Page 68 of The Burbs and the Bees
How can I possibly fix this?
Chapter Thirteen
Alyson
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get that scent out of my nostrils.” I visibly quake as we scrub the dining room walls with a solution Jay’s mother put together for us. I appreciate it more than she’ll ever know. Cleaning skunk spray is not in my wheelhouse. Not much is, but despite that, Jay boosted my confidence earlier, telling me he was impressed with my efforts. My stupid head swelled from his compliment more than I would have liked, and dammit, I’m really starting to like this guy. Then again, how could I not feel a warmth for a man who continues to help me, even though he knows I don’t belong here?
Water drips down Jay’s arm, soaking the sleeves on his T-shirt as he lifts the sponge and washes the higher parts I can’t reach. “Give it a week, and it will clear.”
I sniff the back of my hand and pull a strand of hair to my nose. “Well, at least it doesn’t take weeks to come off human skin and hair.” I dip my sponge back into the bucket. “You sure the guys don’t mind running the farm and market for me today?”
“They don’t mind, and Tyler is trying to get on your good side. Something about your hot friend coming to visit.”
I laugh at that. “She’s too old for him, and she said she was coming, but I doubt she will.”
“Yeah? Why?”
I roll one shoulder. “Why would she want to leave New York and come here?” I say. Jay stiffens. Shoot, why do I keep insulting the man? “I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He turns from me, his back muscles so tight, his shoulders are near his ears. “Broadway, espresso, shopping. I guess you must miss all those things.”
I scrub the wall and exhale an exaggerated breath. Do I miss those things? Heck, I’m not even sure I do. It’s clear my friends have moved on without me, and Lucy is only bored now that her boyfriend left her for someone else. My parents care about me, that much I know. But every time I go visit them, they cast disappointed looks my way. But Jay doesn’t want to hear the poor little rich girl’s sob story.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I do.” I steal a glance at him.
“You’ll be happy to have those things again, I guess.”
“Right,” I say. Okay, I get it. He’s impressed with my efforts, but he still doesn’t think I have what it takes to run the farm. He’s probably worried I’m going to run it straight into the ground, which is why he’s happy I miss home.
We both go quiet, lost in our thoughts as we scrub the entire dining room and half the hall. After a long time, I wipe my brow and drop the sponge into the bucket.
“I swear, if I ever come face to face with that skunk again… Well, I’ll…”
“Run.”
I laugh. “Yeah, probably.”
Jay laughs with me and says, “That would be a good idea.”
“Or maybe I’d capture him, stuff him, and set him next to Mr. Beaver.” Would that be possible? Do they have skunk traps?
“I could teach you to shoot,” Jay suggests, and when I crinkle up my nose, his head bobs and he adds, “Or you could just run.”
I snort. This man obviously knows me. “Yeah.” I stand back and examine the place, a warm summer breeze blowing in through all the open windows. “Do you think we got it all?”
He nods. “We just have to leave it to air out now.”
“My clothes are wet from all the scrubbing. I’m going to change.”
“Me, too. Meet me at my place, and come with me when I check on
the bees.”
“Thanks for this,” I say, and he steps up to me, takes a strand of my hair between his fingers. “You didn’t have to help, you know.” My heart pinches. Jay has helped me—in so many ways. I thought I’d be lonely here, alone, but thanks to him and his family, I’ve barely had a minute to myself, and I’m not complaining about that. Seriously, though, how could I not like this man? Just as long as I don’t let it get out of hand, I should be okay. I am not interested in giving my heart to another man who doesn’t want it, and I have no intentions of leaving this place without it intact.
“Maybe I did it for selfish reasons,” he says, his body crowding mine, his voice dropping an octave.
“Oh?” He arches a brow, and that’s when I get it. “Ohh…” I say. “I think the skunk spray has affected my brain.” Either that or his close proximity is messing with my ability to think straight.
