Chapter Three
The pounding on her walls woke Tilly up way too early for a Saturday morning. Not since she’d quit working serving jobs at twenty-four-hour diners had she been up so early on a weekend.
More pounding and a screeching noise invaded her dreams. She frowned. Was that a screwdriver?
Rolling out of bed, she grabbed a shirt and shorts from the floor to toss over the tank and undies she slept in. She padded out to her living room. Shadows moved across her drapes.
She peeked out, trying not to be noticed. Two men wearing tool belts had already set up scaffolding and were tearing away the siding at the corner of the house. A radio blared classic rock.
What the…
When she stepped out onto the landing, one of the guys noticed her. “Morning.”
“Yes, it is. On a weekend. What are you guys doing here?” She kept her tone pleasant, but seriously. On a weekend?
“Sorry about that. We don’t usually work Saturdays, but we’re catching up on last year’s hailstorm claims.”
“Oh, my landlady didn’t mention anything.” Her sweet old landlady had probably forgotten, like she’d forgotten to mention when the lawn was getting treated, or when she’d let go of the snow-removal guys and Tilly had had to shovel her way out.
“We waited until nine to start. Did we wake you?”
It was after nine? Wow, she’d been out late, then had stayed up another two hours to pack because she’d been too wound up to sleep.
“No. It’s no problem. I’m leaving town anyway.” She went back inside and shut the door. She wasn’t supposed to leave until tomorrow.
The pounding resumed; the radio blared. She puttered around her kitchen, preparing breakfast. The men resumed shouting instructions back and forth to each other.
Technically, today was part of her vacation. This wasn’t relaxing. Once upon a time, the shouts of the men would’ve sent her heart racing. She would’ve fled the house and probably forgotten her keys and her purse.
Thanks to the adult resource center, though, she didn’t feel the need to run today. She’d gotten more than her life back. They’d helped keep the experiences of her youth from haunting her days as an adult. And she’d finally gotten to pay them back.
But just because she didn’t have to leave didn’t mean she wanted to stay. If only she were at the cabin already. She’d planned a relaxing day at home, working the flowerbeds for Mrs. Blumenthal, her landlady.
She peeked out the window. Extension cords covered her lawn.
Damn. Now what? She had no money to go shopping. No cable TV. And it was too beautiful outside to watch movies all day.
Her phone pinged from the bedroom. She rushed to check it, then grinned. Flynn. He just identified himself and gave her directions to the cabin. Aw, he’d even sent a picture of the place. The spare key was in the planter on the far right of the porch.
Her lips quirked. Real original, Halstengard.
He’d said he had the cabin the whole weekend. Would he know if she went there a day early? It was either that or hang out at the library all day. She might as well grab some groceries and head there today.
She ran through the shower and braided her hair while it was still wet. Then she tossed a few last-minute toiletries into her luggage and zipped it up. Next, she tackled food. Digging out a cooler, she calculated what she could bring with and what in her fridge would spoil in a week. All produce went into a tote bag, but she’d still need to stop at the grocery store.
She was loaded up and almost out the door when she groaned. “Mrs. Woods.”
Dropping everything, she dug her phone out of her purse and dialed her first. Get the worst over with. The other two clients she had to notify would be completely understanding, had actually bugged Tilly about taking a break.
Berta answered.
“Hey, it’s Tilly. Is Mrs. Woods around?”
“It’s your unlucky day. She just left Charlie’s room, sobbing.” Berta put Tilly on hold.
Her heart twisted. Poor Charlie. Maybe she should come back just to tutor him. It’d be more than a four-hour round trip, but…he would be stuck with his mother and a dubious nanny otherwise.
“Miss Johnson.” Mrs. Woods sounded cool and collected.
“Mrs. Woods, I’ve had…something personal come up.” It was a risk, not being honest, but her intuition screamed that Mrs. Woods wouldn’t be supportive. “I have to cancel tutoring for the week. I apologize and can double up sessions next week if that works for you.”
Her employer sniffed. “How disappointing, Miss Johnson. You call on the weekend to cancel with so little notice?” She sighed as snidely as possible. “These things are to be expected—from you, I suppose.”
What a hag. What had Mrs. Woods gone through to make her such an ugly person to those she felt were beneath her?
For the hundredth time, Tilly had to remind herself that as long as Mrs. Woods paid her, it wasn’t her concern. And she’d grown attached to Charlie; she’d put up with a lot for him.
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Mmm.” Mrs. Woods hung up.
Tilly blew out a relieved breath. She made the other two calls quickly and grabbed her bags. She had new experiences all the time—out of necessity, to get away from a bad situation, or to better her life. But now, for the first time, she was embarking on an adventure without trepidation dogging her steps.
***
Flynn rolled his neck. He’d finally reached the small resort town by Lake Webber. A few more winding miles and he’d be at the cabin.
His stomach rumbled. He’d skipped lunch, thinking he didn’t need it because he hadn’t worked out. He’d skipped his normal run and lifting but had stopped in on a jobsite before leaving town.
The jobsite was the reason he’d left town a day early. The project manager had walked in to find Flynn manning the Bobcat and pushing dirt around the foundation.
Since Flynn was the boss, the manager had held his temper in check, but he’d commented, “If you do all the work on the weekend, how am I supposed to keep my crew working to earn a paycheck all week?” Insinuating that Flynn got paid, and paid well, no matter what. Reminding Flynn of when he’d been living paycheck to paycheck himself.
Flynn draped a hand over the wheel. The gorgeous countryside full of leafy, green trees and rolling hills calmed him slightly. He would’ve felt better if he had anything to do at the cabin when he got there, but he’d purchased a new one. There’d been a rundown lake home also for sale at this same lake, but he had an aversion to living in a shithole.
But on weekends like this, when there was no work for him, he could see the appeal. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he had the time and money to work on…anything, but it was the smell. The musty, sour smell of a home that had water damage, infestations, and stains on the walls and ceilings. As soon as he stepped foot in a building that’d been neglected, he traveled back in time until he was a powerless kid who could do nothing about his situation. Maybe if he’d grown into a man who had rectified certain things about his past, it wouldn’t affect him as much. But there was still one person he’d failed, one person he still let down every damn day.
Blinking away his fatigue from a restless, anxiety-filled night and a morning of getting booted off his own jobsite, he took the last turn to his new cabin. He let the stress drain away and tried not to remember that he’d be dunked into emotional turmoil the next day when Tulip arrived. Would she dress as pretty—normal! Not pretty. Would she dress as normal as she had last night? She’d still stuck out, actually dressed down for once, but he’d never noticed how silky her hair looked, probably because it was always in frizzy ponytails or swirling around her head as if she hadn’t ever met the business end of a brush. But that had been over ten years ago.
He was letting out a weary sigh when the cabin came into view, along with a dark sedan parked outside the garage.
What have we here?
His heart skipped. Could Tulip be here already? No. No, that’d be ridiculous even for her.
Then again, this was Crazy J.
He parked his truck off to the side but didn’t pull into the garage. In case this was an intruder or a squatter, he didn’t want to alert them any more than the rumble of his diesel already had.
He slipped out of the driver’s seat, leaving his bag in the cab until he got to the bottom of his mystery guest. He clicked his door shut and crept around the attached garage to the back of the cabin. He peeked in the window of the breezeway but saw nothing move. He inched open the door so it wouldn’t squeak and stepped inside. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He craned his neck toward the front door. A neon-pink tote bag that could probably light the dark lake nights sat on the floor.
College kids. Don’t they have their own resorts to party at? He must be getting old if the idea of a hot coed invading his getaway didn’t rev his libido.
Since he was a tall man, he crouched as much as he could and tiptoed into the house, thankful he was back in Nikes instead of steel-toed work boots. Soft humming came from the kitchen. A female. Nice voice.
He straightened. A guy like him could take on female squatters and any men they brought with them. This was probably only a couple who had gotten the wrong home.
But how’d they gotten in? By jimmying the locks?
He clenched his jaw and ignored the thrill that he might actually have something to do, like replacing the knobs. Was it possible they’d trashed the bedroom and he’d have to replace the floors or something?
The humming grew until a few words became clear. Whoever it was had a pleasant voice. Hopefully, she hadn’t brought a male friend.
He entered the kitchen, his steps silent. He circled around the fridge’s open French doors.
A rounded ass stuck out from the opening and he grinned. What a sight. The woman kept singing and he took a moment to sweep his gaze from her ass down her long, shapely legs. Yasss… The curve of her bare back stretched his grin. Narrow straps from her bikini top hung down as she stood up and turned around.
Tulip shrieked and jumped back into the fridge.
Flynn yelped and leaped backward. The backs of his legs hit the island and he almost rebounded into her. But he clutched the countertop behind him to steady himself.
Jars in the fridge tinkled from Tulip’s impact. She gasped and spun around to steady everything. The twist in her torso drew his attention to the definition in her abs and the sleek lines of her back.
When she turned back around, he couldn’t take his gaze off the Bat-Signal emblazoned across her ample breasts.
Tulip was stacked.
“T-Tulip, w-what—” He winced and dragged in a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”
Guilt crossed her expression and she wrung her hands. “Can you never call me Tulip? Never ever?”
“Why?”
Her gaze darted to the wall and back before her expression screwed into mild disgust. “Lots of reasons. But just Tilly. Please.”
“Okay.” He stared at her. Wanted her to turn around and stick her ass out again. Wanted his hand to quit twitching to cup her cheeks.
She backed away from the fridge so the doors could close. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think you’d be here until tomorrow and there were guys at my place and I’ve never been on vacation.”
“Wait, there are men at your place?” Why did that send a surge of jealousy through his system? As if she’d been pining away for him and shunning all others for the last eleven years.
“A few. They’re repairing hail damage, I guess. My landlady forgot to mention it, like she forgets everything else. I can’t take the banging when I’m at home, it’s too hard on my nerves.” She clamped her mouth shut like she’d said too much.
Yep, they could never work as a couple.
As if any of his homes needed work. Dammit.
Why was he considering him and Tulip—Tilly—an option?
That Batman swimsuit top, though… What’d the bottoms look like? With her ass, she’d give that damn bat wings.
“Are you hungry?” she blurted. He flinched. Her volume had risen a few notches.
Was she nervous?
No, not Crazy J. She was oblivious to other people—except him.
He drew in another calming breath, a technique Abe, his mentor and savior, had taught him.
His stomach rumbled and she giggled. An honest to God giggle. Somehow, her threat factor diminished enough that he allowed a small smile. “I missed lunch.”
“Oh!” She swiveled around and ripped open a fridge door. “I picked up stuff for sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but I had some bread to use up or it’d be moldy by the time I got home.”
He finally glanced around the kitchen. It was littered with gaudy tote bags. Her Wonder Woman tote sat on the counter beside the fridge, where it’d been blocked by the fridge doors a moment ago.
Crazy J was making him food. So…this whole thing could be worse. She was actually closer to normal right now than he’d ever experienced from her before.
Her backside lured his gaze again. Her cloth shorts outlined her form perfectly and while they were black, the outline of her swim bottoms and the yellow from the Batman design were visible.
“Were you going swimming?” he blurted. Great, he was picking up her habits.
She pulled away from the fridge with an armload of food and shouldered the door shut. The meager gentleman within him that Abe had managed to save rushed to gather some of the items. Mustard, mayo, ketchup, butter. Hell, was there anything this woman hadn’t packed?
He assessed everything she scattered on the table. Most of it had been opened already.
“Why didn’t you just buy everything here? You didn’t have to bring it all.” He would’ve gone on a food run within an hour after he’d arrived. Could he consider this the first time a woman had bought him a meal?
“A week’s worth of groceries when I already had the food? I might be wearing a Batman swimsuit, but I’m not Bruce Wayne.”
But she’d spent ten grand to be here? A couple hundred in groceries shouldn’t worry her.
She pulled out bread and lunch meat and—he hadn’t eaten fucking processed meat in years. He’d lose at least two of his eight abs as soon as that hit his tongue.
But his stomach insisted it was fine with whatever she was serving. He pulled out a stool and watched in fascination as she prepped their meal.
Her storm-gray eyes were serious as she assembled bread, then meat, then condiment. Thank God she had some greens to put on top, even bean sprouts. Each item she grabbed, she looked to him in question. He’d nod and she’d add it to his sandwich, except ketchup, cuz gross.
She grabbed a nearby tote and withdrew a bag of pretzels.
“Uh, no thanks.” He slid the plate toward him to keep the carb load off.
“I can’t have a sandwich without a side of salt.” She ripped the bag open and put a handful of pretzels on her plate. Then she started constructing her own sandwich.
Flynn waited to take a bite until she was done. It was something Abe had insisted on when he’d lived with him. Ladies first, boy.
But this was Crazy J. Still, he couldn’t do it.
She wiggled onto a stool next to him and dug in. They ate in silence and each minute that ticked by returned his stress back to normal simmering levels. Would she be this mellow for the entire week?
“Do you want another?”
He jerked his gaze to her, then to her empty plate. He held the last two bites of his sandwich.
Wiping her mouth off, she scooted off her stool and went around the island to open the bread.
“N-no.” He grimaced. “No, thanks.” Two sandwiches when dinner was a couple hours away? He’d have to run today after all.
Her gaze met his and the corner of her mouth lifted. She cinched the bag and puttered around the kitchen, putting away the rest of her items. “I wasn’t sure what you had for cooking capabilities here, but I brought some spaghetti and macaroni and cheese.”
Pasta and processed cheese? Ick. He lost a couple more abs just thinking about them. “I’ll run to town and grab some steaks; they have an awesome butcher shop. I usually grill when I’m at the lake.” He didn’t get away nearly as much as he should, but he’d made sure to equip the cabin with wicked grills—propane and charcoal.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She set her hands on her hips and drew his eyes to her abdomen. She wasn’t a stick. She possessed curves a man could get lost in. And she didn’t seem shy about it. “This is a really nice kitchen. Like, nicer than I’ve ever gotten to use, but I can’t…” She stopped, chewing on her lip.
“Can’t what?” Weird. Usually he wanted Crazy J—shit, Tilly—to stop talking, but now he hung on her dropped sentence.
“I was so busy saving to donate to the Center for Abuse Victims that I didn’t have extra for steak that wasn’t discounted. I’ve never stepped foot in a butcher shop, but they’re expensive, aren’t they?” She waved it off. “That’s okay. I can make myself spaghetti.”
He stared at her, tallying up the comments she’d made. Landlady. Nicer kitchen than she’d ever used. Discount meat. Saving to donate?
“How long did you save for the auction?”
Pausing over the groceries, she worried her lip and the cutest little furrow developed in her forehead. “Um…for a while. Way before the auction.”
“You were going to donate anyway?”
“Yep.” She resumed her organization of the kitchen. The cabin had come fully furnished and she inspected every cupboard. He didn’t even know what was in here. All he ever had when he came here was beer—his vacation indulgence—steak, and the occasional brat—no bun—if he was feeling naughty.
“How long did it take you to save the money?” He couldn’t quit pressing the topic. He could’ve bought every bachelor at that auction and paid for all the getaways besides. But she’d lived off pasta and clearance steak to donate a specific amount.
No. Tilly wasn’t going quiet now.
She continued her search. Straightening, she had a set of nested mixing bowls in her hands. “These are so cute. I have to bake something just to use them.”
His mouth watered. Bake what? Brownies. He fucking loved brownies. Cake. God, could she make caramel rolls? Abe’s wife had nurtured through sweets and Flynn had gained twenty pounds after he’d moved in, even with working on the jobsite all day.
Tilly squatted to tuck them back in and the image seared itself into his brain. A fantasy of her in that position over him. He’d devour her.
He caught himself and grabbed the nearest bottle of water. Gulping, he smothered the lustful thoughts of his high school nightmare.
Crazy J. Crazy J. Crazy J.
Except the longer he was around her, the less crazy she seemed. He knew nearly nothing about her beyond those three years she’d tormented him with her crush.
Wait…she hadn’t answered his question. “You saved for a while then, huh?”
She stood and brushed her hair back. He wanted to run his fingers through it. “A few years, yeah. Once I got settled into a teaching job after school, then I could start putting it away.”
“Why ten thousand two hundred and twenty-eight dollars…and fifty-five cents?”
Her gaze darted to him. “I like to be unique.”
His bullshit meter went off. Super. She was supposed to show up, act like a zany sit-com reject, and drive him insane. But instead, she was leaving him a trail of breadcrumbs, and despite his no-carb discipline, he couldn’t help but snatch each one up in an effort to get closer. Tilly was intriguing.