My hand drifts of its own accord toward James’s head—it seems to me we both watch my hand in slow motion as I reach out and gently smooth his hair back into place.

  He stares at my hand as I drop it to the steering wheel again.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I don’t know why I did that.”

  James clears his throat. “I—um.” He fiddles with the glove box latch. “You wanna pull back near the barn? I’ll grab the title and do a quick check to make sure it’s good to go. If you’re buying it, I mean. No pressure.”

  I think another moment or two, but I already know the answer. I like this truck. I feel cool in it, I know I’ll never have trouble with bad weather, and I know it’s been well cared for.

  “How much do you want?” I ask.

  He blows out a breath, tipping his head side to side. “For you? Twenty-five.”

  I frown at him. “James. You had to have put more than that in it just in custom upgrades.”

  He nods. “Sure. The truck is worth that much stock.”

  “Then what are you thinking, offering it to me for that price?”

  He shrugs. “It ain’t about the money. I got what I need, and enough to feel comfortable. It’s just sitting there in my barn, and I gotta go out every once in a while to start it up and do maintenance on it. Truth be told, it kinda weighs on me. But I’ve got too much sentimental value in it to sell it to just anyone. So that’s left me in a bit of a pickle—too attached to get rid of it, but it’s taking up space and time, not to mention the emotional anchor of knowing it’s there.” He pauses, thinking. “Plus, the girls don’t like seeing it, Nina especially. She remembers riding around with Renée and I in it. She used to ask for rides. She loved when I’d find a bumpy back road.” He smiles faintly, sadly.

  I frown again. “But won’t seeing me in it be hard?”

  He’s quiet a while, thinking that one over. “Maybe at first? It’s weird sitting in the passenger seat, weird seeing you drive it. Really weird, honestly.” He makes a gruff sound in his throat. “Sorry. Bad manners to talk about that, though.”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not. We’re friends, James. You can talk about it all you want.”

  “It ain’t weird for you?”

  I shrug. “I mean, the whole thing with us is already kind of weird, so that’s not any weirder, you know?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I get you.”

  “Why is it so weird seeing me drive it?”

  He sighs. “I mean, because Renée drove it around a lot. At first she was scared of it, like you said. It being so big and powerful and all, but once I got her to try it, she drove it every chance she got. I got a big ol’ kick out of seeing her tiny little ass climbing up into this thing, watching her hop down. But then she got pregnant and it became awkward to climb up into it, so we drove her CR-V everywhere. And then she…yeah. And I just couldn’t drive it myself after she was gone, you know? She’s just…in it. I still smell her in it, honestly. See her.” He adjusts his sunglasses again, clears his throat. “Sorry.”

  “Do not apologize, James.”

  “I just…” He shrugs. “It’s harder than I thought.”

  “Maybe it should just go back in your barn.”

  He shakes his head resolutely. “No. I want someone to get some use out of it. I want it to be driven. I want it to be loved. Weird, maybe, but I’m a truck guy, and trucks oughta be loved.” He pushes his Oakleys up onto his head and gives me a long look. “I want you to buy it, if you want it. I want you to have it. There’s no one else I’d rather see this truck go to.”

  “Even if you have to see it a lot, and see me in it?”

  He nods. “It’ll be bittersweet, but yes.”

  “Then you have to let me pay you thirty.”

  He shakes his head. “Not taking a dime over twenty-five. And you need something fixed, you call me, not some damn shyster mechanic.”

  I stare hard at him—I know he’s doing me a favor, but I think I’m also doing something for him, taking this truck from him. “Twenty-five?”

  He nods. “Twenty-five.”

  “You know you’re getting screwed on this deal, financially?”

  He shrugs. “More to it for me than the money, told you that.”

  “How much of this is about you and me? Honestly.”

  James growls, but I can’t interpret if that’s out of annoyance or something I don’t have a word for. “Why would you ask me that, Nova? I thought we agreed to leave it be.”

  “I need to know.”

  “Why?”

  “I just…do.”

  James tugs his sunglasses back into place and stares out the window rather than meet my gaze. “Truthfully, it is about you, to some degree. But not like you’re thinkin’.”

  “What do you think I’m thinking?” I ask.

  He rolls a heavy shoulder, rolls the window down with a touch of the button, and rests his thick forearm on the window. “I think you think I’m selling it to you for cheap because there’s…I dunno know how to put it—because there’s an attraction between us. That I’m doing you a favor because you’re a beautiful woman.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, okay—you’ve got that pegged pretty squarely,” I say with a rueful chuckle.

  He’s quiet a moment. “I’m doing it for the reasons I said—I need to see it go to someone I know will appreciate it, and I know you will. I have sentiment towards it that’s hard to let go of, and this way, it’s still in my sphere, you know? Not like I’m keeping tabs on it, but… I dunno.”

  I nod. “I think I understand that part.”

  “And I mean…yeah, you’re a beautiful woman, but that ain’t why I’m giving it to you. I told you why. Not sure I see much point in going over it a third time.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  He extends his hand. “So…twenty-five?”

  “Deal.”

  We shake hands, and I quickly let go of his—not fast enough, though; I feel the sting and tingle and hum of energy rippling between us, lingering on my skin, sizzling up my palms like arcing electricity.

  Ten minutes later, I’ve got the title, he’s got a check for twenty-five grand, and I’m on the way to the nearest secretary of state to transfer the plate from my Explorer, and get my new truck registered.

  Two hours later, I’m finally back home, new truck in the driveway and feeling pretty excited. Only now, I’m wondering if I opened a can of worms with James that I might end up regretting.

  Chapter 5

  My phone rings as I’m on the way home from work a week later; it’s been a busy week and I haven’t seen any of my friends, as I’ve worked back-to-back doubles twice this week.

  I answer. “Hello?”

  “Nova. It’s James.”

  I hesitate. “Uh. Hi, James. What’s up?”

  He’s the one to hesitate now. “I…wanted to check in and see how you’re liking the truck.”

  “Oh. It’s amazing. I love it. It kinda guzzles gas, but I live pretty close to the hospital so it’s not a huge issue. That’s really the only downside.” I laugh. “I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it.”

  “I bet.”

  “And by compliments, I mean graphic sexual propositions and wolf whistles.”

  “Don’t you get those anyway?” he asks. “Woman who looks like you do, I’d think you would.”

  I blush, but thankfully he can’t see that. “I…well, yeah. But the truck has easily doubled it, and they’ve gotten even more grotesquely graphic.”

  He grumps a coarse laugh. “Not surprised. Like I said, a gorgeous woman in a badass truck is a killer combo.”

  “Unwanted male attention aside, I do love driving it. I’ve even started to like the experience of climbing into and out of it. It’s like my own mobile command center or something. Boss bitch of the road!”

  Another hesitation from James. “I also, um…I remember you saying you’d been saving for a remodel of your house.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re wrapping up the jobs we’re contracted for at the moment. I’ve got some bids out and a few others lined up, but you being part of the inner circle or whatever, I thought I’d offer you a slot on the schedule.” He sighs. “I’m fumbling this. What I’m saying is, if you wanted, I could swing by your place and you could tell me what you’re looking for.”

  “Do I get an inner circle discount?”

  “Nah. Full price, babe. Sorry.” He laughs. “Kidding. Of course you do.”

  I give it a moment of thought; I was thinking of putting it off another year or two to save more for it so I wouldn’t have to settle for less in terms of what I want. But I spent a good ten or twenty grand less than I was assuming on a new car, so there’s that to consider…

  “Sure.” I give him my address and we agree to meet at my house in fifteen minutes.

  I’ll be home in three minutes, but I need time to change out of scrubs and tidy up a bit before he gets here. The other downside of owning a lifted beast of a truck is that it doesn’t fit in my garage, as it’s a tiny old detached thing with a super low roof—my Explorer barely fit inside, and the truck is too tall by a couple of inches. It’s got a remote start, though, so warming it up in the winter will be easy.

  I park in the driveway, climb down, and head inside to change. It’s a warm summer day, so I change into cotton shorts and a T-shirt, leaving my feet bare. And yes, this time I’m wearing a bra, so I’m not indecent…to James’s chagrin, probably, but we did agree to ignore the chemistry and just stay friends, as he so recently reminded me.

  Which is a little hard to do, and harder when I’m suddenly seeing him more than I’m used to. Harder yet to do, because every now and then I get a flash of memory from that stupid pool party; he kissed me in his kitchen, and the kiss turned into me with my back to the fridge and his huge body up against mine. It ended almost before it started, though, and we were both somewhat dumbfounded—by the intensity of the kiss, and by the fact that both of us immediately felt…weird about it. Awkward. A little guilty, maybe. And fraught with a wicked chemical, sexual, highly combustible tension I don’t think either of us knows how to deal with.

  No less ferociously attracted to each other, yes, but…weird.

  Yet still, sometimes, I think about that kiss. The soft firmness of his lips, the heat of his mouth. The power in his hands as they scraped into my hair...

  DING-DONG.

  Caught by the bell. I’m flushed and flustered, but I answer the door anyway. And I immediately wish I’d taken a second to cool down. Because DAMN.

  James is dressed in caulk- and paint-spattered dark blue jeans and a black Motörhead T-shirt, the sleeves stretched to bursting around his biceps. As always, his black mirrored Oakleys hide his eyes, and he has an ancient, battered, paint-spattered Bears hat on, his thick, shaggy brown hair curling under to peek around his ears and neck. His beard is neatly trimmed and brushed, and I catch a hint of cedar from him. He has a leather-bound notebook in one hand, open to a blank page, and a pen tucked behind his ear.

  “Hi,” he says, in that deep, gravelly bass voice of his, staring at me inscrutably through those shades of his.

  “Hey,” I say, and I’m thankful I don’t sound as breathless as I feel at having him on my doorstep.

  Silence.

  James clears his throat. “So.” He juts his chin in a single macho movement at the interior of my house. “What’cha got?”

  I back up and step aside to make room for him to enter. “Um…a house?”

  He chuckles. “Uh, yeah. Gathered that much.” He stands in my foyer and looks around. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you.” I shrug. “I didn’t really do anything except decorate. I painted the kitchen, ripped out the nasty old carpet in the rooms, and that’s…well, really about it.”

  The house is a single story, two-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch with a detached garage, sitting on an acre corner lot. I bought it mainly for the lot size, and because of the giant spreading oak in the backyard. The house itself is dated and chopped up with a too-small kitchen and a lot of wasted space in the living room, not to mention the too-small, detached garage. James ambles around, knocking on a wall here and there, whipping a measuring tape from his back pocket and measuring seemingly at random, from one wall to another, ceiling to floor, and across the rooms, jotting the numbers down on his pad. He stands in the kitchen for a while, just looking around, then goes into the bedrooms but only pokes his head in briefly. He spends longer in the bathrooms, and then examines the wall between the master bedroom and the bathroom on the other side.

  He goes out the back door and stares at the back of the house, goes around to one side and then the other, takes a few more measurements, and then clomps back into the kitchen. He leans his butt against a counter and focuses on me.

  “So I have some ideas,” James says, “but I want to hear what you’re looking for first.”

  I shrug a shoulder. “Well, I dunno. More kitchen, less living room, basically. And if it can be a little more open, that’d be great.”

  James nods. “Kind of in line with what I’m thinking.” He taps the page. “I’m not great at drafting on the fly, so I’ll just sorta describe what I’m envisioning for your little cottage.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him. “Little cottage? This place is three thousand square feet. Not exactly tiny.”

  He snorted. “Just teasin’ you, babe. You have a nice place, Nova. Good bones.”

  I frown. “I hear that a lot. Seems like a buzzword phrase to me. ‘Good bones.’ What does that even mean, anyway?”

  He shrugs. “Just means the place is solidly built, with good potential.” He sweeps the tip of the pen around at the kitchen. “Like you said, you need more kitchen space as a primary concern. For a house this size, this kitchen is a damn postage stamp, and the living room is cavernous yet most of that space is unusable, just open dead air.” He moves to the wall between the living room and kitchen. “This wall is load-bearing, but put a big ol’ beam across, and you’re golden. The boys and I have done that plenty—we just did one at Imogen’s house, actually, and this house isn’t that old, so I don’t see any surprises in the ceiling.”

  “You could really take out the whole load-bearing wall?”

  He nods. “Those home remodel shows make it look a hell of a lot easier than it is, to be honest, but we can do it. And you’re getting this at cost, basically, and labor is the most expensive part of putting in a beam.”

  I try to envision the room without the wall, but can’t. “I don’t even know what that would feel like in here.”

  He laughs. “It takes some practice.” He indicates one exterior wall, currently separated by the wall between the kitchen and living room. “I’d extend your cabinets and counter space this way, which would mean we could bust out some space here.” He gestures at the spot where currently there’s a tiny sink and window. “Get rid of some counter and cabinet, and I can give you a nice big double farmhouse sink and a much larger window.”

  I feel a frisson of excitement at what he’s describing. “That sounds amazing.”

  He grins. “Oh, I’m just getting started.” He turns and indicates the load-bearing wall. “The wall we’d take out currently contains your stovetop and such, and it works well here, if you think about this as an open-concept room. So we rip the wall out and put in an island—lots of under-counter storage, a built-in cutting board with a garbage can beneath it, an induction range, a prep sink, an overhang facing the living room with some bar stools.”

  The frisson becomes a shiver. “You can do all that? Without costing, like, a quarter million dollars?”

  He cackles. “Yeah, I can do that. And no, it won’t cost even a fraction of that.”

  I want to squeal and clap my hands in joy, but I don’t. “That sounds incredible. I’ve been dreaming of pretty much exactly that since I moved in, but I’ve always assumed it would cost an arm and both legs.”

  “Not to toot my own horn, babe, but the boys and I are pretty damn awesome.” He indicates the wall on the other side of which is my second bathroom. “This part is where I’m getting a little…daring.”

  “Ideas are easy,” I say.

  He nods. “So, the bedroom and bathroom setup is weird. There’s no clearly defined master, and obviously no master suite.”

  “Nope.”

  “And for a house this size to have two full bathrooms is kinda silly. Especially since this one on the other side is kinda oddly big, but again a lot of unused space, just open air that you can’t do anything with. And when you’re talking a three-thousand-square-foot ranch, dead space is the enemy. So my idea is to take this bathroom down to two-thirds of its current size, make it a three-quarter bathroom, just a toilet, vanity, and shower.”

  I frown in confusion. “And do what with the space you’re taking from it?”

  He smirks. “Pantry.” He swipes his pen up and down in a couple of spots, side to side in others. “Walk-in pantry.”

  I blink. “A walk-in pantry? I didn’t even know I wanted that!”

  He laughs. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, babe.” He angles away from the counter and heads for the hallway. “Next up, a master suite.”

  I grin. “No. Really?”

  He nods, shrugs. “Easy enough. The other bathroom shares a wall with your bedroom, so all you gotta do is move doorways around. Close off the door from the hall, and open up the wall between. I was thinking a nice rounded archway, just for a cool visual effect. That, or one of those barn doors on an exposed powder-coated black steel rail.”

  I’m vibrating with barely suppressed excitement. “A rounded archway?” This time, I do sound breathless.

  He laughs. “Guess it’s an archway, then.” He goes back to the living room, where there’s a small doorway leading out to three narrow steps down into the backyard. “You’ve got a great backyard out here, but only this one sad little doorway to get out to it.” He grins, drawing an X in the air across the wall and doorway. “Boom, gone. All of it. The whole wall, from one side to the other, living room to kitchen. I found these awesome glass walls on this distributor website, and I’ve been drooling over the idea of putting ’em in somewhere—and your place is just begging for them. Basically, you’ve got glass from side to side, and certain panels swing open. It’s pretty cool. Kinda thing you see in those multimillion-dollar mansions in LA or wherever, just on a smaller scale.” He glances at me and then at the backyard, a speculative expression on his face. “You know, you have a huge lot, here. You could do an addition off the back, add a couple bedrooms and another bathroom or two, and attach the garage while enlarging it—taller door, for one thing, so you can get the truck in there.”