Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (9 page)

“I had to give up having a couch or seating, but I’d rather spend my reading and thinking time sitting on top of my rig anyway. I like the open air.”

I take note of the drawers and nooks which are built in everywhere, and everything seems to have a place. It’s pretty amazing, and a complete contrast to my big empty house. I feel cozy in here, and I like it.

“Do you get claustrophobic?” I ask.

“Not really. I think the fact that I’m at the firehouse three to four days a week helps. It’s good coming back here to simplicity and privacy.”

“I can understand that. Maybe when the house is gone I should get one of these.”

He doesn’t say anything just opens the little fridge and pulls out two bottles of water and hands me one. “Want to hang for a bit?”

“Sure.”

We step outside and scale the ladder to the roof. We sit silently in the lawn chairs as I take in the daytime view of my neighborhood. When I turn back I realize Joe is staring at me. He smiles.

“Is this going okay?” I ask.

He gives me a confused look.

I wave my hand across his roof. “I mean with your being here. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s great, and I think Betty likes it here, too,” he says patting the deck railing affectionately.

“Betty? Your tiny house is named Betty?”

He scowls. “My
rig
is named Betty.”

“Sorry . . . right, your rig.”

He settles back into his folding chair. “Yes, and as I was saying, she’s very happy here.”

I take a sip of my water. “How can you tell?”

“It’s just a feeling. Besides, she hasn’t been creaking or groaning.”

I grin. “Is that so? Well, I’m glad she’s happy. So did you really help build her?”

He nods. “I would’ve liked to have done the whole thing, but I didn’t have the time or all the skills necessary.”

“I bet it’s super complicated. It’s so clever how they designed it with all those nooks, drawers, and fold-down thingies. It’s like everything has a purpose and thought behind it.”

He sits back and smiles with a satisfied look on his face.

“What?” I ask.

“I did the design.”

My eyes grow wide. “Really? I’m so impressed. How’d you have the idea to do all that?”

“When I was a kid my parents had a camper, and I was obsessed with it, the way you could take such a small space and give it so much purpose. So when my cousin told me about carpenters building trailer-like houses—structures on wheels that had woodwork and architectural detail—I was all over the idea. It was during the beginning of my divorce and it gave me something positive to focus on. I was constantly doing research and sketching out designs.”

“I’m so impressed,” I say with a grin.

“I joke that it’s my life’s work, my masterpiece, but it truly is the thing I’m most proud of.”

I reach over and push him in the arm. “See that. Now I really want my own tiny house, or rig as you call them. Maybe you’ll design mine for me.”

Tipping his head sideways, he smiles. “Maybe.”

We look back out at the view, and he clears his throat.

“Hey, I hope you know how much I appreciate you letting me park here.”

I study his expression. It’s a simple statement but it feels like there’s a lot behind the words. He hasn’t mentioned when he plans to leave and I don’t bring it up because I dread the day he does.

I smile at him. “Honestly, it’s been good to have you here.”

“How are you doing with all the changes?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’m taking things one day at a time.”

Of course I don’t mention that only a bit ago I was cursing out Mike’s lawyer in a fit of rage.

“Have you talked to your ex?”

“Yes, but only once. He’s apparently still in the denial stage. He says he wants to work it out so we can give our marriage another chance.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“No. I’m not even sure what our marriage meant anymore, and believe me, my ego’s taken a real beating. It doesn’t feel good at all to know you weren’t enough.”

“But—” Joe starts to argue before I cut him off.

“I know what you’re going to say. What happened was about him wanting men, and not about me. But if deep down he’s always wanted men then he should live that life and make peace with himself. I need a man who wants
me
one hundred percent.”

Joe looks down as if unscrewing his water bottle is the most interesting thing on earth.

“Besides, fucking around when you’re married is a deal breaker for me, no matter who he’s with.”

Joe suddenly looks up with a haunted look in his eyes, and it feels like I’ve struck a chord. I remember back when he talked to me in the office and suggested that he had been through something that made Chief think he could be a support to me.

“Is that what happened to you?” I ask softly.

His fingers work the bottle cap back and forth and his lips press down into a straight line. He nods.

“I’m sorry.” I wait for him to say more but he doesn’t. “How long ago did it happen?”

“Two years,” he states in a tight voice.

“Wow,” I whisper. It’s unsettling that two years later he’s still clearly really messed up over it.
Damn.
Is that what I’m going to be like?

He turns away like he wants to be lost in the view, and I lean forward in my chair. I have an overwhelming desire to comfort him and I’m not sure how but I want to try.

“Joe,” I say softly.

His gaze darts back to me.

“I’m so sorry.” I say each word slowly and with as much weight as a word can have.

We have that moment as our gazes lock, where I feel like we are coding a language between us . . . the sad murmurings of two broken hearts determined to keep beating against all odds.

He nods. “Me too. We deserve better, Trisha.”

I have a surge of compassion for this wounded man. I want to go sit in his lap and hold onto him with my hand pressed right over his heart.

We are comrades now in our own private battles of the heart. I’m willing to fight alongside him because for the first time since I walked into my husband’s flower shop to witness the end of my marriage, I think there’s a chance I can win.

“Woman! Where’ve you been?” I grab my bestie Jeanine and give her a big hug. I’ve only talked to her a few times in the last few weeks, and it was always about my impending divorce. Bitch is traveling on business so much we barely get to hang anymore. That’s what I get for having a high-powered lawyer for a best friend.

“What have I been doing? Oh, you know, shopping, eating bonbons by the pool. Oh and don’t let me forget those pesky facials and massages. It’s all so taxing.” She lets out an exaggerated huff.

I lower my sunglasses, and narrow my eyes at her. “Who are you and what did you do with Jeanine?” I ask in a threatening voice.

She arches her brow and gives me a scowl. “I was in New York on business. I’m pretty sure at this point that the lawsuit with Aston Noveo is never going to end. I’ll be an old lady still working on that damn case. They’ll have to wheel me in to the courthouse and their lame-ass legal team will still be asking for extensions and pushing back the court days.”

“That’s messed up,” I say with a groan.

She shakes her head. “You have no idea.”

I take a long sip of my iced tea as Jeanine checks her cell phone. Everything about her is razor sharp and uncompromised. She’s the most determined woman I’ve ever known, and I’m proud to call her my friend.

She sets down her phone and leans toward me. “Is the jackass still leaving you messages?”

She was never a fan of Mike’s, nor he of her. It’s a relief to not have to mediate them anymore.

“Um, actually I talked to him once, and talked to his lawyer once. Both ended really badly.”

“I warned you not to do that!”

“I know, I know. I lost control. But believe me, I learned my lesson. I’m not doing that again. I probably made things worse, but I couldn’t help it. I’m so full of rage, Jeanine.”

“I know you are. If I weren’t your lawyer I’d go off on him too. What an ass. You know how I feel, Trisha . . . you deserve so much more.”

“I know,” I say, and for the first time I think I’ve actually embraced that idea.

“And do not talk to his lawyer. You will only screw things up. I’ve already heard from him and had to straighten him out.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, with my proverbial tail between my legs.

“So William needs to know if you want him to fight for you to keep the house.”

William is her firm’s divorce specialist, so she’s working with him to make sure I get the best outcome possible.

“How much money will I have to come up with to be able to stay in the house?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not sure yet. Naturally his lawyer is undervaluing his floral business, so it’s going to be a fight.”

I look over at her with wide eyes as I bite my lip.

“Don’t worry about your fees, babe. I’m taking care of you.”

“Thank you, Jeanine. You’re the best. “

She smiles at me.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods. “Of course, anything.”

“Is it going to be a problem that I let a friend park their tiny house on the property?”

She purses her lips. “What?”

“I’m helping out a friend from the station and letting him park his rig there until he finds a permanent spot.”

“A
friend
?” she asks. “I thought you had issues with those guys.”

“I do . . . well, except for him. He’s really cool.”

She leans back in her chair and observes me.

“What?” I ask, squirming in my seat.

“
Cool
? Have you slept with him?’

“N-nooo,” I stutter.

“Do you want to?”

“Most certainly.”

She grins. “This pleases me excessively.”

I grin back.

She waves her hand dramatically. “Carry on, my dear.”

Chapter 8:
A Man with a Tool Box

I want to do it because I want to do it. ~Amelia Earhart

When my doorbell rings, I look through the peephole and smile to see it’s Joe and not a creeper. I pull the door open wide.

“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”

He holds up a mug of coffee. “Just wondering if you have any milk for my coffee. I ran out.”

“Why are you drinking coffee at night?” I ask.

“Because I like to,” he responds like my question is lame.

I pull the door open wider.

“Sure, come on in. Is low-fat okay?”

He nods, but I notice his gaze skims the living room before settling on the pile of sealed boxes. He silently follows me as I walk toward the kitchen. We’re halfway through the dining room when he stops in his tracks.

I turn toward him. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me that you’re moving. When will you be out? Do I need to get out too?”

He looks a little frantic, his eyes wide and searching.

“I’m not moving. Well, not until the divorce is final and that takes a while. Why do you think I am?”

He waves his arm across the room. “Why? This place is almost empty, other than the moving boxes in the living room.”

“Those aren’t moving boxes. That’s furniture my brother’s girlfriend made me buy from Ikea.”

He rubs his forehead like he can’t compute what I’m saying. I guess it does look pretty crazy to someone wandering in here the first time with no warning.

“But if you’re not moving, where’s the rest of your furniture?” he asks.

“Mike took it. Most of it was his.”

His lips tighten and his face gets red. “What do you mean, he took it? What kind of an asshole leaves you in this situation?”

I’m taken back at how angry he is, but I’ve got to admit that I like it. It’s hot.

“A Mike asshole,” I reply. “But in fairness, I told him to take it.”

“And what about the stuff in the living room?”

“What about it?”

“When are you putting it together?”

I shrug. “I have no idea. Frankly I’m not very inspired lately. This must be what depression feels like.”

He gives me a concerned look, and then turns and starts walking to the door.

“Hey, where you going?” I ask.

“To get my tools. Ikea furniture won’t do you a damn bit of good if it stays in the box.”

I smile. “I guess you’re right.” I could tell him that I have my own tools and can take care of assembling the furniture, but he seems so pleased with himself that I keep my mouth shut.

He leaves the front door cracked open and returns a few minutes later with a toolbox. The sight is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Joe is a real man and he’s going to tighten all my screws.

My chest feels hot and I unbutton the top two buttons on my Henley T-shirt.

After he sets down his toolbox, I hand him his coffee. He takes several long sips before handing it back. Next thing I know he’s carefully laying out various tools from hex wrenches, to screwdrivers and a mat knife. He grabs the knife and slowly cuts open the first box.

“Shall I grab my tools and join in? I’m an Ikea master, you know, and you’ve inspired me.”

“Sure, the more the merrier.” He looks up at me and winks.

I grin back. “Okay.”