Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)

“Believe me, I did.” There was no way I was going to make her pay to have something replaced that I intentionally broke. I didn’t even intend for Mabel to know I was the one who fixed it (or plans to fix it). But about five minutes ago she heard me as I attempted to fit the siding back onto the house and came marching out in her gown to ask what the hell I was doing out here at the crack of dawn. It’s around eight in the morning. Hardly dawn. But sometimes I forget that the rest of the world doesn’t share my same early morning rhythm of waking up at five and going for a jog.

Today it was raining when I woke up so I tried to stay in bed later. But then my thoughts took over and dove down every avenue I try to avoid. Like Ethan getting married to someone he barely knows, and wondering how I’m going to respond to the text he sent me before bed last night: Please don’t freeze me out. I need you during all of this.

I honestly don’t know what to say, though. I’m not ready to welcome his new fiancée with open arms, and I’m starting to realize it might not have anything to do with Ethan or Hannah. Last night as I listened to Annie talk about the kind of future she wanted, I felt that relentless tug in my chest again. Not because I want the harvest-parties and soccer-games life she mentioned, but because I want the ability to dream of a life with someone like Annie where my immediate thought isn’t: But how is it going to fail? Ethan seems to have unlocked some new part of himself that can just move past what we went through, and I think I’m wildly jealous of him for it. Maybe even a little bitter. Because the only difference in our upbringing is that he had someone older to take care of him—to make sure he was loved and hugged regularly.

I had no one.

Even now I have no one, but the difference is I’ve stopped waiting for someone to fill that role, and I’m better for it.

After I pushed thoughts of Ethan out, new ones—equally unwelcome ones—took their place. Ones that starred Annie Walker. The feel of her hands under mine. The way she smelled during my demonstration. Ugh. That damn demonstration. Before she showed up, I had promised myself to behave. Keep things buttoned up and businesslike. But of course Annie had to be Annie and throw me a curveball and make me act irrationally.

Now I’m stuck with the memory of her soft skin and parted lips and dilated pupils. She wanted me to kiss her. Badly. And I wanted to kiss her just as much. Probably more. And the worst part is, I’m not just physically attracted to her. I can’t get enough of hearing her talk, and I want to read every book she has stashed away, and I want more than anything to take her on an adventure she’ll never forget.

At least we finally got a real plan in place for these lessons. It was not an easy task, though, because I told Annie we should get her signed up for online dating—to which Annie spent a good portion of the time explaining how she in no way wanted to be sent pickle pictures. I told her to call them dick pics like the rest of the world, but she only grimaced and refused, saying that she didn’t even have any selfies to upload for a dating profile. That made me irrationally upset. Why doesn’t she have photos of herself? Because no one takes photos of her or because she’s not comfortable enough to be in them? I made a silent promise after that to take photos of Annie while I’m in town. And we vetoed the online dating completely. Instead, I’m going to take her out in a few days so I can officially see what sort of a “bad date” I’m dealing with, and we’ll continue from there.

Anyway, back to this morning. I was sick of fighting my thoughts, so I got up and jogged in the rain, and then when the weather cleared, I got a jump start on fixing shit on Mabel’s Inn.

Now she raises her mug to her lips and watches me as I hold up the siding, wondering how in hell I attach it. I found a hammer and some nails in the inn’s storage closet, but they’re sitting uselessly at my feet. I think I’m missing something crucial here—because as I look at the other pieces of siding, I don’t see a single nail.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, huh?” Mabel asks.

“Not a bit.”

She snorts. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

I give her a side glare and drop the siding to the ground next to the hammer and nails that I don’t think I’ll be using. “I might need the number of your siding guy,” I admit, even though I’d rather eat my shoe than force someone else to clean up the mess I made.

“Like I said, you’re not responsible for this. I’ll call Darrel. You go about your day.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand.

I shift on my feet uncomfortably. “I’d like to help, though. If you’ll just give me his contact number, I’ll get him to fix it and I’ll pay for—”

“You ripped that siding off to create a distraction to sneak Annie into your room, didn’t you?” The wrinkles in her forehead multiply as she skewers me with a look and waits for my response.

My mouth falls open. I flounder for an answer. “How did you know?”

It’s not worth it to lie. This woman has abilities that are clearly not to be underestimated.

She gives me a slow grin—masterfully perfected from years of wielding it. “I know everything in this town.”

“Terrifying.”

“Isn’t it?” She sips her coffee.

“I guess you’ll want to know why she was sneaking into my room?”

“Would you tell me if I asked?”

“No,” I say honestly. “Annie asked me not to. So I have to keep my promise to her.”

And for some reason, having Annie’s trust feels like holding the world. I never want to break it.

“Good man. I knew I liked you.” She raises her mug. “Woulda lost a lot of respect for you if you’d caved right away.” Her eyes shift to the missing siding, and laughter springs to her eyes. She shakes her head with a smile. “Fool. You could’ve just told me Harriet was on her way to the bar early to take my place at poker night.”

“Damn,” I say genuinely, also turning my attention to the eyesore on the side of her inn.

“Next time.” She drinks from her mug and then turns away. “I won’t tell anyone,” she says loudly in her scratchy voice. “And the siding guy’s my nephew. Let me call him because it’ll be a hoot to tell him his handiwork didn’t hold up and then threaten to call his daddy.” She pauses and looks back at me with lifted brows. “Now get to work before Amelia fires you and you have to leave town and Annie behind.” The corner of her mouth twitches, and I think her brain is drawing all sorts of conclusions it shouldn’t. Ones with wedding bells and babies and deep, deep roots.

“Nothing’s going to happen between me and Annie,” I say, just to make sure everyone is on the same page.

She laughs. “You’re aware it’s only eight in the morning, right? That means it’s too early for your shit talking. Now I’m going to go finish my coffee while watching The Price Is Right, so get out of here.”

I laugh even though I’m a little terrified of Mabel. Terrified and in awe. “See you later, Mabel.”

With her back to me and fluffy pink gown swinging as she walks, she raises her mug in the air. I’m not fully convinced there’s actually coffee in there.



* * *





“You look ridiculous,” Amelia tells me as we wind our way around the greenhouses at Huxley Farm.

“No, you look ridiculous,” I say, looking Amelia up and down. She’s wearing homemade cutoff shorts, brown work boots, a gray tank top, and a big oversize floppy hat—so opposite to her usual classic tailored look. “Like a hillbilly.”

Normally I would never dare speak to a client so freely. But this is Amelia, and we’ve worked together for so long now we’re practically related. And Amelia is the furthest thing from a stuck-up celebrity as you can get. The first day on the job with her, she threw everything I was taught out the window. The woman refused to walk in front of me, falling in step with me, asking an endless string of questions like, So where were you born? How many siblings do you have? What’s your favorite hobby?

After a year of that, Amelia became my friend whether I wanted one or not. Never anything more than that. Yes, I would absolutely take a bullet for the woman, but I would never in a million years sleep with her. And I’m a thousand percent sure she feels the same way.

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