Page 9 of Screwed

“It won’t feel like anyone if you strip its soul away,” he countered, crossing his arms. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and the movement flexed his forearms, drawing my attention to the thick muscle there. I forced my gaze back up, squaring my jaw.

“I didn’t know that design consultation was part of your specialty. I want what I want,” I said evenly, making sure he understood I wasn’t about to be badgered into changing my mind.

For a second, he just stared at me, his eyes tracking mine before moving to other features. He wore that same look from yesterday, as though he were trying to piece together his memories of me and overlay them onto what he saw now. I knew the feeling. My skin prickled under the appraising look in his dark eyes. Then he did something that took me completely by surprise.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his broad chest.

“You know, Ava, you’re just as stubborn as I remember,” he said.

Heat rushed to my cheeks. It seemed my annoyance for him wasn’t unreciprocated. We didn’t speak to each other much when we were kids. I knew that he’d firmly put me in the same bracket as Jules, but I wasn’t keen on being treated like his kid sister anymore. I was no longer a kid. And I most certainly wasn’t his sister.

I rocked back on my heels once. “And you’re just as bossy as I remember.”

His jaw ticked, and I couldn’t tell if it was more annoyance on his part, or if his body was just allergic to smiling.

“But I do feel the need to remind you I’m not a fourteen-year-old anymore. I’m a big girl now and I can make my own decisions,” I added.

“I’ve noticed,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave.

The air between us suddenly grew thick, charged with the heavy magnetic weight of reconciling the past to the present. Things didn’t feel like this back then. We used to make passing conversation, sure, but the silences then felt a little awkward. Not expectant.

He broke the quiet first.

“Look, all I’m asking is that you consider a compromise,” he said, his shoulders stiffening with a resolve that let me know he was also not going to give up very easily.

My tongue poked the inside of my cheek as I mulled it over. “Let me get this straight. You’re trying to convince me to make a compromise on the design choice of my own house? Just so we’re on the same page here.”

“You aren’t just moving houses. You’re stepping into a very different world than the one you’re used to.” His hands slipped back into his pockets. “At the end of the day, you’re the one signing the check, and I can’t tell you what to do with those sketches of yours. But I do want to try to get you to see the beauty of preserving history.”

A defiant smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. I copied his body language, intentionally sticking my own hands in my pockets. “I think you’re gonna have to convince me about that.”

“Is that a challenge?” There was that little glint in his eyes again. A flash of heated competition. The man liked his bait.

“It’s a promise,” I assured him. “Contrary to popular belief, I am actually capable of changing my mind when presented with a compelling case.”

I half expected him to end the conversation there or brush me off. But instead, he leaned down a bit, just enough to let me know that this was his way of throwing down the gauntlet. “Deal.”

I blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll try to convince you to save as much from this place as we can while still honoring your vision. If I manage to do that, then I win,” he clarified.

“Huh,” I muttered, lifting my chin. “All of that just for the sake of winning a non-competition.”

“I do it for the integrity of the argument,” he replied.

“I think you just like hearing yourself talk.”

He chuckled again, but before he could say anything else, Deacon’s voice cut him off.

“Done!” he yelled from the front door, and Nate and I just looked at each other as we heard the heavy final thud of a hammer as Deacon drove the final nail in to secure the front door.

As it struck, the cabin groaned.

A violent shudder rippled through the floorboards, followed by a terrifying crack coming from above our heads. Nate’s entire body registered the noise, and his head shot up to the ceiling. He suddenly grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against his chest and moving us backward into the living room alcove just as the main length of the beam sheared off. It swung downwards, obliterating the kitchen island just a few feet away in a deafening explosion of splintered wood and flying quartz.

My heart pounded against my ribcage with adrenaline both from the near-hit, but also from being this close to Nate. I could smell his scent, a heady mix of shower gel, sawdust, and the tiniest hint of fresh sweat.

“Are you okay?” he asked, holding my shoulders and gently prying me away so he could assess any potential damage.