Page 5 of Screwed

“Round about,” he answered, slipping off the support post and taking one step down the deck stairs. His eyes were still wide with disbelief as he took me in, probably trying to reconcile his own last memory of the gangly thirteen-year-old girl who used to sing karaoke with his kid sister into hairbrushes, with the grown woman standing before him now. “You’re… different.”

I shrugged, my pulse suddenly ratcheting up. “That tends to happen when you grow up. I’m an architect now, not a singer, as you’ll be relieved to know. And look at you, a successful personal stylist.”

He froze, his mouth barely twitching at my attempt at humor despite the poor state I was in. But another man did laugh, and this was one I truly didn’t recognize. He was just as big as Nate, though maybe an inch shorter. Despite his own massive size, he looked softer than Julia’s big brother. Warm, with bronze-colored hair that fell in waves around his face, and eyes that danced between hazel and blue from where I was standing.

But the most interesting thing about this man was the smile beneath his short-trimmed, spotless lumberjack beard. It was gentle in a way that felt even more welcoming than Nate’s greeting, despite the fact that I didn’t even know him at all.

“Color me shocked that Nate knows anyone outside of work,” he said, shooting him a playful look. Then he turned his attention back to me and made his way down the deck stairs, removing his heavy canvas jacket. “Here. You look like you’re freezing.”

I didn’t protest as the kind stranger draped his jacket over my shoulders. I could’ve cried from the relief of being shielded from the frigid mountain wind, the inner fleece of the jacket a comforting weight around my body. It smelled like sawdust, motor oil, and stale woodsmoke. Pleasant enough to make me shiver.

“Thank you,” I said, using one hand to pinch the jacket closed at the front and extending the other towards him. “I’m Ava Barden.”

The man’s smile deepened as he shook my hand, and he opened his mouth to respond when Nate’s voice cut in.

“That’s Ethan Moore. Our lead finish carpenter,” he said.

Both Ethan and I turned to look at Nate. He’d said it with the kind of authority that hinted he was quietly establishing himself as the boss on site. It reminded me of how much of a pain in the ass he could be when we were kids. I understood he’d practically raised Jules despite being a child himself, but even as a teenager, his bossiness used to annoy the shit out of me.

He took a sip from his thermos and slipped one hand into his pocket. Then he jerked his head to the side, motioning to a third man I hadn’t seen. This one was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a scowl on his face that looked like his standard expression. “And this is our equipment operator and demo guy, Deacon Matthews.”

Deacon was nowhere near as approachable as Ethan, not scary per se but definitely intimidating in his all-black canvas jacket, shirt and pants. His leather boots were scuffed and worn, not the pristine, well-kept quality of Nate’s or Ethan’s. He just gave me a curt nod in acknowledgement.

“Did you walk all the way from the city?” he asked gruffly. “You look like hell.”

Charming.

It took me a second to process the question. I’d expected to be alone in the cabin, and now I was dealing with three large contractors who were, for better or for worse, kind of easy on the eye. They were so good-looking, in fact, that it took my brain a couple of extra seconds to reboot and remember the full context of how I got here.

“My rental broke down about a mile back,” I said.

Ethan made a sound of sympathy, then opened his thermos and poured a cup of steaming coffee. The strong scent hit my nose immediately. “Blackwood is not the most forgiving area. Please, have some of this. You need to warm up.”

I hesitated for only a moment before taking the cap from him and drawing a tentative sip. The bitter taste of black coffee exploded on my tongue, and I winced. Ethan just smiled.

“Prefer something sweeter?” he asked.

“It’s not my usual order,” I said apologetically. “But it’s hot, which is more than enough. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied.

Deacon appeared beside us, terrifyingly silent for a man of his stature. He fished a set of keys from his pocket, twirling them around his fingers. “You said a mile back? Do you remember if you were near the old timber mill clearing or the wash-out culvert?”

I frowned. “The fog was super thick. I didn’t see much. I just know that I hit the pothole right before the steep, S-curve incline. Also, I don’t know what a wash-out culvert is.”

He nodded as though that was enough, and walked past me, waving over his shoulder without turning his head. “I’ll get it out.”

I watched quietly as he got into his truck. It was exactly the sort of vehicle that Jules had joked about me needing to get my hands on. His broad back and shoulders disappeared inside, and the engine snapped me out of my reverie. Damn, were they all just huge for no reason?

Nate cleared his throat and walked the rest of the way down the stairs. “So I’m your personal stylist?”

I cringed. “It… was just something Jules and I were kidding around with. I know you’re a foreman, Nate.”

“Jules? As in your kid sister?” Ethan asked him, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Twenty-six is hardly a kid,” I murmured over the rim of the cap.

“It might as well be,” Nate said simply.