The Christmas He Loved Her (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 2)

“I’m good,” he answered.

They both stood and once again the big, empty space between them yawned open.

“About your question earlier,” he said, his hand at her back as he pushed her toward the door. They both waved at a beaming Salvatore, and when she stepped outside, the November air hit her so hard, her lungs hurt as she inhaled a crisp, cold shot of it.

She shivered and pulled her coat tighter. “Question?” she asked as she took a few steps before she realized he wasn’t following. Raine turned around and waited.

Jake’s expression was unreadable as he hunched his shoulders against the brisk wind, hands shoved into his front pockets. For several moments there was nothing but the sound of the wind through the trees and the scattering debris it whipped across the concrete parking lot.

“Your question about Wyndham Place. About why I would spend a crap ton of money on a home that half of Crystal Lake thinks should be demolished.” A devilish grin spread across his face, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Raine relaxed. She took a few seconds, content just to drink in the change in him. There was a bit of the old Jake in front of her.

“Dad asked me the same question.”

“And what was your answer?”

His eyes glittered, the lines around them somewhat softened by the half grin that still claimed his lips. “Why the hell not?”

She smiled. “Why not?” she repeated softly.

She knew there was a lot more to it. Wyndham Place had been theirs. The Bad Boys and their tagalong fifth wheel, Raine. They’d spent way more time than they should have in the old house when they were teenagers, and a lot of stuff had happened there. Parties. Romances. Fights.

Her eyes misted. A lot of firsts.

“So, that means…” She exhaled and met his eyes. She needed to hear him say it. Needed to feel like maybe there was a chance for things to get back to good. “That means you’re staying in Crystal Lake?” She licked her lips nervously as she thought of Lily St. Clare.

Jake’s expression turned serious, his hooded gaze unnerving as he rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. He wrapped a deep indigo scarf around his neck and nailed her with a direct look.

“I guess I am.”

Chapter 11

What the hell was he thinking?

The buzz he’d been feeling for nearly a week was starting to wear off—big-time—and he had no one to blame but himself. Wyndham Place was a hell of a lot more than just a run-of-the-mill fixer-upper. It was a massive undertaking and one that he’d gladly embraced in the heat of the moment nearly a week ago, but now…

Jake stared at the huge pile of crap outside the long rambling porch—a porch that was sagging in several areas—and he had to ask himself the question.

Was he crazy or just a sucker for punishment?

The last Wyndham who had actually lived on-site had taken steps to update plumbing and electrical, but even so, there were problems, and a good bulk of the electrical had to be replaced. Luckily the pipes were in good order, though the boiler that heated the old steam radiators was toast.

It was cold as hell, but he couldn’t even use the fireplaces—and there were plenty of those—because the chimneys needed to be cleaned first, and he had a feeling they were home to more rodents than he cared to think about.

He scratched the five-day stubble that had grown along his jaw and gazed up at the house. It needed new windows, a roof, and exterior paint by the truckload. There were some serious framing issues on the main level, because some idiot had thought it would be a good idea to take out two load-bearing walls. Asshole. Those would have to be replaced and the subsequent flooring issues upstairs caused by the dumbass move dealt with.

And that was just a small dent in the list he’d been adding to daily. Jake Edwards was, if anything, a perfectionist, and if he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. No cutting corners. It was something he had learned from the best—his father. The family business, Edwards Lumber Company, had been a mainstay in the area for more than three generations, and Jake and his brother had cut their teeth working for their father every summer until they’d enlisted.

“Too bad there’s a shit ton of corners,” he muttered as he carried out another pile of crap.

He’d spent the day before ripping out the kitchen, and the mess before him was the fruit of his efforts. Old crappy cupboards, countertops, and appliances. The large refuse bin he’d rented had already been carted away and emptied twice, and he was waiting for it to be brought back and dumped in his driveway so that he could fill it again.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand. He was hot and sweaty despite the cold November weather. It was nearly four in the afternoon and already getting dark. With most of the leaves gone from the surrounding trees, the place looked pretty damn bare. He inhaled a crisp shot of cold air, his chest tightening as he gazed across the expansive lawn toward a small stone cottage barely visible behind an overgrown cedar hedge.

Cedar… The smell settled in his lungs.

They say scent is what keeps memories glued together, and Jake had been battling scent demons ever since he’d got back from Afghanistan well over a year ago. He’d never really left the desert, it seemed.

A few days after his brother’s funeral, he’d taken off to the shooting range. Somehow he’d got it in his head that if he could just shoot the shit out of something, it would help relieve the stress and heartache that ate at him night and day.