The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

those self-deprecating laughs. They annoyed me enough to forget all about the lovely. "What does the work of an arborist look like? I can't recall ever meeting one before."

"Trees. It looks like trees." When she shifted to face me, her nose scrunched up and her brow wrinkled, I added, "Tending to trees and woody plants. Maintaining ecological communities. Diagnosing and treating disease. Or fungi. Removing trees when they pose a danger to people, places, or other healthy trees. Removing those species that are becoming overabundant or invasive." I shrugged. "Like I said, trees."

She bobbed her head several times and pointed toward the woods visible through the wall of windows along the back side of the house. "I gather you have plenty of work around here."

"Plenty," I echoed. I thought about telling her more, explaining the work of tree wardens in this area and the ongoing fights against devastating disease and misguided residential plantings, but I didn't carry on conversations at this hour. Hell, it was a blessing I was fully dressed.

"That's always the good kind of trouble to have on your hands." She lifted the mug to her lips, watching me as she sipped.

I was supposed to ask something about her now. That was how this worked. She expressed an interest in me and I was due to return the favor.

I could manage that just fine—I didn't mind people too much once I was awake for the day—but I didn't want to do it with Jasper. It didn't spring from any deep desire to be rude or hinge on the fact Midge had never once mentioned this lady. No, I didn't want to do this with her because she confused the absolute hell out of me.

She interrupted my morning with her plastic cheerfulness but I couldn't stop thinking about her skin.

She brought me a biohazard of a banana bread and she smelled like heaven.

She stubbornly insisted on sleeping in a teardown bat cave but made me want to wrap her skirt around my fists.

It was too damn confusing and I didn't want any of those contradictions in my life. None of it. Not even the pieces that'd kept me tossing and turning all night, half convinced I needed to march over there and drag her out of that house, half convinced I'd lost my damn marbles if I thought ripping a woman out of her bed and taking her home with me was a worthwhile idea.

I didn't want to feel like that. I didn't want to feel any of it.

I gulped down a mouthful of coffee. "You're not from around here."

"You're right about that."

Please, god, don't make me ask her another question.

As the silence stretched on, I realized I was now staring at the mark on her cheek. It was medium brown, like a pale freckle, but had the shape and size of a shelled walnut. I wanted to touch it even more than her skirt.

Somehow, I managed, "Down south?"

"Caught that, did you?" She grinned at me over the rim of her mug. It seemed like she was intentionally holding it up to her face to keep me from eyeing the mark on her cheek but she'd forgotten it was a clear glass mug. "I lose my accent whenever I'm away from home for long. It's a wonder I still have any of it."

"And where is home?"

She glanced down, her brows lowered. "I grew up in Georgia. Haven't lived there in ages though. Just visits."

She reached for the coffee, refilled hers halfway, and then held the bottle toward me in question. I pushed my mug closer. "Leave some room for milk."

Jasper nodded, sending her wavy hair swaying against the collar of her jacket as she topped me off.

"Where do you live now?"

She peeked up at me as she poured the milk and I felt it low in my belly.

What the literal fuck was wrong with me?

Once she had the milk capped, she clinked her mug against mine. "As far as where I live, well." She fixed a severe smile on her face. "I live next door."

That was when I bobbled my mug and sent coffee splashing down my shirt. That was bad enough but Jasper was there with a dish towel, patting me down. Her hands were everywhere and all I could do was stand there while we kept talking over each other.

Her hand dropped to my waist. "Let me just—"

I tried to snatch the towel from her. "It's fine and—"

"Hold still and I'll—"

"Really, you don't have to—"

She yanked the towel back. "Maybe you should change out of this—"

"That's not where—"

She reached for the roll of paper towels. "Don't move, there's a puddle—"

"You don't have to try and fix everything."

"Actually, I do."

"I'll just change. It's fine. Don't—" I took a step back, held up my hands. "Stop. Stay here. Let me handle this."

I stalked into my bedroom, whipped off my shirt, and shoved my fingers through my hair. If I stayed in here long enough, she'd eventually leave. Right?

Unless she came looking for me.

She'd definitely come looking for me.

Maybe I wanted her to come looking for me.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I grumbled.

"What was that?" Jasper called.

I scrubbed my hands down my face. "Nothing."

She wasn't leaving. Even when she did leave, she'd be right next door. She wasn't going anywhere.

Fuck me.

Still smelling of coffee, I pulled on a new shirt and returned to the kitchen—where I found Jasper kneeling on the floor. Her hair fell in a curtain around her face as she mopped up the coffee and all I could do was stop and stare.

It wasn't the position. It was not. It had nothing to do with the sight of her on her knees, head bowed, skirt fanned out like daffodil petals. It was that she was here, in my space and scrubbing the floors like they were a personal keepsake of hers, and I wanted her to stay equally as much as I wanted her to go. And I hated that more than being forced to