Trouble (Dogwood Lane 3)

Friends. It’s the word that rolled around my brain all night. It’s a great term, one that exudes ideas of camaraderie and fun outings. Just probably not the experiences I was thinking about as I lay in my bed after my bath and thought about Penn.

Being friends with him is the answer. It’s the only option, really. I just hope I can keep myself nice and even-keeled around him and be friendly.

I grab my bag full of sketch pads and pencils from the back seat. Digging through it, I make sure I have everything I need to get started on the mural today. A flurry of excitement washes over me as I process getting to spend the entire day being creative.

Tap! Tap!

My head whips to the side. Penn is standing at the passenger-side window. Dressed in a faded black T-shirt with an oil company logo flaking off the front and jeans that show off his trim waist, he looks better than anyone should at nine in the morning.

Fucker.

Popping open my door, I get my bag on my shoulder. Then I climb out.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says with a grin.

“Meredith said to be here ‘in the morning.’ That’s not an exact time by any stretch of the imagination.”

“I’m just giving you shit. How’s your arm?”

The red spot has mostly gone away, but the area is still tender. “It’s okay. Sore, a little. Who knew eggs could be so dangerous?”

“Me, actually.”

I wait, expecting a joke about him fertilizing eggs or the fear of it. The longer he goes without a comment, the more suspect he becomes.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m waiting for an egg joke.”

He shrugs. “I don’t have one.”

“Bull.”

“I really don’t.” He laughs. “I’m trying to override my brain and only think clean thoughts.” His head goes from side to side like he’s reconsidering. “Most of the time. My thoughts were pretty filthy when I saw you in that shirt.” He winks, walking backward toward the door.

“So, how’d you know eggs are dangerous?”

“When I was learning how to cook, I had a lot of grease blisters.” He takes in my reaction. “What? You didn’t think I knew how to cook?”

“Um, actually, no.”

“Your quick judgments of me wound me deeply.” He snickers. “Joking. I had to learn to cook if I didn’t want to starve. I’m pretty shitty at it, but I do like it sometimes.”

“That’s . . . awesome,” I say, trying to stop the image of Penn cooking with no shirt on. “What else do you like to do . . . Don’t answer that.”

He gives me another smile, this one a smidgen back from being devious, before turning around and dipping into the building.

I pause by the bucket holding the door open. The warmth of the morning encompasses me like an old friend, and I find myself excited for the day. It’s an odd feeling. My mornings used to begin with a headache, followed by coffee, followed by a pep talk to get me through whatever I had to do. I thought that was life. I figured it was just the way things were because it’s all I’d ever known. Fighting for a job, pretending the world was peaches with clients, getting berated when you don’t know something because some pampered celebrity thinks everyone exists to benefit them.

I was wrong.

This morning greeted me with possibility. There was so much adventure on the horizon that I sprang out of bed. It’s amazing what getting to do what you love all day can do for your spirit, as opposed to feeling like you get your spirit sucked out of you as the days go by.

I step inside the building and stop. It’s like a pretty-people convention in front of me, and I’m not prepared.

Penn is standing next to a pile of lumber, a pencil shoved over his ear. The addition of a carpenter’s belt makes his shoulders look even wider. The entire display is enough to make me drool. But there’s more.

Matt is standing next to him. He looks up and waves. His light-brown hair and sweet smile are enough to melt a girl. But then, standing next to Meredith, who’s wearing a pale-yellow dress with what I think are pearls, are two more hotties. With strong bodies and tanned skin, the two men wearing button-up shirts look like they walked in from a department-store magazine.

“Avery, good morning,” Meredith says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good. Ready to get started.”

“Great. I’d like you to meet my stepsons, Trevor and Jake Kelly.”

The one on the right sticks out his hand. “I’m Trevor. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Avery,” I say, giving his hand a shake.

“And I’m Jake,” the other says. His green eyes sparkle. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say.

Penn’s stare burns into the side of my face, but I ignore him. With Meredith and these two in front of me, I can handle only one tornado at a time.