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CARSON
Someone is going to get one hell of a house. We’re almost finished, maybe two weeks to go—which is well before our deadline in December. In fact, if we haul ass, we might be out of here before Thanksgiving.
And it seems like that’s exactly what Libby wants.
She hasn’t said more than a handful of words to me in the last two weeks, and that was strictly about work. She nods, she agrees, she manages, but she doesn’t talk to me about anything else. Even though I’ve tried a million times.
How can she be so cool to me after what we had? How can she think I’m lying about my feelings? Even I can’t lie to myself. I’ve fallen in love with Libby, and it’s a knife to the heart every time I see her.
Because I can’t have her. Because she doesn’t want me.
But when I hear her curse from the kitchen, all those thoughts vanish and I race in her direction. “Libby?”
Her back is to me when I come into the kitchen.
“Libby?” I ask again. When she doesn’t answer, I walk straight to her. “Damn it, are you okay? I—”
She turns around, her jaw set. There’s a knife next to a lime on the counter behind her. “It’s nothing. Just a scrape.”
“Fuck. You cut yourself? Let me see.”
“Carson—”
“Let me see,” I say, gripping her wrist. Her other hand falls away and I see a smear of blood on her finger. “Libby…Okay, let’s get it under water and—”
“Stop. I can take care of myself.”
She yanks her hand away, and I try but fail to get my anger under control. “You’re standing there, fucking bleeding, and you want me to just walk away? Let you handle it? What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you see I care? Can’t you see that I lo—”
I break off that instant, so shocked by my own words, I don’t know what to do. Libby’s eyes are wide, locked on mine. I’d almost told her how I really feel. I’d almost admitted it to a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with me.
I swallow hard and pretend like nothing came out of my mouth. Like I hadn’t just almost told her I love her. “Can you please just let me help?” I ask.
She nods mutely, looking as shocked as I feel.
I take her hand gently and put it under cool water from the tap. “Just hold it there for a minute,” I say quietly to her.
Her arm brushes mine and she looks up. Damn, she’s so beautiful. She smells so good. What would she do if I leaned in right now? If I brushed a gentle kiss on her lips?
Then she glances away.
“You are the most accident-prone woman I’ve ever met,” I say, trying to lighten the situation.
She gives a quiet chuckle that makes my shoulders relax. I’m relieved. Maybe this is that start to something better. Maybe she’s finally letting go of her anger toward me.
“You might need stitches,” I start.
She shakes her head immediately. “No. No way. No more urgent care. Nothing. We’re finishing this house. I’ll put on a Band-Aid and we’ll be good to go.”
“Stubborn,” I mumble. “But I like that you said that.”
“What?”
“‘We’. That ‘we’re’ finishing this house. Us. Together.”
“Yeah well…” She scuffs her sneaker on the floor. “You’re doing a good job. And I want to finish this.”
“So do I.”
When she looks up again, her eyes lock on mine. Her hand is still under the running water, but I don’t care. In that moment, all I can think is how badly I want my mouth on hers. How badly I want this to be over—this awkwardness.
I just want Libby.
I bow my head slightly. Her breath touches my lips when she exhales, and I fight back a groan. I need her so bad.
One of my hands tangles in her hair, gently tipping her head up so I can kiss her. And it’s like heaven when our mouths touch. Every part of me comes alive, longing for her, needing every part of her.
In an instant, she yanks back. Water splashes out of the sink, surprising both of us.
“I—I can’t—” she says.
“Libby, please.”
There are tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Believe me,” I say, stepping to her again. “Believe that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I lied about Kyle and that’s it. Everything else—everything—is real.”
Even the part about loving her. I couldn’t say it loud. Can’t right now because she might not reciprocate. But it’s real. All of it.
She grabs a paper towel from the counter and wraps it around her finger. She ducks her chin. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I tip her chin up to see her eyes. “You know me. You know I’m telling the truth.”
Her mouth opens. It’s on the verge of her lips—I can see it. Belief. That need to give in because she knows I’m telling the truth. Because she knows there’s something real here.
And then she shakes her head. “I can’t.”
She walks from the kitchen, leaving me standing next to the sink with water on my shirt and a broken heart.
Hell. Why do people ever get into relationships? They always feel like shit.
“Fuck!” I shut off the water and resist the urge to smash something.
I’d just end up having to fix it anyway, and that’s not an option right now. The only choice I have is to keep working, finish this house as quickly as possible so we can get over this awkwardness.
I want nothing more than this whole problem to vanish. For Libby to believe me.
But now I have no hope of that happening.
So all I can do is finish my job and get the hell out of here.