmare and you damn well better tell me. But, sweetie, if I don’t leave now, you’ll also have to let me move in because I will have lost my only source of income. And you know how messy I am.’

‘Christ, yes. Go, go! I’ll call you later.’

Carley planted a kiss on her cheek and then stared her down. ‘I’m serious. Call me later and tell me the truth this time. We’ll talk.’ She grabbed her purse and her coffee cup and was out of the door before August could deny that anything was wrong.

Just as well. It was a lie anyway.

Somehow she’d forgotten. She had no idea how. Probably the way she always forgot things she didn’t want to think about. Painting. The orchid had come to life, some of the oil paints built up enough that the texture stood out from the canvas. Her favourite way to experience a piece. Flat, part three-dimensional, bright colours with dark undertones. Light and shadow, sunshine and rain. Like life.

It was the sound of a truck backing up that had August up off her stool and at the window. There he was, manoeuvring a trailer on his pick-up so that it overhung the front edge of her yard. All she could see of Jack was his profile and one big arm sticking out of the window as he reversed his vehicle to unload the mounds of what was no doubt filler dirt.

‘He’s here,’ she said to the roomful of paintings. The almost overwhelming urge to call Carley and spill her guts slammed through her and she chewed the inside of her lip to fend it off. No need to confess anything. There was nothing to confess.

She refused for there to be anything to confess.

Jack got out of the truck and scratched his forehead. He didn’t wear a ball cap today. It was much too cold for that. She’d seen the rimes of frost on the windshield of her car this morning. The fairy dusting of icy rings on the plants. First frost had come and it had been beautiful. Almost worth getting up at the crack of dawn to witness.

The coldness meant a black knit cap pulled down over his dark hair. He wore sunglasses because the sun was out and startling, and a big grey sweatshirt over a thermal. She could see the waffled fabric peeking out over the collar. He surveyed the hole, big hands on his hips, and then pursed his lips. She couldn’t hear it through the windowpane, but August was almost certain he was whistling. It made her smile. Her grandfather had been a talented whistler.

Then he surprised her by glancing up, grinning and tossing her a wave. She jolted, startled that she’d been spotted. August raised a hand in return; she had no other option. Bolting from the window like a startled rabbit seemed a bit extreme.

He turned back to the truck and began to unload white bags. Most likely the gravel he’d mentioned. Her phone chimed from an incoming text and her heart leaped at the valid distraction from watching Jack Murphy through the studio window.

I mean it. Call me later! Huggles.

Carley. She laughed. Good to know the nosiness and concern extended all the way to her office.

She answered the text and wandered into the kitchen to make herself a cup of instant coffee. She tried not to cheat and use instant but she had no urge to brew an actual pot. It simply seemed like too much effort after the dream and the rough morning. Instead, while the water boiled, she took a white pencil and started to doodle rimes of frost on black stationery paper.

Good idea. New seasonal design for her online store August Ever After. Little crystalline spirals and lacework appeared beneath her pencil until she noted the sound of rapidly boiling water. She was either too intent or too out in space today. There didn’t seem to be an in-between.

She let the water cool a moment before pouring it over the freeze-dried espresso grounds. Two teaspoons of sugar – she really should give it up, she knew – and some non-dairy creamer that Carley always called ‘fake cow powder’. Then she sipped, looking out of the back window at the neighbour’s dog Charlie, who was doing his best to pee on every dead leaf that littered the ground. Safer to look out of the back window than the front.

‘Why so wrapped up in this guy?’ she said softly. Speaking aloud always made her wonder if she was destined to become a crazy cat lady. Only minus the cats. ‘He’s just a guy. He fell in a hole, you helped him, he asked you out – sort of – and you shot him down. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again.’

The problem was, and she damn well knew it, that she hadn’t wanted to say no. And that hadn’t happened in a long time.

When the doorbell rang she jumped, sloshing hot coffee on her sweater. She dabbed it quickly and hurried to the front. Afraid it would be Jack, but hoping it would at the same time.

Lucky or doomed, she wasn’t sure, it was him.

‘Hi,’ she said, standing in the doorway. Invite him in? Not? The anxious poleaxed feeling wasn’t the best. She stepped back finally and waved him in.

‘Morning. Just wanted you to know that I’m putting a few bags of gravel in. And then the filler dirt. Should be able to wrap it up today.’ It was warm in the house so he tugged off the knit cap. His thick hair stood up in swoops and swirls and she found herself smiling.

‘Good, good,’ she muttered, trying to cover her sudden amusement.

He smoothed his hair and smiled back at her. It made her avert her eyes, that smile. ‘I was just wondering if you wanted something in that hole.’ She felt her eyes widen inadvertently and he laughed. ‘Jesus. What I mean is, did you want me to plant anything when I’ve filled it in or do you want me to try and just match the lawn to what exists?’

‘Oh, well… I hadn’t thought about that,’ she admitted.

‘You couldn’t really plant anything big,’ he said. ‘That original root structure is still down there and it’s starting to dry rot, which is why it’s caving in. But you could probably plant an ornamental if you wanted.’

She stared at him.

Jack scrubbed his face with his hands and then offered her another brilliant smile. ‘An ornamental tree. Something small.’

‘Oh – yeah. Sure. Um…’ The fact that he made her brain scramble to the point where she sounded like a stoner was annoying. And frightening. ‘Can I think about it? Maybe look at some online?’

‘Sure. No problem. Just a suggestion.’ He tugged the cap back on. ‘Back out there. It’s cold today, keep warm.’

‘I know. Frost!’ she blurted. Then she took a deep breath and told herself to stop being an ass. ‘How about a cup of coffee? I only have instant but it’s pretty good instant. Strong. Which is how I like my coffee. But I could make it weaker if you wanted…’ Her voice faded. Her heart was pounding as if she’d suggested she disrobe, not just offered him a hot beverage.

He nodded. ‘That’d be great. Thanks. I’ll just be out front. Holler and I’ll come grab it.’

Then he smiled again, the skin around his eyes crinkling handsomely, before he slid his shades back on. He strode outside, strong and tall, and she couldn’t help but watch him go.

August didn’t call out to him; she took the coffee out and stood there, against her better judgement, and watched him work. The flex of his legs. The broadness of his back. The way his hands gripped the white bags of gravel. The way the sun shone on his face and highlighted the small wrinkles here and there that came from daily exposure to the elements.

I’m an artist. Studying people is what I do. Nothing to worry about…

But there was and she knew it. ‘I’ll leave you to it now,’ she said softly. She almost thought he didn’t hear until he straightened, dusted his hands off on his trousers and faced her.

‘I don’t mean to be that guy,’ he said.

‘That guy?’

‘The guy who can’t take no for an answer.’

‘Oh –’

‘But are you sure you wouldn’t like to see that art show? Every time I step inside your house I see something new that grabs my attention. Something tells me most of it is your own work.’

Heat flooded her cheeks despite the cold. ‘Yeah. Most of it. Some is stuff I’ve collected over the years. But I really can’t,’ she said, forcing herself to leave it at that.

‘OK.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m just saying, if it’s the fact that I asked you out, we can go as friends. Totally platonic. One person introducing another person to some amazing art. No big deal. Just friends.’

She found herself repeating what she’d said about the tree. ‘Can I think about it?’

He nodded and bent back to his task. ‘You can think about it all you want. No pressure. No worries.’

Her feet carried her back to the house and she found herself standing in her studio not really remembering the journey. ‘No pressure. No worries.’ But she was worried.

August managed to keep herself from the window by looking into ornamental trees online. It gave her an idea for a series of ink pieces. When she grew restless she started sketching her ideas for the paintings the attorney firm had requested. Oddly, one of the partners had requested fairytale themes. Since she was the head honcho, no one had questioned it. August took it as a personal challenge to put her own dark spin on the classics.

She dropped her pencil atop a sketch of the Big Bad Wolf and wandered to the kitchen for a drink. A quick peek showed Jack down to his thermal top. The manual labour must have warmed him because he had ditched the knit cap too. He was shovelling mounds of dirt into the shrinking hole.

A moment of panic speared her and she realised, as she nervously gulped water, that his quick, efficient work meant he’d be gone soon. It bothered her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She went to the bathroom, washed her hands and face and tied her hair back in a loose French braid. Then she took a deep breath and considered her outfit. Same as when Carley had popped in. The sweater, usually a comfort to her on bad days, resembled a dark shroud. She tugged it off, feeling a momentary wave of guilt, and went to her closet for her cream-coloured cardigan. It was another item from her stash of painting clothes. Rich, thick material speckled with a veritable rainbow of paint flecks that would never come out.

‘Better,’ she said. The doorbell rang again and she was ridiculously pleased that she didn’t jump. She even had the calm head to call out, ‘Coming!’

‘Hey again,’ he said, passing over the mug. ‘Thanks for the coffee. The only thing left is topsoil and seed or something planted if you want. Any thoughts?’ He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

August didn’t consider it; she just stepped back and said, ‘Come on in, Jack.’

He stepped through the doorway and his sheer bulk sucked all the air from her lungs. She pressed her fingers against her thighs until her breathing steadied. ‘I was looking at trees,’ she said.

‘Good, any grab you?’

When he said ‘grab you’ she had a vivid flash of those large hands closing over her wrists, trapping her pulse beneath his thick fingers. ‘The Walking Stick tree. I like it a lot.’

He grinned. ‘My favourite. Honestly, they look like something from Tolkien.’

A tiny stab of glee pierced her heart at the mention of Tolkien. ‘I agree. I think I’d like one of those. Is that doable?’ She stroked the end of her braid and forced herself to stop. It was a nervous habit and she truly didn’t want to feel nervous around him. Nervousness indicated discomfort and discomfort meant he was getting to her. But it wasn’t really him, she thought. It was her getting to herself. If anything, Jack inspired a calm in her. The fact that she took that calm and twisted it into anxiety was her own doing.

‘Totally doable. I’ll have to run up to the plant nursery and see what they have. With the weather shifting we want to get it in soon. While days still get warm on occasion and not every night is a guarantee of frost.’ He stepped past her to one of her paintings of a local lake. It was simple. Close up. Vibrant with colours and yet shaded with shadows. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You’re really good.’

Then he stooped and looked at a stack of hand-drawn stationery on the end table. ‘This you, too?’

She nodded. ‘I have a small online store. Hand-done stationery. Some of it one of a kind, some lines I do regularly that seem popular, and, if a person’s willing to pay, I personalise. Do requests.’

He reached as if to touch them, but pulled his hand back. ‘Oops. Dirty hands. My sister would love these. She believes in the power of the handwritten letter. Kelly says we’re all turning into heathens with texts and emails.’

August snorted and quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed. ‘I agree. Plus, I just like stationery, cards, anything made of paper. Tangible, you know?’

The heat kicked on and she wished it hadn’t. She found it entirely too warm in here as it was, with him standing so close to her.

‘So, can I get some? I’d love to buy some for her.’

August shook her head. ‘Nope.’

His face fell and she almost laughed. She hurried on to explain. ‘You fell into my yard –literally – the very first day, ripped your trousers, cut your leg and didn’t sue me. I think that earns you a free pack of my stationery. Come into the dining room. I have some packs that are ready to go you can choose from.’ Then she turned her back to him and took her first deep breath of the day.

She laid them out on the dining-room table for him. ‘Fairies, leaves, snow, landscapes, seascapes…I think I have some that look like card suits in here.’ It was easier to ramble to him while digging through the desk. Then she didn’t have to look at him. Didn’t have to mentally process what she felt when she looked at him.

‘Card suits, definitely. Any aces in that deck?’ Jack leaned his hip against her table and crossed his arms.

August pulled out two packs. One done in red and black on white stationery, one done in white on black. ‘You might want to go with the white paper unless you know she has a white gel pen. Believe it or not, they sell big, the black sets. People like writing in white ink, apparently.’

He snagged the black set. Ornate card suits curled along the upper edges of the paper. Every envelope was inscribed with one of the suits. ‘I’ll just buy her a white gel pen. She’ll love it. Sure I can’t pay you?’

August straightened and busied herself putting the packs of paper back in a neat pile. ‘I am absolutely sure. It’s the least I can do.’

He smiled at her, his warm brown eyes studying her intently. Before she realised she was going to do it she blurted, ‘And yes!’

‘Yes?’ He cocked his head. It was a boyish affectation and only made whatever mad emotion was beating in her chest that much stronger.

‘I’d love to go see your friend’s work. I keep to myself mostly but –’ She shrugged.

‘I can tell,’ he said. ‘Some might say a bit on the hermitish side. But I’ve only known you two days.’

Two days. That was all. Felt like longer, she realised.

‘Well, you’re pretty accurate. I’m self-sufficient and I’m OK with that.’

He smacked the paper against his palm and smiled once more. ‘Well, that’s great. We’ll go. I’ll get the details from her tomorrow and tell you when I bring the tree by.’

‘As friends,’ she said softly. ‘Right? As friends?’

His smile never wavered. ‘Sure thing, August. I’ll take what I can get. As friends it is.’ He winked at her before heading out of the door.

She dialled Carley’s number with shaking fingers. When her best friend answered, August promptly burst into tears. Carley managed to extract just enough information to understand the situation.

She sighed heavily into the phone and said, ‘Oh, August. Honey, when are you ever going to stop doing penance for something that wasn’t your sin?’