Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Today Rhett and I will be doing carpentry work in a few rooms in a newly built home. It’s not one of those cookie-cutter neighborhoods where everything is the same in each house. The homeowners are doing everything custom. We spent weeks working through plans together to make the place exactly what they want. They aren’t moving to Birchbark until the summer, and I figured this would be the perfect winter project for me.
When I get to the house, though I’m ten minutes early, I’m not surprised that Rhett is already there. I climb out of my truck, and he joins me. “You’re early,” I tell him.
“You’re late,” he counters.
“It’s seven fifty-one, and I said to be here at eight.”
“If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “What am I going to do with you?” I grab my tool bag, then motion toward the house. “Let’s get inside before we freeze our balls off. We’ve got power to the house, and I have some heaters inside, but it takes a while to warm up. Then, unfailingly, we’ll be too hot.”
He chuckles, and I notice for the first time that he has two cups of coffee in his hands. “I didn’t know what you like, or if you drink coffee at all, but I didn’t want to show up with one for myself and not you. I have packets of cream and sugar. If you want something else, I can go back and—”
“You don’t have to go back and get me anything else. This is perfect. I stop on my way to work sometimes, but I was trying to make it here before you.” I quirk a brow at him. “Overachiever.”
“Looks like someone needs to get out of the house a few minutes earlier in the morning,” he teases. The few times we’ve interacted so far, it took him a while to warm up, and even then, he wasn’t playful like this. I have to bite back my smile so I don’t look like an oversized, goofy idiot.
“What if I make you late one day…”
“How would you do that?” he asks as I press the door code.
“I don’t know. I’ll find a way. I’ll tell you we have to be at the job at eight when it’s really seven thirty,” I say, pushing open the door, eager to get inside.
“That’s just going to make me start arriving an hour early for everything we’re supposed to do.”
His words make me stop. Rhett must not notice because he bumps me, chest against my back, the warmth of his body radiating into me. I swear he almost smells like black birch, a woodsy scent mixed with a slight hint of wintergreen.
My skin prickles, which isn’t a good sign at all. I didn’t like that, I didn’t like that, I didn’t like that.
“Shit. Sorry.” Rhett steps away.
“Did you spill your coffee?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good. And don’t show up an hour early. I would feel awful if you did that.” I should have thought through my teasing. I can see Rhett being so worried about being late that he would rather sit in the truck for an hour than risk it. “I would never try to make you late on purpose. I promise.”
He gives me a slow nod like he’s unsure what to make of my vehemence. I wish there was a way I could show Rhett that he doesn’t have to be perfect. That he doesn’t always have to try so hard. Always being on time, getting the right gift, or being who you think you’re supposed to be isn’t what makes a person worthy.
“All right,” he finally agrees.
“Good. Now let’s get to work. This is going to be fun.”
And while I always enjoy my job, somehow, I know I’ll enjoy it even more today.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rhett
I’ve been up since three in the morning. I stressed myself out too much to sleep, and I’ve had an upset stomach just as long, but as soon as Tripp and I get to work, all that fades into the background.
We’re working in the kitchen, building custom cabinetry. The wood is in the garage, along with Tripp’s saws and other materials. The sound of the machines, the feel of tools in my hands, and the experience of putting things together makes my blood run warmer, makes the nausea turn into a fluttering giddiness, sparks of excitement going from my chest to the tips of my fingers. It’s silly to love building this much, to feel some of the weights that hold down my soul lighten with something so fucking simple, yet it’s incredible at the same time.
This is different from working in my shop. This is someone’s home. Where they might raise their children and have dinners together and friends over. Where they’ll laugh while pulling wineglasses from the cabinet I built, and the walls of his house will hold what I hope is their happiness.