The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,52
fact that there were half-moons of sweat beneath her arms and a damp patch between her breasts.
“There’s no way you can do this on your own without falling in a heap.”
She blinked at his bluntness. “Wow. Pull your punches, why don’t you?”
“Just stating the truth.”
“I was planning on doing it in stages, if you must know. A bit today, a bit tomorrow and so on. The water-on-a-rock approach.”
“So I’ll help, and you’ll get it done faster.” He shrugged.
She breathed in through her nose, reminding herself that he was being sweet and generous and thoughtful—as well as presumptuous, bossy and overbearing. More importantly, he was here, talking to her, engaging with her, when common sense said, after the awkwardness of last night, he should be giving her a wide berth.
“You do know I’m not your responsibility, right?” she said.
“Okay. If you want me to go, I will. If you want to move all this on your own—” his hand swept in an arc over her messy, flotsam-and-jetsam-strewn concrete pad “—far be it from me to stand in the way.”
He waited for her to respond, his hand resting on top of the long handle of his shovel, a challenging glint in his eye.
“Who in their right mind would want to do this all on their own?” And she was in her right mind—most of the time. “But I can’t keep accepting favors from you.”
“I’m sure we can think of some way you can pay me back.”
He wore his poker face, his tone utterly neutral, but there was no getting away from the suggestiveness of his words. As if he could read her mind, he cocked an eyebrow.
“You could pay me in lemon tarts, for example.”
“I could. Or I could barter my labor for yours. There must be something I can help you with on your side of the fence.”
The tart would be easier, but she’d always feel as though she’d taken the easy option, and that simply wasn’t her way.
“Good God, yes. There’s still a ton of old clothes, the crawl space in the roof, the back shed...”
“Done. I’ll match you hour for hour,” she said, sticking her hand out to shake on their bargain.
He eyed her hand for a moment before grasping it. His skin was warm, his palm and fingers much bigger than hers.
“You drive a hard bargain, Williams.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m a real hard-ass,” she said drily.
They both knew he’d had her whipped the moment he appeared. As she’d already noted, no one in her right mind would choose to take on the thankless task of moving so much debris on her own.
He surveyed the work she’d already done and, without another word, began shoveling gravel into the wheelbarrow.
“I was going to empty that, actually,” she said doubtfully. “It’s getting really heavy.”
“That won’t be a problem, because you won’t be pushing it.”
“Won’t I?” She gave him a look.
“Nope.”
He didn’t cease shoveling the whole time. She toyed with the idea of embarking on another tussle of wills with him, just for the fun of it, then decided to save her energy. No doubt they’d find plenty of things to disagree about as the day wore on.
Instead, she added her efforts to his, piling the barrow high. Once it was full, he pushed it to the top of the driveway and upended the load.
“We can rake it out later. Let’s concentrate on clearing the area first,” he suggested as he returned.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, giving him a salute.
He gave her a quizzical look. “Am I being too bossy?”
“Not yet. Skating close, but I’ll let you know when you get there.”
“I can hardly wait.”
He smiled at her and the last of this morning’s awkwardness evaporated as she found herself smiling in return. Maybe she hadn’t completely ruined things between them with her scaredy-cat routine last night.
“Hey,” he said after a few minutes of working. “I heard something on the radio this morning that will make you feel better. Apparently some researchers have done a study and discovered that people who sit down all day die younger. So you may have dodged a bullet when they gave your job away.”
“Great. I’ll add that to my list of requirements for my job search. ‘Must not be sedentary.’”
There must have been something in her tone because he threw her a look. “Still beating yourself up on that one, huh?”
“Not beating myself up, as such, but I’m not feeling too inspired at the moment. So maybe there is such a thing as having too many options.”