When August Ends
Just as I was about to turn around and head home, the creak of the door startled me. He returned to the porch holding a buffalo plaid flannel shirt.
He threw it at me, not so gently. “Put that on. Cover yourself.”
“Thanks.” I slid my sleeves through the shirt and buttoned it up. It smelled like him, all manly and woodsy—as if someone had bottled the scent of testosterone and sold it. I was already planning to sleep in this shirt.
To my surprise, he returned to my earlier question. “I needed to get away for a while. Picked this place randomly. Didn’t run a background check to make sure it didn’t come with a prying little innkeeper who doubles as a Fly Girl.” He winked.
“What’s a Fly Girl?”
“Shit.” He sighed and looked down at his feet. “That was before you were born.”
“Well, what is it? A Fly Girl? Some kind of superhero comic strip?”
He laughed that hearty laugh I felt between my legs. “There was this comedy show in the nineties…In Living Color. Jamie Foxx and Jim Carrey used to be on it. These dancers called Fly Girls would perform in between the comedy sketches before the commercials. Anyway, I was just making fun of your little hip-hop routine.”
“I’ll have to look it up online. I’m kind of disappointed in myself for not knowing. Normally, I’m pretty well-versed in nineties’ pop culture.”
I could feel myself blushing, and I didn’t even know why.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you work?”
He puffed on the cigar and smoke billowed out of his mouth as he said, “I’m taking a break at the moment.”
“What do you do?”
He didn’t answer right away. It seemed like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer my questions.
“I’m a photographer.”
“Really? That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to learn photography. What kind of photos do you take?”
“Everything from nature to portraits. You name it, I’ve probably shot it. I used to work freelance for newspapers some years back. A wide variety.”
“So you work for yourself now? That’s why you have the freedom to take time off?”
“Yeah.”
I kept prodding. “There are some really pretty shots you could get on the lake, particularly when the sun sets. Is that why you chose to come here? Photographic inspiration?”
“No. I’m not here to shoot anything. I’m taking a break from that. Like I said, I chose this place randomly. It was far enough away but not too far from home. The main requirement was that it was quiet and peaceful, some place I could think.”
“So, I guess I’m interrupting your peace, then.”
“Nah…botched water rescues are extremely relaxing.”
He smiled, and I returned it.
God. I noticed his eyelashes. It seemed unfair for a man to have lashes that long.
There was a bit of silence before I asked, “You think I’m a dork, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
I laughed at how quickly he answered. He didn’t even have to think about it.
He cracked another smile. Every time he smiled at me, I felt my insides stir. I felt like a damn fool, actually. I needed to slap my face to rid myself of this giddy feeling.
I looked out into the distance to try to clear my head. “I’ve never seen the lake at night from this angle.”
“Why not? You live here, right?”
“I don’t spend much time at the boathouse. Since childhood, I’ve been conditioned to avoid the people renting it. My mother always made me stay away. Things are different now, of course, since the responsibility of this place has changed hands, but I’m only ever here to take care of business. I don’t spend quality time on this side of the property.”
“That’s actually a good thing,” he said.
“Because I won’t be around to bother you?”
“Well, that, too. But I was referring to the fact that growing up your mother made you stay away from the guests. There are a lot of bad people in this world. Having a business where strange people are coming and going can’t be easy when you have kids.”
That reminded me of a time when it hadn’t been just me. Whenever anything made me think of Opal, I felt incredibly sad. No way I was going to subject him to that right now, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
He interrupted my rumination. “It’ll be getting dark out soon. You’d better go back to your house so your mother doesn’t think something happened to you.”
“She didn’t even see me leave, probably doesn’t realize I’m gone. My mother stays in her room most of the time…because of her depression.”
He seemed to process what I’d just divulged. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay.”
Things were silent for a while.
He looked around. “You think you’ll keep this place forever? It’s got to be expensive to keep up. That’s not counting all of the work you have to handle.”
“It is a lot. And I really want to sell the whole property.”
“Why can’t you?”
“It makes me sad to think about it, for one. The lakehouse and boathouse have been in my family for years, and I love living here. But I think selling is inevitable. The main house is too big for just my mother and me, and it’s too much land to maintain. My mother is open to the idea of selling. But there’s a lot we’d need to fix up before putting it on the market. That’s really the holdup.”
He held the cigar between his teeth and looked at me before inhaling. “You have a lot on your plate. It’s no wonder you dance around like a goon in the water. Whatever gets it out, you know?”
“That’s right. Dancing is a stress-reliever.”
Noah stood up and walked off the porch to put his cigar out on the cement. When he returned, he remained standing across from me. I was reminded of just how tall he was as he towered over me. A breeze blew his scent—a mix of cigar and cologne—in my direction. The same smell saturated the shirt I was wearing. I could’ve breathed it in all night. His nearness was doing things to my body I hadn’t ever felt.
Noah looked around. “You mentioned some stuff around here needs to be repaired. What specifically?”
I blew out a breath. Even thinking about it was exhausting. “So much. I’d have to make a list.”
“Why don’t you do that? Make a list. I’m pretty good with my hands. I’ll see if there’s anything I can help with while I’m here.”
He’d lost me at pretty good with my hands. My imagination was running wild. Shit. I imagined those hands doing a lot of things—mostly to me.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“You’d be stupid not to take me up on it. I came for a change of pace, but the truth is, too much quiet isn’t good. I like to keep busy.”
Biting my bottom lip, I shook my head. “I don’t know…”
“Make the list,” he insisted.
Noah was right. It would be dumb not to take him up on his offer. It wasn’t like there was anyone else knocking down our door to help.
I tilted my head. “What would be in it for you?”
His expression turned dark. “People don’t always have to have ulterior motives.”
Suddenly feeling bold, I said, “I thought maybe you would want me to go out with you in exchange.”
Did you hear that? It was a record screeching.
I admit, that was ballsy, but being around him brought out my flirtatious side. Maybe his cologne and cigar smoke were going to my head.
“You’re joking, right?”
Okay. I shouldn’t have asked.
“Actually, I—”
“I’m practically old enough to be your father.”
Really? That’s how he saw me? I knew he was older than me…but he didn’t seem that old. No way. I’d pegged him as early thirties, though I truly had no idea how old he was.
I shook my head. “No, you’re not. That’s a lie. An older brother, maybe. How old are you?”
Instead of answering, he took two steps forward. “Let me make something clear.”
“Okay…”
“I was not insinuating anything by offering to help. And I will not be asking you out, propositioning you, or going anywhere near you, for that matter. We clear on that?”
Okay, then.
I swallowed. Disappointment washed over me as I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“Good.” He made his way toward the door, turning around one last time. “You’d better go. It was nice chatting. Get me the list tomorrow.”
He disappeared into the house, leaving me on the porch to wallow in his lingering smell and feeling like a complete and utter idiot.
***
Back in my room that night, I replayed his words.
“I will not be asking you out, propositioning you, or going anywhere near you, for that matter. We clear on that?”
God.
His firm stance only made me more drawn to him. It’s funny how that works.
He treated me as if I were twelve. At twenty, I’m old enough to date anyone I want. I don’t care if they’re forty or eighty. A hundred years ago, the average lifespan of a woman was something like fifty. I’d be almost halfway done with life by now. Once you hit eighteen, age is just a number.