Page 38 of Hearts on the Mend

I know they’re lovely. His father was nice enough when we met. But this feels too close to meeting his parents, like in the official sense, and I don’t like it. Seems too familiar. Again.

Nolan helps Ruby out of her car seat, then gives her a high five as she races to the front door.

“Careful,” I warn at the same time she goes, “Whoa,” windmills her arms, and skids across the ice, almost tumbling headfirst into the butter-yellow door.

It’s a cold, windy January afternoon. I pull the zipper up on my North Face and shiver, ignoring the towering figure of Nolan to my left. He’s wearing a Carhartt jacket over a flannel and cream-colored Henley, work boots, and a faded navy baseball cap pulled low over his brow.

I hate that he looks absolutely delicious. He’s like a rugged lumberjack fantasy. And, well, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to the fact that I would very much like to climb him like a tree.

Again.

Which is the whole problem.

An older woman answers the door. She has blonde hair to her shoulders and pulls a long pink cardigan tighter around herself, a big smile on her face. The same smile Nolan wears from time to time, though he’s awfully stingy with it.

“Why, hello there, Miss Ruby.” She bends down to talk, holding out her hand to shake my daughter’s.

Ruby is all business, nods as if she’s a queen, then backs up against my waist. Richie Murphy shuffles to the door in loose black shorts, Adidas sandals, and white ribbed socks pulled high over his calves. His readers are perched on his nose, and he’s clutching the sports section of the Merritt Point Herald.

“So you came to see my house?” he asks Ruby. “Excellent. I have lollipops.”

She grins. I come to stand beside Nolan. If I shifted slightly to my left, his hand could wrap around me and pull me to his side—the picture of domesticity. But we’re not doing that.

He’s my… roommate? The contractor who sleeps in the spare bedroom?

I keep reminding myself over and again, pretending like the other night in the kitchen didn’t completely ruin me. When I didn’t go upstairs and spend some time with my vibrator after I watched him stick his thumb in his mouth to lick off the spot of batter that was on my lips.

Okay, fine. I think I have a thing for my roommate.

“Thanks for inviting us,” I say.

“It’s cold,” Nolan grumbles. “Let them in, Ma, before they both freeze.”

His parents move aside, letting us in. It feels just as cluttered and lived-in as my mom’s property in upstate New York. She runs a small bed-and-breakfast called Blue Heron Hollow Farm, and during the summers, a small horse-riding camp. We were never close, not really. After my father passed when I was eight, we just… found our own way. And when Matt came along, I followed him west and didn’t look back.

At that precise moment, my ears are pierced by a high cackle.

“Oh, that’s just Bridget,” Kathleen says to Ruby. “She’s Nolan’s grandma. She’s playing cards with her friends today.”

“How many White Russians has she had?” Nolan asks his father.

Richie only frowns. “Come on, young lady. Lollipops are in the kitchen.”

Kathleen and Richie whisk Ruby away, leaving me with Nolan.

“I’ll take your coat,” he says gruffly. He steps behind me, hands settling on my shoulders, then plucks it off, hanging it up with his by the door.

“Cute place. Can I see your room?” I tease.

He snaps his eyes to mine. “Don’t make me regret coming.”

“This is on you.” I rush up and stab my finger against his hard, muscular chest. The man is like a brick wall. A stubbornly attractive one. “You arranged this.”

“Trying to help.”

I drop my hand, but I don’t back away. That sadness that fills him sits in the air between us. I hate that too. God, I could probably write a book about all the shit that annoys me about Nolan. Quiet, infuriating, and so hell-bent on respecting my boundaries.

Sweet.