Wild Kisses (Wildwood 2)

“David and I were at odds for a long time. I prefer to think he had a friendship that turned into something more once we were divorced. Whether it’s true or not really doesn’t matter. David went through a lot overseas. We didn’t fit the same as we did when we were kids. It’s over, and people here might want to hold on to something they see as a scandal, but it’s really nothing more than two people realizing they were poorly matched and moving on. I’ve already let it go.”

That was a ridiculous oversimplification of something even Avery still didn’t fully understand. Not to mention a ludicrous understatement, glossing over all the loneliness and pain those long years caused her. But her answer made the worry clear from Belle’s eyes, and that made Avery happy.

“How’s the renovation going?” she asked. “Are you on target for your opening? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Avery’s mind turned to Trace first, and it lingered there when she should have been thinking about her business. “Trace is doing a great job on the café. It’s really beautiful. More than I ever expected, you know? I feel lucky that Delaney snagged him for the job. I could never have afforded anyone else. And so far, so good on the opening.”

“I’m so relieved. When I heard Trace was doing the work . . .” She grimaced. “I’m not gonna lie—I was worried.”

After Betty’s slight, this one nudged her protectiveness up another notch. Avery forced her frustration to the background. “Why?”

“He’s got such a playboy reputation. There are a couple of girls in the office who can’t stop talking about him since he got to town. And God forbid they actually run into him when they’re out at lunch or after work.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess from what I’ve heard I expected him to be out partying half the night, fucking someone the other half, and be spotty at work.”

Avery’s gut squeezed until it ached. It took real effort to work up the lousy grin she put on. She just hoped it looked bored, not pained. “Well, you know this town and their rumors. I can’t tell you exactly what Trace is doing with all his nights, but I can tell you the man works twelve to fourteen hours every damn day, seven days a week, and he’s taking care of his dad, who’s suffering from the early stages of dementia.”

“Oh, that’s right. I think I heard that.”

“And if you want to see quality, come into the café. It speaks for itself. If the man can find enough energy to do anything else after all that, he probably deserves some TLC.”

Belle grinned. “I love this new, tough Avery.”

She huffed a laugh. “This new, tough Avery will get you some flyers. If you wouldn’t mind passing them out, that would be great.”

“You bet.” She stood and slung her arm around Avery’s shoulders. “I’ll drop by the café and return your plate. That way I can pick up any leftovers hanging around.”

Avery curved one arm around Belle’s waist. “Better than turning them into compost.”

Belle left Avery at the office’s front door, and Avery returned to her car alone. Her mind wasn’t on her business or the café. All she kept hearing was Belle’s “I guess you really never know someone, right?”

After everything Avery had been through, she’d have to agree.

Trace hiked a load of old asphalt roof tiles onto his aching shoulder, stood, and climbed the steep pitch of the roof toward the dump truck parked on the opposite side. When he reached the peak, his gaze searched the drive, then the road for Avery’s Jeep, the way he had for the second day in a row now.

Still no sign of her. Though she had found someone to work on the piano. Henry Baxter was down there tapping away at keys, and the sound reminded Trace of his younger years, when his mother was well and his dad was clean and his family was happy.

He’d agreed both he and Avery needed some space, some time to think, to cool off. But he didn’t like it. In fact, yesterday had been the first twenty-four hours in two months he hadn’t seen her, and he’d been miserable. Today was shaping up to be another wretched day. She had to return eventually, but that didn’t mean she’d ever want him to touch her again.

He didn’t blame her. He’d been a petty idiot. Then turned into a callous bastard, pounding her against a wall after she’d admitted wanting him.

Who did that? Worse, who got hard just thinking about how hot it had been? How it had been the most passion he’d felt in years?

A serious loser, that’s who.

“I’m done over there,” Cody said, indicating his corner of the roof. “I’m gonna move to the other side.”

He met Cody near the gutter and hefted the tile into the dump truck. “I’ll restake your safety bracket.”

“Nah, I got it.”

Trace nodded and started back to the other side of the roof, his own safety line trailing behind him. He knelt, grabbed his crowbar, wedged it under a tile, and pried it from the roof trusses.

The work helped him exhaust his frustration over Avery, but it didn’t keep him from thinking about her. About them. He should take the decision out of her hands and call an end to their affair. If he could even call it an affair. Screwing twice hardly made it more than a hookup. But he knew better. There was something between them beyond physical sex. They’d already been friends for months. Good friends. They shared similar life hardships. Had similar values, work ethic, goals. They’d liked each other to start with. That was the problem. Or one of the problems. There were so many, he couldn’t keep track of them all.

He tossed another old tile into the pile, shoved the crowbar under the next, and put his back into prying the nails loose.

“I hate these brackets,” Cody complained. “They’re so goddamned hard to move.”

Trace didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like bitching about the work. Yeah, it sucked to be up here doing the menial manual labor he used to do as a teenager. Especially after he’d worked for years to get his contractor’s license so he could have other guys doing this shit. But prison had a way of stripping a guy down to the nuts. He had to pay his dues all the fuck over again.