Never Too Hot: A Novel Page 11
“Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t feel right asking you to do that. You’re already paying to live here.”
“Please, Connor,” she said softly, her eyes shining again at the thought of refinishing the furniture his great-grandfather had built by hand. “I’d like to help.”
“What about your painting?”
“Actually, I’m kind of in the thinking and planning stage with a couple of them right now. Might be nice to work on something else for a few hours. How about if I start to strip and repaint the dresser in my bedroom?”
It was the best idea of the day, sending her out to the workshop in the woods. Far away from the cabin.
Far away from him.
“I’ll go upstairs and grab it right now. Put it in the workshop for you to work on.”
“The workshop? Oh, do you mean the red barn in the woods?” When he nodded, she said, “I’ve walked by it so many times, and even though I longed to go inside and look around, it felt too much like trespassing.”
He was glad for the heavy weight of the four-drawer dresser, for the fact that carrying it down the stairs and through the woods was making his hands hurt like hell. Anything to distract him from what being around Ginger made him feel.
The workshop was a good quarter mile back from the house and the smell of sawdust and oil was strong as they entered the large dark barn. Connor put the dresser down outside the big doors, his palms burning. After opening one, he found the light switch on the wall and flicked it on to illuminate the rows of lights that hung from the open beamed ceiling.
“Wow, this place is incredible,” she said as she slowly walked around the large space. “Every time I walked by I sensed that there was magic inside.”
“Sam and I were always begging to come out here when we were kids,” he told her, trying not to wince as he picked the dresser back up to bring it inside. “That was the lathe my grandfather used to turn all of the legs on the chairs and tables and beds. He taught me how to use it when I was five.”
Her eyes widened. “Five? Wasn’t he afraid you’d hurt yourself?”
“He believed in having us learn from our mistakes. Knowing we could slice open a hand was a pretty big motivator not to goof around while using his tools. Plus,” he said, running his hand over the dusty tool, “I wanted to be just like him.”
“What did he do the rest of the year?”
“High school principal. My grandmother taught French and German. The past couple of years they’ve both been pleased to have me follow in their footsteps. Finally.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You’re also a teacher?”
“Since the accident, that’s what I’ve been doing. Teaching rookies the ropes, leading safety seminars. My scars scare them enough to make sure they really pay attention. Same principle my grandfather worked off of, I guess.”
She came to a stop in front of a half-built sailboat that was flipped upside down in the middle of the room. “What’s this?”
“A boat my grandfather never finished building. It was always just there. Sam and I offered to finish building it for him a couple of times, but he said no, he’d do it himself. Guess he never got around to it.”
He walked over to a large rolling toolbox pushed up against the wall and yanked out several drawers, the rusty metal protesting his rough touch.
“Here’s some sandpaper to get started. Let me know if you need more. I can pick up some paint at the hardware store when you’re ready for it.”
And then he got the hell out before he could come up with an excuse to be near her a little while longer.
Over the course of his career, he’d been called a hero countless times, but this was the first time Connor had ever wondered if he had it in him to do the right thing.
CHAPTER TEN
GINGER PULLED out the top drawer and began the painstaking job of sanding off the rough edges of peeling paint, making sure to scuff up every inch of the surface so that the new primer and paint would dry. One by one, she worked through the drawers.
It was good, hard work. The perfect project to take her mind off Connor.
She supposed she should have been embarrassed by what she’d said to him about her frustration over all of his respect for her, but she wasn’t.
Yet again, it had felt surprisingly good to put voice to what she wanted. Even if being turned down flat had been a pretty crushing blow.
Then again, she suddenly realized, hadn’t she’d known all along that she was safe? That Connor was so damned noble there was no way he’d ever take advantage of her.
In the same way the wood had revealed itself beneath the cracking paint, her hours of sanding had slowly uncovered the truth: She hadn’t risked much at all.
Not when she’d known all along that Connor would be a hero.
Beyond irritated with the train of her thoughts, she yanked hard at the stuck bottom drawer. She heard a sharp crack.
“Oh no,” she cried, instantly assuming she’d snapped off a hunk of old wood. But when she pulled the drawer all the way out and put it on the floor, she was surprised to see a stack of letters tied together with a string sitting at the bottom of the dresser’s now-empty shell.
A secret romantic who’d always had a stash of romance novels tucked away in a bag in her closet to read when no one was home, Ginger’s fingers trembled with excitement as she reached for the bundle.
Love letters. They had to be love letters. Otherwise why would someone keep them, hide them away?
The papers looked water-stained and crispy, the rope hard and brittle. Although she picked up the package carefully, the white binding crumbled in her hands. One opened in her hands and, unable to help herself, she started reading the neat cursive.
Andrew,
These have been the worst two weeks of my entire life. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. All I want is to be with you.
Last night when I called home, I begged my parents to let me come back to the lake early. It’s not like I’m good enough to go pro or anything, so why do I have to go away to tennis camp for three weeks? I told them I’d much rather be out at the lake spending time with them. They didn’t buy it and said no.
I think they’re suspicious about us. Even though we’ve been so careful. I don’t know what they’d do if they found out we’re spending so much time together.
Every night I lay awake in bed thinking about when I snuck out and we drove up to the pond. Can you believe I’ve spent fifteen summers at Blue Mountain Lake and never knew it was there? I’m so glad you showed it to me. I loved night swimming with you. And I loved everything else we did that night too.
Especially the way you kissed me and said I’d be yours forever.
Love, Isabel
Oh my God. She’d accidentally found love letters her friend Isabel had written to Connor’s father.
Ginger felt a shocked little thrill run through her. She should stop reading right now, especially given that she knew she was invading her friend’s privacy. But her hands and eyes seemed to have a will of their own.
Andrew,
Last night I had a dream that we were already on our boat, that were were halfway around the world. Drinking out of coconuts, the warm salty breeze on our skin.
It was heaven.
Sometimes I think we should just pack a couple of bags and leave now. Forget about college. Forget about everything but going out there and living our dream. Together.
I love you,
Isabel
Ginger didn’t know how many letters she’d read by the time she got to,
Andrew,
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Isabel
She heard Connor’s voice behind her. “It’s getting dark. And I heard in town there’s been a lot of bear sightings this summer in these woods. I didn’t want you walking back alone.”
; She looked up from where she’d been sitting cross-legged, the letters on the floor all around her.
Uh oh. She hadn’t thought about getting caught reading them. Hadn’t been able to think about anything other than Isabel’s love affair with Connor’s father.
“What are those?”
“They fell out of the back of the dresser.” Quickly picking up the pages, stacking them on top of each other, she held out the bundle. “I didn’t mean to read them, but one fell open and … I couldn’t help myself. They’re so beautiful that I lost all track of time. No wonder your father kept them.”
“My father?”
He grabbed the letters from her, started scanning the one on top that said I love you over and over, his posture, his face, growing harder with every passing second.
“I knew he and Isabel had dated for a while,” she said, “that it was pretty serious, but—”
His eyes lifted from the letters. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t know about your father and Isabel?”
“Hell no.”
“They met as teenagers. It was love at first sight. These must be letters she wrote him when she was a teenager.”
She suddenly realized what she’d said, that she’d made a huge deal out of Connor’s father loving a woman his son hadn’t known anything about. It had to sting.
“My ex always said I had a bad habit of blurting out every thought that passed through my head,” she said by way of an apology. “It must be weird to read love letters written to your father by someone other than your mother. Almost like a betrayal.”
The man of cold, hard stone she’d seen in his bedroom that first night was back.
“Whatever he did before he married my mom is none of my business.”
But she didn’t buy that. Not for a single second. If it were true, he wouldn’t be acting like this.
“I can understand why the letters would bother you.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I don’t care.”
She took a step toward him. She’d let him keep his hands to himself, but she wouldn’t let him lie to her.
“You sure look angry for a man who doesn’t care.”
He came toward her, then, closing the rest of the space between them, his lips so close to hers that she could almost taste them.
“What the hell makes you think you know me so well?”
He was right. It shouldn’t make any sense. They’d only just met, not even a week ago, and yet …
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
His eyes were on her mouth again, his eyes dark and intense, and she felt it coming, another kiss like the one in his bedroom, violent, all-consuming. And in that moment as his heat seeped into her pores, she wanted nothing else.
But instead of kissing her, he turned away and walked over to the half-built boat. She found herself fighting back another strong wave of disappointment as he said, “I’ve never met anyone like you, Ginger.”
It didn’t sound like a compliment, but she quickly decided that was okay. Because she knew she’d just stumbled over a really important chapter of Connor’s story. And she couldn’t have stopped turning the pages if her life depended on it.
“What’s your father like?”
Running a hand over a golden red board, Connor said, “Uptight. I can’t imagine anyone writing a letter like that to him.”
She remembered how smooth Andrew had seemed over the phone. She searched for the right occupation.
“Surgeon? Professor?”
“Lawyer.”
“How’d he feel about you becoming a hotshot?”
He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “I can honestly say he didn’t give a damn.”
“Impossible. He’s your father. He had to care.”
“When I was five, my mother had to go away to help her sister with a new baby. He was supposed to pick me and Sam up from school. Every single day that week, he forgot. When I was ten the soccer league called to see if he could fill in for the regular coach for a practice. He asked if they had any idea how much two hours of his afternoon were worth. By the time he missed my high school graduation, I’d already learned to accept who he was. And who he was never going to be.”
“But surely after your accident, he must have tried harder.”
“Sure. A few phone calls. Couple of beers.”
That reminded her. “You got the message that he called, right? I put in on your pillow.”
“Couldn’t miss it.”
He didn’t say anything more about it and the crazy thing was, Ginger got the sense he was even more shut down about his father than he had been about the wildfire that had burned his hands.
“What are you going to do with the letters?”
“I’m sure someone’s going to need kindling tonight for a Fourth of July bonfire.”
The thought of the love letters going up in flames horrified her. She pounced on the old papers, safely cradling them against her chest.
“You can’t do that! What if your father wants them back?”
“He left them here for over thirty years. What does he care?”
“The fact that he kept them in the first place shows how much he cared.”
“Yeah, he cared all right. About Isabel.”
Okay, so he had a point. Still, Ginger couldn’t reconcile the man from the letters, the man Isabel had loved so deeply, so passionately, with the father Connor spoke of. His father must have had—at least in his youth—some redeeming qualities.
The big question was, what happened once he married his wife and became a father?
And then she realized Connor hadn’t read enough to know, “That was your father’s boat. He and Isabel were building it together.”
He pushed away from the sailboat. “Something else for the fire pit.”
“Connor!”
He shot her a hard look. “You want to keep the letters, be my guest. I don’t care what happens to them.”
But everything about the rigid lines of his body, the way he was repeatedly clenching and opening his fists, told her that he did.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CONNOR WAS irritated. Not with Ginger for her usual rounds of endless questions. With himself.
So his father had gotten letters from some girl. So what? Sure, Connor was protective of his mother, but she’d taken control of her own life a couple of years ago when she’d filed for divorce. She was dating a nice guy who wanted her to move with him to Florida. She was fine.
But it grated at him, reading the lovey-dovey words Isabel had written. He couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that way about Andrew. Didn’t, frankly, know his father well enough to see who he might have been when he was nineteen years old.
Knowing it was long past time to change the subject, he gestured to the dresser. “I’m impressed that you sanded almost all of the drawers already. That’s a big job.”
Her eyes held his and he could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of keeping after him about his father or backing off.
Finally, she stretched her arms over her head, tilted her head from one side to the other, and it was crazy but he was almost disappointed by her choice to let it go.
He’d gotten used to having her dig around, challenge him at every turn.
“I’m tired. A good kind of tired. But you’re right, I should probably get back to work at the easel. My first art show is coming up soon. Right before your brother’s wedding. I may have to start painting round the clock soon if I don’t finish a couple of big ones this week.”
They headed out of the workshop and back through the woods, every step he took beside Ginger confirming to Connor that he should be keeping his distance. Staying the hell out of her business.
Only, he couldn’t help wanting to know more about what made her tick. He was still reeling from how upfront she’d been about her desire for him. But it was more than that, more than just the way their bodies inevitably responded to each other.
Somehow, she seemed to know when he was lying, not just to her, but to himself too.
“Did you always want to paint?”
“Always.”
“But you didn’t, not until you moved here?”
“No. Not really.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
She wouldn’t let him lie to her. He wouldn’t stand for it either.
“You know.”
She stopped beside a tree trunk, wrapped her arms around it, leaned into it. “I was afraid I wasn’t good enough. I thought everyone else knew more than I did. I thought I needed to listen to their advice, that I had to believe them when they told me I was doing it all wrong. I let them mold me, even when the voices in the back of my head were screaming no. In the end, I didn’t pick up my paintbrushes for three years.”
“That’s a long time to stay away from something you love.” He knew firsthand.
“It wasn’t until I arrived here last October, when I unpacked my easel and put it on your grandparents’ porch, that I realized I had it in me all along.”
Ginger’s words dug in right behind his solar plexus. It was just what the Forest Service had been telling him for so long. That he wasn’t good enough anymore. That he needed to listen to their advice and train for something else.
“Ginger,” he said, unable to keep from closing the gap between them despite his best intentions, “I—”
The rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud explosion from the beach.
“Someone must be lighting off fireworks in front of the cabin.”
He ran through the rest of the trees and found the kids just off to the right of Poplar Cove’s beach.
Isabel’s property. The woman who’d been his father’s girlfriend.
“Those fireworks are illegal.”
The two teenage boys barely looked up at him. “Dude, it’s July Fourth. We’re just having a little fun.” The girl, however, looked a little worried.
He held out one hand. “Give me the rest. I’ll get rid of them for you.”