Page 19 of Hearts on the Mend

I wish I could say I hate that nickname. I don’t. Especially not when his eyes sweep down to my lips and stay there a beat too long.

“Yeah, fine. Busy day,” I say. “What do you need help with?”

“I’ve got it.”

“I need to prep dinner before I pick up Ruby. Will it mess you up if I’m in the kitchen?”

“No.”

And there it is. He really doesn’t care.

I run my knife through the bell pepper rougher than necessary. Maybe this is all a one-sided infatuation on my part.

Immature.

Impractical.

And for lack of a better word—trouble.

“So you’re back in town,” Nolan says, measuring a length of insulation. The way he says it is somewhere between a statement and a question.

He grabs a knife from his back pocket and swings the blade open before making a cut. It’s effortless. He bends down under the kitchen sink to slip it over the pipes.

“Ruth wanted to help. My ex is dragging out the divorce, and I just need a place to land for a bit.”

A quiet “hmm” is all I receive for a response before he finally asks the question I’ve been dreading. “Were you still with him when we…”

“Fucked?” I smile to myself when he chokes. “No, separated.” I heat up the sauté pan, drizzle in some olive oil, then toss in the diced pepper before plucking an onion out of the basket on the chipped Formica counter. “Didn’t seem like you were big about staying in town either.”

“Accident,” he says, with such finality that I realize there is no follow-up question. Not one he’s ever going to answer.

So I don’t touch it. I let that hang between us.

“I’m heading out for Ruby in a few,” I say finally, chili simmering in the instant pot. The kitchen smells like cumin and garlic now.

He’s washing his hands in the kitchen sink, and I’m stuck there, studying him. The late-afternoon sun just about sunk to bed for the night. The light is warm and golden and washes over his tanned skin and the flex of muscle in his forearms as he works the soap between his fingers. The sparrows inked around the top of his hands look like they’re flying.

The same hand that gently held my throat that night while pressing me against the bathroom mirror, buried deep inside of me as he growled in my ear to come again on his cock.

Jesus, I need to get laid. But not by him. Definitely not him again.

“I can’t convince you to change your mind?”

“About what?” he asks, his head bowed toward the tiny stainless steel kitchen sink.

“Helping. I need this house sold, and I’m not sure where I’m gonna find anyone with immediate availability that I can trust. Besides, I can’t ask my aunt for more money.”

“It’s not—” He sighs. “My dad meant well. I frame houses in the winter out in Montana after fire season for extra cash. Well, usually.”

“Then you have experience?”

“Not with renovation. This is an old house…” He whacks the faucet with his fist, then spins to rest against the counter, wiping his hands over the dishtowel hanging from the dishwasher. “But I don’t have time to help. I’m going fucking crazy living with my parents. I need to find another place like yesterday. That’s going to take time. And between some medical appointments and everything, it’s not going to work.”

“Richie seems nice. What’s your mom like?”

“Nice,” he says with a laugh. “My whole family is. I’m the asshole.”

I don’t miss his breath catching as I smile. I stick my hand out toward his, doing my best to ignore whatever that meant. “Nice to meet you. I’m the black sheep.”