Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1)(67)

Hours later, he’d sawed the tree branch into equal pieces of lumber and started the process of sanding the rough grain, making it smooth to the touch. He took one water break, only to realize he didn’t have any water. There’d been no choice but to track a little sawdust and dirt into Georgie’s kitchen to retrieve a bottle of cool refreshment. While he stood in the tiny kitchen with vintage fixtures and a sign over the stove that said OH, FOR FORK’S SAKE, Travis got an idea. After making a phone call to a local restaurant, he went back out and commenced sanding once again.

Romantic gestures. This had to be one, right?

He hadn’t witnessed too many of them in his life. Once, during his first season with the Hurricanes, a teammate had proposed to his girlfriend before getting on the bus. He’d gotten down on one knee, right there in front of the friends who proceeded to tease him ruthlessly for the entire ride to the airport. The proposer hadn’t given a flying shit, though. He’d just been happy to get a yes, damn the consequences. At the time, Travis couldn’t believe any man would voluntarily tie himself down. He’d thought the guy was a sucker.

He still did. But he could admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind seeing Georgie that happy. In fact, he craved it. And that scared the shit out of him.

Travis switched off the belt sander and took a slug of water, swiping the wrist of his work glove across his forehead. A large, thick plank lay on its side in the grass, knots and age rings visible in every gorgeous inch—that piece would serve as the mantel. One day, Georgie would put framed pictures of her children on it. She’d start a fire in the wintertime, run her fingers along the glossy texture. Would she think of him?

He’d taken his shirt off in deference to the heat, but the sudden cold made him wish for it now. He paced away from the machinery, tapping his water bottle on his thigh. No longer seeing the shade-dappled backyard around him. Once upon a time, Travis’s father had probably made romantic overtures to his mother. Probably brought her flowers and squired her on dates.

Then Travis had come along and put an end to all of that, hadn’t he? Not only had any semblance of romance ceased, all-out warfare had started. A memory resurfaced, not so different from countless others knocking around in his head. After the initial separation, his mother and father both wanted to go out with friends on the same night.

“You take him.”

“Not tonight. I need this.”

“I need to get away, too. I’ve had him for four nights straight!”

“Oh, wow, four whole nights. It’s called fatherhood!”

“You’re preaching to me? What kind of a mother doesn’t want to care for her son?”

“Maybe a mother who wants her life back. How about that?”

A familiar hand settled on Travis’s shoulder and he spun around, breathing like he’d just run up the side of a mountain. Georgie stared back at him, hand still poised in the air. Travis swallowed hard, battling back the urge to scoop her up and bury his face in whatever part of her was closest. She had that fresh-scrubbed look, as if she’d just wiped off her clown makeup. The little flyaway hairs around her face were damp, eyelashes in clumps, lips pink and parted. Fading sunlight lit her up and drenched her exposed legs, highlighting the concern in her eyes.

“Hey,” she murmured. “You’re here.”

Travis cleared his throat but didn’t get rid of the rust. “Yeah.” She was watching him curiously, seeing too much, and he didn’t have the stomach to explain what had shaken him up. So he forced a smile before she could ask. “I’m here.”

Her attention traveled down his chest and belly, color rising in her cheeks. “You’re here.”

“You already said that.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. “I . . . was just confirming.”

It was unbelievable. One minute around Georgie and warmth crept back into his blood, making him feel normal. Balanced. “Aren’t you going to ask about the construction taking place in your backyard?”

“What?” She jolted, clearly seeing the machinery and lumber for the first time. “Oh! Are you? No. Is this my fireplace you’re working on?”

Travis nodded once. “Recognize the wood?”

Her gaze flicked to his lap. “Wait . . . what?”

“The wood for the fireplace, baby girl.” A laugh snuck out. “Christ, we better punch that V card before you have a nervous breakdown.”

She threw up her hands. “Well, I can’t help it! You turned my perfectly innocent backyard into construction worker porn. All we need is some light jazz.”

“Yikes. What kind of porn are you watching?”

“The respectable-lady kind.”

“Liar.”

Georgie gave an exaggerated toss of her hair. “No, I don’t recognize the wood. Where did you get it?”

Travis took a step in her direction, very aware of the fact that they hadn’t touched enough for his liking. Distracted by exactly how much he needed their skin pressed together, he didn’t guard his words. “I’ve been thinking about you constantly.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, swaying to the right. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

He caught Georgie, keeping her upright. “Remember those summers you spent in that tree in your parents’ backyard? You sat up there, legs dangling, reading those books . . . What books were they?”