Room...but Not Bored!

The silverware was in the first drawer she opened, thank goodness. Unwilling to hunt for napkins, probably in the drawer at Jake’s groin, she ripped two paper towels from the under-cupboard hanging roll, then moved to the table, which held more Jake accoutrements—a bike repair manual, a set of wrenches and a stack of magazines named for S sports: Sail, Scuba, Surf.

“So, you seem to do a lot of water things,” she said to make conversation while she set the table.

“Why else live at the beach? Being in water feels good.”

Pool water, maybe, which was clear and clean, not mucky like the ocean and full of creepy weeds and mysterious creatures you couldn’t see. Plus, saltwater burned her eyes.

Finished setting the table, she watched Jake efficiently chop a hunk of red onion into tiny squares that he sprinkled into the bubbling butter. Great hands.

Ariel forced herself to look away. Her gaze snagged on the kitchen linoleum. Bleached, scarred and cracked, it should be replaced. She hoped that was part of Jake’s job. If not, she’d have to pay for it herself.

Now was a good time to find out what Trudy had asked him to do. She’d be gentle, not her usual blunt self. The man was cooking for her, after all. “I guess the construction company you work for gives you a lot of free time for your sports?”

Jake gave a short laugh. “Construction company?” He glanced at her as he picked up an avocado. Cupping it, he deftly coaxed it out of its hull with such easy grace she found it hard to swallow. “I work for myself.”

“So, how, um, did you get into construction?”

“I’m not really into it,” he said, fanning the slices in a gourmet-worthy display onto the cutting board. “I have buddies in the business.” He began cubing the Muenster.

He’d learned construction from buddies? Drinking buddies, no doubt, who swapped construction feats of derring-do over pitchers of margs. The guy was a beach bum, pure and simple. A charming bum, but still a bum. Maybe Trudy’s good sense had run amok long before she headed for London.

“So Trudy says you worked on her neighbor’s place?” she asked, wanting some credentials.

“Yeah. It was fun. And then Trudy offered me this gig.”

Gig? This was a gig? “So, you’re not a builder, per se?”

“Nah. I teach scuba, sailing, surfing, repair bikes, this and that.”

At least he had other income—he’d be able to afford rent when he moved out. “So, tell me what Trudy’s asked you to do.”

“This and that,” he said, snapping eggs one-handed and lightning-quick into a bowl.

“Specify, please.”

“Okay. Let’s see…patch the roof…repair the wall between the bedrooms…deal with the electrical, replace the wallpaper in the living room and kitchen…paint inside and out…replace the kitchen linoleum with tile…” He looked up, considering. “That’s it, I think.”

“That’s a lot,” she said, grateful that Trudy had arranged to have so much done, but worried about living through the chaos of a messy worker. On the other hand, if she cancelled some of the work, when would she be able to afford it? “And how long do you expect it to take?”

“Two-three months. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” What time he got up in the morning? Whether he needed to consult a manual? “That seems too long.”

“You can’t rush quality,” he said, dumping the egg mixture into the omelet pan, pausing to deliver a wicked smile.

“Oh, yes, you can. I would think a month would be plenty. Let’s aim for that. Speed is crucial since this will be my office, too, until I can afford to lease space.”

“You won’t get in my way,” Jake said, sprinkling cheese on the omelet.

“But you’ll get in mine,” she said as gently as she could. “I’ll try to meet clients in their offices—more convenient for them—but I’m sure I’ll need to see a few people here, and I’ll need peace and order for that. The second bedroom will be my office, but until you move out, the living room will have to do. That means the painting stuff must be organized.”

“The sunporch would make a great office,” Jake said, pointing a spatula in the direction of the door out back.

Through the window in the door, she could see tattered window screens, plastic patio furniture, another surfboard and lots of sand. “Hardly. I’ll have business equipment—a computer, a printer, a fax machine. Wind and sand would ruin them. Not to mention how easy it would be to break in.”

Jake jerked the pan so that the food-packed omelet neatly folded in half, and brought it to the table. “I can put up some Plexiglas and a solid door. The awning gives nice shade. Most people would kill for an office overlooking the ocean.” He cut the steaming egg dish in two and slid one side deftly onto her plate, the other onto his, then sat across from her.

“But I can’t incur additional expenses.”

“Don’t worry about the money. It’ll work out.”

“Money never works out without careful attention….” She was momentarily distracted by the omelet, which smelled so heavenly her stomach convulsed with joyful anticipation. “Anyway, I’d like you to finish the living room first. The electrical seems critical, as well. I’d prefer you do the noisy things when I’m not working—early mornings and early evenings—or at least coordinate with my schedule. When you’re ready to start on the kitchen, I can plan for takeout meals.”

“I’ll handle the food,” Jake said. “If you like my cooking, of course.” He plopped a dollop of fragrant salsa—finely chopped tomatoes, onions and fresh cilantro—onto her portion of the omelet. “Give it a try,” he said, pushing the plate closer.

She wanted to finish her plan first, but to satisfy him, she took a bite.

Oh. Wow. The buttery, cheesy eggs melted on her tongue. The mushrooms were a sweet musk, the onions tangy pearls of flavor, the salsa a spicy tomato garden. “This is sooo good,” she said, barely pausing to swallow before taking another bite.

“I’m glad you like it.” Their eyes locked and Ariel felt an alarming sizzle that made her stop chewing. Jake took in her face, then strayed to her chest in an involuntary carnal appraisal. He lifted his eyes to hers, looking pleased with what he’d seen. “Any dietary restrictions? Particular foods you like or dislike?” he asked, making it sound like he was asking after her sexual preferences.

“I like, um, everything.” That sounded bad.

“I could resurface the wood floors, too, you know,” he murmured, equally suggestively. “If I had enough time…”

He seemed to be trying to seduce her…with smooth omelets and gleaming wood floors. And it was working. Freshly surfaced floors would really make the place attractive to buyers….

Stop it. Jake was flirting with her, bribing her. “I can’t afford the floors,” she said, deliberately breaking the gaze.

Jake shrugged. We’ll see, he seemed to be saying.

Ariel went after the omelet again.

Jake chuckled and she looked up, still chewing. “I like it that you’re not afraid to enjoy food. I hate when women nibble and pretend not to be hungry.”

“I’m not much on pretense,” she said, swallowing her last bite. Jake still had half of his omelet.

“No, you get right to the point, all right,” he said. “Like I know you want me to move out of here right away.”

“I think that would be best,” she said, putting down her fork with reluctance, glancing again at all the eggs Jake wasn’t eating. She should have savored hers more…. “I’ve got a lot to handle and this place is too small for two people and a construction zone.” She felt guilty ogling his omelet while she was talking about booting him onto the beach.

“Here,” he said, cutting her a bite of his eggs and holding it out—an intimate gesture that he made seem perfectly natural.

“No, no. I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I had plenty.”

He moved the fork closer, tempting her.

She took the bite quickly, avoiding eye contact, feeling shaky inside. Then the fabulous taste overcame her. “Mmm,” she said. “This is amazing.”

“People love my mixed grill, too. I stuff the meat with chorizo—do you eat meat?”

“Yes.”

“Good. My enchiladas aren’t bad, either.”

“I can imagine,” she said, loving the sound of that. She’d have to get an aerobic exercise plan immediately if she was going to eat any more of Jake’s cooking…which she wouldn’t be for any more than two days. At the most.

“And I make great coffee.” He was hitting her where she was vulnerable, which, right now, was her stomach. “And I’m good company,” he continued, leaning forward, very companionable, very warm…. She had the odd feeling he was tempted to kiss her. And, worse, she kind of liked the idea. She licked her lips, which made Jake take in a little breath before he continued speaking. “How do you feel about…?”

Kissing? Love it. Live for it. She felt herself sway toward him, transfixed by his great lips and teasing smile.

“Poker,” he finished.

Poker? Was poker code for what she thought they were talking about?

“Yeah. I like to have people over for all-night games.”

“All night?”

“Yeah. Five-card draw. There’s an ante limit.”

The daze cleared abruptly. What was wrong with her? Jake was talking about poker, not poker. She was obviously feeling overwhelmed by all the changes and the work she faced and was using this physical attraction as an escape valve. Talk about self-defeating. She had to focus on her goal, not on kissing or poker and any of its double meanings.

“So, you’ve only been here three weeks and you’ve got friends hanging out for poker and enchiladas?”

“I know people in Playa Linda, and I’ve lived up and down the coast. The marina where I work a lot is close. And I make friends pretty easy.”

Friends like Heather, no doubt. Friends she didn’t want sleeping over.

“I’m sure you’re good company and you’re a great cook, Jake, but the problem still stands.”

He spoke in a John Wayne drawl, “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us, Pilgrim. That what you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable? Is that it?” he asked, his blue eyes digging in.

There was no point in fibbing. “Yes, actually, you do.”

“I don’t mean to. You don’t have to worry. I don’t believe in fooling around with roommates.”

“Excuse me?” She felt her cheeks go red.

“It’s nothing personal. It just gets too complicated.”

“Oh, it does?” she said. For some reason, she was wounded that he’d said that so easily—as if she weren’t even a temptation. Her inner wild child purred to life—out of sheer stubbornness and exhaustion-induced recklessness.

“Somebody always wants to turn it into something it isn’t,” Jake added.

“And I’m guessing that somebody’s never you.”

Jake shrugged. “Living together triggers nesting instincts for women, I guess, and they start bringing in twigs and bits of twine and dryer fuzz.”

“So you think any woman who lived with you would try to trap you into something permanent?” What an arrogant…

He grinned. “Good point. Not every woman, but why risk it? A good roommate is like gold.”

“I doubt you’d find me a good roommate. I like spic-and-span orderliness and absolute peace and quiet. And classical music.”

“Classical’s good. And don’t be so down on yourself.”

“I’m not down on myself. I’m trying to tell you—” She stopped, realizing he was teasing her.

“It’s all right, Ariel. I’ll find a place to crash for a while—maybe stay on a friend’s boat. Can I keep my gear here though?”

“Your gear? If you can fit it all in the guest room closet, I guess.” She remembered the sailboard and surfboards and the weight bench. No way would that fit in one small closet. She sighed. “Take a couple of days,” she said, “and find a place for you and your stuff.”

“Great.” He sounded relieved. Too relieved. She would stay on his case until he was out. Fully out. Surfboards and all.

“Thanks for the food,” she said, picking up her scraped-clean plate and his. She’d do the dishes as a thank you.

“I’ll clean up when I get back from volleyball,” Jake said. “Why don’t you come with? I’m heading out in a couple hours.”

“No thanks.” Playing was the last thing on her mind. “How about if you clear your things out of my room, while I do the dishes?”

Before he could respond, there was a thump at the door. Jake went to answer it. Lucky bounded in with did ya miss me? all over his doggie face.

“So you smelled the omelet, huh, pal?” he said to the big dog. “She ate your share.” He stuck a thumb at Ariel, but Lucky didn’t take his eyes from Jake. “Okay, okay. I’ll scramble you something.”

“I thought table scraps were bad for dogs.”

“But eggs make his coat shiny,” Jake said, ruffling Lucky’s fur. “He likes my cooking, don’t you, Bucko?”

Ariel did the few dishes while Jake cooked eggs for Lucky. When he’d finished, he slipped the pan into her soapy water.

“So you’ll empty the room now?” she reminded him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a fake salute. “Let’s roll, Luck Man. We have our orders.”

Lucky swiped his buttery mug with a long pink tongue, then galloped eagerly after Jake. Ariel’s gaze snagged on Jake’s terrific butt, the muscles flexing and releasing with grace and power. With a jolt she realized she was letting soapy water drip onto her feet. Stay on task, she told herself. At least she’d gotten Jake to move out of her room. Next would be the cottage.

But when she peeked into her bedroom ten minutes later, the only change was a pile of vintage Hawaiian shirts on the bed—tossed there from the open closet, which still held a variety of footwear like hiking boots, cycling and athletic shoes and Velcro-strapped sandals, as well as another surfboard.

Jake stood at the bureau flipping through a magazine while he did one-handed wrist curls with a substantial hand weight, Lucky at his feet, looking up at him. What’s next, boss?

“How’s the moving going?” she asked. “Can I help?”

“Fine.” He smiled at her, his biceps swelling with a slow curl, his triceps rippling with its release.

Her objection died on her tongue at the sight of all that power on casual display. She averted her gaze and noticed a photo on the bureau. Four people were pictured—a stern man in a uniform, a pretty woman with a pageboy cut, a young girl and a teen boy—Jake with shoulder-length hair, dark baggy clothes and a sullen expression that was the opposite of the carefree, wiseass look she’d seen so far.

“So, this is your family?” she asked.

Jake stopped lifting weights and looked over her shoulder. “Yep. Ten years ago or so. I was nineteen, I think.”

“You don’t look too happy.”

“I wasn’t.” He studied the photo. “My father and I fought—he was career Navy and I was as far from shipshape as I could get myself.”

“That must have been rough.”

“Everybody rebels,” he said, but she could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.

“So you moved a lot? Being in the military?”

“Some.”

Standing close to him, she was aware of how broad and sturdy he was and caught the warm coconut smell of his skin. “That must have been hard—leaving friends and school and all….”

“You make new friends. I learned to pack light in life.”

She thought about how much junk he’d filled the cottage with and wondered what he meant.

“I think it was harder on my sister than me.”

“Is this her?” Ariel tapped the girl in the photo.

“Yep. That’s Penny.”

“She’s pretty. Your mother, too.”

“Penny’s a great kid. If I can keep my parents from squashing her spirit.”

“Really?”

“I think they’re afraid she’ll turn out like me.”

“And that’s bad?”

“To my folks, yeah. My dad lives to lay down the law. I did okay in school, but not up to muster in his mind. And not only was I not interested in a Navy career, I made it a point to debate military spending at the dinner table.”

“Ouch,” she said.

“I figured I must have been adopted.” He grinned at her, but she saw regret in his eyes. And sadness.

“She looks happy here,” Ariel said, picking up another photo of Penny—this one a prom shot with a date.

“Yeah. But she works hard to keep the peace with the folks—and keep me from worrying about her.” He studied the photo.

It was sweet that Jake was so concerned about his sister. She noticed a more recent shot of Penny with Jake. His blue eyes gleamed with pleasure and his smile was so wide he had a dimple—as if his face couldn’t hold his happiness without crinkling.

“So now you know about my family,” Jake said, drawing her gaze away from the picture. He folded his arms and tilted his head in her direction. “Tell me about yours.”

“Not much to tell. My mother lives in Pasadena.”

“Brothers and sisters?”

“Nope. It’s always been just me and my mom. My dad died when I was three.”

“I’m sorry.” Jake stood uncomfortably close and studied her face.

She took a step back and bumped into the bureau. “It’s all right. I don’t remember him. Mom and I were a good team. Us against the world, you know?” She smiled.

“You two still close?”

“Not as much as I’d like. We’re both busy. We talk on the phone.” She felt a little guilty about that, but with the new business, she’d been obsessed. Troubled by the thought, she focused in on the task at hand. “I’d better let you get back to moving out,” she said. “How about if I empty the closet for you?”

“You always in a hurry?” he said.

“That’s how I get things done.”

“I get the feeling if I don’t look out, you’ll just mow me down.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.” She knew from crashing into him earlier that she’d just bounce off his powerful frame. The thought gave her a shiver. She tried not to picture herself falling into him anywhere near a bed.

Jake shook his head as though he thought she was crazy, but he did sweep up the shirts from the bed, gather an armful of shoes from the closet and carry the whole mess through the broken wall to the guest room.

Ariel began to hang her dresses, suits and coats in the partially emptied closet, using the metal hangers there. Tomorrow, she’d get her wooden hangers out of storage, along with everything she needed to make the place feel like home. She’d returned to her suitcase and gathered an armload of lingerie when Jake returned.

“What you got there?” he teased.

She clutched her undies to her chest, painfully aware of how many were granny panties.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He opened a bureau drawer and lifted out an armload of socks and underwear—boxers, she noticed—in a riot of colors, many of them silk.

“That’s okay,” she said, holding her sensible unmentionables more tightly.

“There’s nothing wrong with white,” he said.

She blushed, then just shoved the clothes into the emptied drawer. She wasn’t about to organize them with Jake watching over her shoulder.

“White is a tease,” he continued. “Simple and innocent. Take the bra you’ve got on. It’s so thin a guy might think you’re not wearing anything at all…just speaking theoretically, of course.”

“Of course.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You have no idea what it does to a man when he thinks a woman has nothing on underneath,” he said, watching her face.

She felt an unnerving tickle between her legs, so she turned to grab up more clothes—slips and scarves—from her bag.

She turned back just as he mused, “No snaps, no latches, no hooks…. Just one thin layer of fabric between us and glory.” He grabbed some T-shirts from a drawer, emptying it, then grinned at her, “And if there are no panties…well, that’s like winning a Powerball.”

“What makes you think I want to know this?” she said, shoving her clothes into the emptied space, unhappily close to Jake, who leaned against the bureau.

“Don’t women wonder what men think about?”

“We already know—sex…every fifteen seconds, right?” She closed the drawer with an authoritative hip check.

“Well, I don’t wear underwear.” He winked. “In case you’re curious.”

She couldn’t help glancing at the crotch of his swim trunks. When she dragged her gaze back up, he was waiting for her with a smirk. Gotcha.

“Women buy me these,” he said, lifting the load in his arms. “God knows why.”

Especially because he probably wasted no time getting out of them. He wandered away, Lucky lumbering after him. Ariel watched him go, unable to believe she was joking about underwear with a man she’d only known for four hours.

Her energy seemed to give Jake momentum, at least, and he picked up the pace. While she emptied her second suitcase, Jake dragged the weight bench out, along with some things piled in the corner—a basket with Frisbees and balls and a brightly colored fabric kite—whistling cheerfully the entire time.

Ariel was putting the photo of her and her mother on her nightstand when Jake stopped to look. “Your mom?” he said, picking up the pewter frame and examining its contents. Light flashed from the glass onto his face.

“Yeah. Christmas three years ago.” She and her mother stood with their arms around each other’s waist in front of the fake Christmas tree in her mother’s manufactured home. Myra, one of the diner waitresses, had taken the shot.

“You look like her,” Jake said, studying the picture. “Same jaw and mouth. Your eyes are the same green. Nice.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at the photo again, concentrating on her mother. “She looks tired, don’t you think? She worked double shifts to afford this Christmas.” That had to stop. Ariel couldn’t wait to make enough money to supplement what her mother made at the diner, so she could work part-time, maybe go to school, have some vacation, do something she really wanted besides work, work, work. The thought of that put the fire in Ariel’s belly again. She would make this business fly, or die trying.

“So, invite her out here for a weekend,” Jake said. “She can hit the beach and relax.”

Ariel laughed. “My mother at the beach? I can’t imagine.” It would be good for her to take a breather, though, and the two of them could do some real talking for a change. Maybe after she’d made some headway with her business and the cottage was finished, she’d invite her mother out to see the place.

Jake put the photo on the bureau, then surveyed the room. “Looks like you’re set.”

“For now. Tomorrow I’ll get my office equipment and personal stuff out of storage. Rent a truck, I guess.”

“You need a truck? I can borrow one easy, if you’d like.”

She looked at him. Borrowing a truck would be quicker and cheaper. Otherwise, she’d have to take buses to where her car was waiting in a friend’s garage, drive to the truck rental place, backtrack to return the truck. “I hate to put you out. You have all the work on the cottage to do.”

“I’ve got plenty of time for that.”

“Just a month.”

He just grinned, acknowledging her jab, but brushing it off. “Let me give you a hand.”

“Okay. I’d appreciate that. I’ll pay for gas, of course.”

“Come on. We’re roommates.”

For some reason, they both looked straight at the unmade bed, still dented from her nap. Ariel suddenly needed him out of the gold-lit room that was entirely too intimate for strangers—even strangers who’d examined each other’s underwear.

She looked toward what would be Jake’s room—for tonight at least—and saw the gaping hole. “Maybe we should put that sheet up now? Between the rooms? Maybe one of those canvas drop cloths would work.” Nice and thick and opaque.

“You sure? You won’t bother me. Unless you walk in your sleep? And that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem….” He was teasing her, but she felt that funny quiver all up and down her spine.

“I’m a very quiet sleeper,” she said primly. “But I’d like the canvas, please.”

“You’re the boss,” he said and headed away, grinning, Lucky at his heels.

Jake brought back the canvas and Ariel held it up while he nailed it in place. It was thick, but no sound barrier. She thought about telling Jake not to bring Heather home, but decided she’d probably ordered him around enough for the night, and vowed to be asleep before any hanky-panky got started.