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

"Probably not, which is why I'd sell Midge's house before I resorted to that."

He glanced up from the book. "And then what?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. This is a seat-of-the-pants season for me and it's more stressful than I can possibly quantify. That's why I need something else to obsess over, something less tragic and preventable. So, tell me why you're still single."

"You should've prefaced it with that," he replied, peering up at the tree.

I paced between the trees for a minute. "It seems like you prefer being alone."

"That's true," he said. "You know I'm a triplet. I grew up flanked by my brother and sister at all times. Never alone, never. When you're that close to people, you drop into your own world, and that's great because you always have a friend, always have a playmate. But it's also tough because you never learn how to think without another set of voices in your head or how to function outside that separate world. It's true what they say about multiples having a sixth sense with each other but I think it's mostly a result of spending every living minute together."

"I thought we were talking about how you liked being alone."

"We were." He shoved the notebook in his back pocket and pulled out a long belt-looking-thing. He looped it around the trunk and then secured it to his waist and—holy shit—climbed right up the tree.

"A little warning the next time you do that, okay? I need to prepare myself."

It was downright hypnotizing to watch the simultaneous flex of his thighs and shoulders, the way his backside tightened in those jeans, how he made this look like the most natural thing in the world.

"Move over to the left," he called as he unsheathed the knife attached to his belt. "Stay there. Don't move." A dead branch dropped to the forest floor. "One more coming."

I moved another step to the side and watched as Linden sent a second branch to the floor. He studied the treetop for a moment, shaking several other branches as he shimmied along the trunk.

I was reminded of meeting Linden, that first day when I'd arrived here from D.C., when he was out in the front yard. I never would've guessed that burly bear of a man could climb trees like a grizzly. I never would've guessed I'd invent reasons to spend time with him or look forward to our walks in the woods. I never would've guessed it would be my rude, mansplainy neighbor, the one who said not two hours ago that I couldn't be trusted with paint, to make me feel like I belonged here. Like I belonged with him.

"Coming down," he called.

He walked backward down the trunk, the belt sliding with him along the bark. It looked remarkably easy, the same way home renovation shows—which never talked about separate paint for interior and exterior—made everything seem remarkably easy. Which meant it was far more difficult than I could comprehend.

"So, you just do that?" I asked when he was back on the ground. "You just…climb the tree."

"I just climb the tree."

I motioned to the belt as he pulled it from around the tree. "Simple as that."

He nodded. "I can't explain it any other way."

I glanced at the tree and the spot where he'd removed the branches. It was really high up there. "You didn't even wear a helmet or anything."

He slapped the trunk. "This old girl? No need. Just a quick touch-up, no reason to pull out all the equipment."

I watched as he moved the branches to the side, out of the way of the barely-there path. "If you thought you could distract me by climbing a tree, you've forgotten that my job used to be puppet master of distractions. I don't get distracted. I do the distracting. It's obnoxious and one of the reasons people cringe when they see me but I get the job done regardless of how awful I am in the process."

"All the more reason for you to find a different line of work, Peach."

"What do you want me to do, Linden?" I cried, my frustration suddenly boiling over. "Should I wait tables? Answer phones? Maybe I should sell pharmaceuticals. I already know all there is about bullshitting so now I can really help people. How about that?"

"Why not? There's nothing wrong with any of those options."

"There's not, but—"

"But you don't know what your life is without your job. I get it. I know. I'm just saying, maybe you should take a minute to look around and realize this is your life without that awful, obnoxious, codependent job, and it's not too bad."

"No, it's not bad except I'm gaming out how long I can paint inside walls with outside paint and go for walks in the woods before I have to sell Midge's house. Aside from that and the everyday anxiety of it, everything is great."

He shook his head like he was at his wits' end with me. For a minute, he stared off into the woods. Eventually, he said, "Then sell the house. You can stay with me as long as you want."

"You don't actually want that. You're offering because you don't like me using tools and doing things by myself."

"Would you stop it? Just for a second, Jasper, stop pretending I'm the one holding you back from anything. Stop acting as though you're unbearable to be around, that you're intolerable and impossible. You're not. Stop saying that shit, would you? It offends me because I don't like anyone talking about you that way." He shook his head again, now past his wits' end. "I'm offering you a place to live while you're figuring this out."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I…I don't hate you. That's why."

My belly swooped. It would've been better if he'd said he loved me. It wouldn't have hit me nearly as hard because not hating me meant a great many things, none of which I could handle. None of