Sommer Marsden - Once Bitten Twice Shy

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.’