Rugged(54)

“Flint—”

“I don’t want to keep having the same morning-after talk, about how we won’t do this again. So let’s just not. Let’s act like adults.”

His words feel like an elbow strike to the gut during Krav Maga sparring. No, worse. I’m so bowled over by being called an immature hornball that I can’t even speak.

Flint, seemingly unaware, moves toward the door. “You rest up, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns the knob and slips out before I can say anything.

I flop back onto the bed, replaying that moment over and over, trying to figure out where I went wrong, and how it all went south so fast—or didn’t go south at all. Ha. Get it? Funny me. But none of this is funny, actually. What if I just ruined everything with Flint? What if now he just thinks I’m that girl who likes to hook up when she gets drunk?

I groan and bury my face in the pillow. Dammit, what have I done?





20


The next day, I slink into work, popping a couple of aspirin and generally feeling humiliated. The bright sunlight makes my temples throb, and I groan. Why didn’t I get a pretend hangover to go with my pretend drunkenness? It’s official. I have no tolerance for tequila. Flint’s already hard at work when I step up next to him. Jerri, who’s been talking a shot through with him, walks down the hill with Raj to discuss something.

Flint looks at me. We have a moment alone. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday,” I start, but Flint instantly waves his hand.

“Don’t even think about it. Forgotten,” he says. “I’m amazed you’re able to stand this morning.” He smiles at me again, that wonderful, kind smile telling me that he doesn’t feel like he missed an opportunity. That whatever irresistible pull I’ve felt between us this whole time was all in my head. That I didn’t need to worry about repeating the Brian Sanderson fiasco, because it was never going to happen. Flint turns and cheerfully walks off, yelling to one of his men. I go over to the craft table and pour myself a strong cup of coffee. So. That’s it, then. No big deal. Already forgotten.

Somehow, that feels so much worse.



A few days later, I’m starting to lose my mind. Every shot brings us closer to the end of our show. Closer to the time when I have to leave on a jet plane, all my words unspoken. I’d sort of hoped that there’d be a problem with construction, something that might delay us a little longer, but Flint and his crew are doing the perfect job, and the house is almost completed. They’re sanding the wood, or massaging it, whatever happens when they’re close to the finishing stage.

I’m standing with a cherry danish in hand, watching as Jerri and the crew are about to finish shooting for the day. Flint’s on the front stoop of the house, waiting to go inside. This is the moment before the ‘big reveal’ of the interior to the audience.

“All right,” Flint says to the camera. “The moment has arrived.” The camera follows him over the threshold, into the house, and then…

“Cut!” Jerri yells. Flint and the guys come back outside. She nods. Her cheeks are bright red from the cold, but she looks pleased. “All right, I think that’s the best we’re getting of the sun for the rest of the day.” She nods at the sky, where the light’s been blanketed by a sudden fleet of clouds. “McKay, I’m going to want some extra footage tomorrow, so be sure to get your beauty sleep.”

“So I’ve become a—what’d Raj call it? Lumbersexual?” he deadpans. Jerri laughs hard and pats his shoulder as she turns and heads down the hill. Flint and the others walk with her, joking and clowning around. He grins and nods at me as he passes, then leaves without a second glance. Just me up here, all alone with my rogue danish. Too bad we didn’t get more of an interior shot. I would’ve loved an excuse to wander inside.

Well, what the hell? It won’t hurt to just peek my head in. The house is solid as a rock. And after everything Flint’s drilled into us about laying a proper foundation, it better be. I open the front door and enter.

The carpets haven’t been laid yet. The wood echoes beneath my feet as I poke my head into the living room. It has those breathtaking, panorama vista windows I noticed in the blueprint. The smoky fall twilight outside is gorgeous. I walk out of the living room and head down the hall, checking in at the kitchen, and then the master bedroom. One step up, and I’m inside. There’s no furniture yet, obviously, but the exposed-beam ceiling slants down, the stone fireplace already built. It’s quiet in here, peaceful and calm.

“Hey,” Flint says, and I jump about seven feet in the air. Once I’ve un-embedded myself from the ceiling beams, I turn back to him, hand over my chest.

“Do you know how close I just came to certain death?” I hold up my hand, index finger and thumb an inch apart. “This is a real generous estimate.”

He walks toward me, tool belt still hanging from his hips. Actually, saunter is a better word. He saunters up, casually rubbing his stubbled chin. It feels like everything he does is in slow motion. I’m transfixed by every detail. And I need to stop that, right now.

“If you’re still alive, why don’t you tell me what you think? I don’t believe you’ve been in here yet.” He’s got that curious, intense look in his eyes. Does Flint care what I think? I’ll try not to let that go to my head. Or any other part of my body.