Eversea: a love story

“Sorry. I ran straight here from my jog. Are you hurt? Let me help you up.” Jack’s worried tone made me pull myself together.

I grabbed his hand and got to my feet. My tank was damp from his sweat. I wanted to be disgusted, I really did. I thought back to my brother Joey and the way he’d be all like “let me give you a hug, sis” right after coming back from working out. “Gross!” I’d yell. But, now? Now, I wanted to lick the sweat off this guy’s six-pack. And that tattoo on his shoulder ... surprisingly, it was real, not painted on for a movie. I sighed. This was so not good. There was only one way this was going to end. Me: ruined for all men, sitting on my own, or maybe with Jazz, in the back of dark theatres shoveling popcorn into my mouth for the rest of my life. Watching him on celluloid.



*





“So ... what’s the deal here, you said you and your brother were fixing the house up, where are your parents?” Jack was standing, still shirtless with just a pair of longish black gym shorts on, in my kitchen finishing up the coffee I had made us. “Sorry. I’m not prying, just curious.”

“It’s ok. Sorry if I seem tense, it’s not you. Some people in this town are always breathing down our necks because this is the Butler House. My brother and I inherited it. It was my grandmother’s and should have gone to my parents, but they died about six years ago in a car wreck driving back from Savannah.”

I was proud of my ability to rattle off these facts with zero emotion. “My grandmother passed a few years later of heart failure, so it falls to us. It’s an historic monument of sorts, being that we are the Butlers of Butler Cove, so everyone in town is always complaining that it needs to be fixed up, but they won’t allocate funds to help unless we sell it to the town. Or at least agree to set it up as a museum or something that will help tourism. They know our parents had life insurance money, so they think we should have used that. Except, we needed it for Joey’s college. We still work on the house when we can. Or I do. As I said before, Joey’s at med school.”

“That’s tough.” Jack looked like he wanted to say something more. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“Yeah, well. It’s life, huh?” I smiled to show I wasn’t expecting pity. “So this deal of yours may work for me after all. It will be good to make some headway on the interior stuff. I keep focusing on the outside because that’s what everyone sees. Are you sure it’s still ok?”

“It’s fine. Sorry I can’t help with the outside, I’d be too conspicuous. I told you I miss the days when I worked construction while juggling auditions. It was good, busy, creative work. A different sense of accomplishment. It’s good exercise, too.” He flexed his biceps jokingly, all his upper body muscles tensing. I found myself scowling at him.

“Well, I seem to be getting the better end of the deal,” I managed. “Or maybe I’m not, I haven’t seen your work yet.”

He laughed and ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair. “Let’s just say, I had a ‘day job’ to go back to, if the acting thing didn’t work out.”

“Ok, well, I’ll quickly go and change and get to the store.” I headed for the kitchen doorway. “There’s a toolbox in the attic. Text me if you think I need to pick up anything for the house. Help yourself to cereal or whatever. Oh, and ... borrow a t-shirt from Joey. Please. Second door on the left upstairs.” And on that note, I bolted up the stairs before I said anything else.

I locked myself in the bathroom and climbed into a cold shower. Maybe I could shock some sense into my system. Pointing out his shirtless state bothered me was not a smart move, but there was no way I could go another second with him parading around in front of me like that and pretend not to ogle him. He really was just the most arresting specimen of man I had ever seen. Ugh, I was so shallow. I should just tell him right away I didn’t want the help. But it was too ... tempting.

I had wanted to pull the carpet and re-finish the floors forever. And he could build bookshelves, he said. I was dying to make that parlor into a gorgeous library: a place to curl up and lose myself for a while. Getting a head start on the interior stuff, and free labor to boot, was too much to resist.

I climbed out of the shower, having scrubbed and washed every inch of myself repeatedly and absently, because apparently my mind was nowhere to be found. I wrapped my wet hair up, pulled my robe on, and scrambled, lest I bump into Jack again, back to my room to get dressed.

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