Snowed In (6 page)

“Mr. Wynter was just telling me a story about one of his customers.”

“Isn’t there, like, some sort of customer/carpenter privilege?”

I didn’t want to think about the nasty things that Josh could tell people about me.

Mr. Wynter actually turned bright red. “Uh, well, uh . . . it wasn’t anything . . . it wasn’t a secret.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Josh said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “She’s just worried that we’ll tell people she’s not a morning person.”

How had he figured that out?

“We’ll sign a nondisclosure statement,” he added. “Although truthfully, it’s pretty obvious.”

“Thanks . . . I think,” I said, before taking a big gulp of coffee.

“Ashleigh, pour Josh some coffee,” Mom said.

60

“That’s okay,” Josh said, walking around me and grabbing a mug from the mug tree. “I’m not a guest.”

He winked at me. My toes did that whole crazy curling thing again and my heart started fluttering like a bird trapped in my chest.
What is up with that?

I thought. I’m always cool, calm, and collected around guys, but then, I never felt like anything was at stake before. Why did I feel like something was at stake here? My attitude about guys had always been like ’em and leave ’em—at least until I’m out of college. But I had a feeling that Josh Wynter would be a hard guy to leave.

Josh leaned one hip against the counter and sipped his black coffee.

“Ashleigh, come look at the wallpaper selections,” Mom said.

Good. A distraction. That was what I needed. I sat at the table and started looking through the binder.

“Have lots of this in stock,” Mr. Wynter said, pointing to a swatch of wallpaper.

Josh cleared his throat. I glanced over at him.

He slowly shook his head. It looked like he was fighting back another grin.

Maybe because the wallpaper his dad wanted me to select was a puke green with mallard ducks 61

on it. Not that I had anything against ducks, but puke green? I could certainly understand why he had a lot in stock. Who would want it? What I couldn’t understand was the reason he’d ordered it in the first place.

“That’s not really me,” I said carefully.

“How ’bout this? We have this striped stuff. . . .” That looked like drunk candy canes. Hard to explain, but trust me.

“Uh, no—”

“Dad, why don’t you just let her look?” His dad looked disgruntled, but then the wrinkles on his face eased. “I guess there’s no hurry. We have plenty to keep us busy with the guestrooms.”

“Speaking of the guestrooms,” Mom said, “I’d like to run an idea I had for one of them by you.

Would you mind coming upstairs?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Wynter said. He shoved himself out of his chair and followed Mom out of the kitchen.

She’d mentioned putting a window seat with a storage area in one of the rooms that had a view of the lake. I had a feeling she was going to keep the Wynters busy all winter. I smiled at that thought and went back to looking at the samples of wallpaper.

“If you don’t see anything you like, you can go 62

to the hardware store down the street,” Josh said.

“They have a bigger selection, not in stock, but that can be ordered. We can get it from the mainland.” I looked over at him. “Won’t it be more expensive?”

“Yeah. Dad tends to buy stuff on closeout. It never occurs to him there’s a reason stuff is on closeout—like, no one wanted it to begin with.”

“You mean, you don’t think ducks sitting in puke was someone’s first choice?”

“Probably not.”

He grinned. Really broadly. He had a nice smile, a very friendly smile. Not teasing, not flirta-tious like Chase’s. It was just . . . nice. And I thought I could look at it forever and never grow tired of it.

Whoa! Slow down, Ash.

I needed to get out of there.

I closed the book. “I don’t know that I really need or want wallpaper. I’d love to have some shelves, though.”

“Those are easy enough to make. Shoot, I could make those tonight. No problem.”

“I don’t know. My room is very oddly shaped.”

“I just have to take some measurements.”

“It’s the room at the top of the stairs, right off the third floor.”

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“I sorta figured that out yesterday.” From where I was sitting, it looked like he was blushing, but maybe it was just the way the sun was coming through the window that he was now looking out of. Was he embarrassed thinking about our encounter? I’d been the one still in PJ’s.

“How long do you think all this work is going to take?” I asked.

Josh looked at me and shrugged. “You in a hurry?”

I shrugged back. “Having company this early messes up my morning routine.”

“What’s your routine?”

“The usual girl routine.”

“It’s just me and Dad. I’m not real familiar with the usual girl routine.”

“What about your mom?”

“She got tired of the winters.”

I couldn’t help myself. I gave him a mischie-vous grin. “You mean, the winters like the cold and snow, or the Wynters, like father and son?”

“Both, I guess.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d been teasing, but apparently . . .

He set his mug on the counter. “I need to get back to painting that room.”

He started to walk out. I got up so fast that I 64

nearly toppled the chair and lost my balance.

“I was just teasing. I didn’t mean anything. I didn’t think she’d really
left
left.” He furrowed his brow. “So what did you think?”

“That she didn’t like the cold, maybe went to Florida for the winter or something. You know.

Short-term getaway.”

“Nope. Long-term getaway. Been about ten years now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No big deal. Hell, I don’t even remember what she looks like.”

Before I had a chance to remove one foot from my mouth and jam the other one in, he walked out of the kitchen.

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6

Why was I always saying idiotic things around Josh? I’d always been as comfortable around boys as I was around girls. Best buds and all that. But then, I’d always known best buds was all we’d ever be. Nothing serious. Why did thoughts of being serious keep popping into my mind?

Why did I care so much what Josh thought of me? My whole reaction to him was totally strange.

Part of me wanted to avoid him, but he was going to be in my house constantly until the work was completed. I didn’t want to be creeping around, dreading running into him. I was going to have to face him.

I took my coffee mug to the sink and rinsed it out. While I was standing there, Mom and Mr.

Wynter came back into the kitchen. Mom was laughing again, lightly. Clearly she’d found something he said amusing. I wondered if he was flirt-66

ing, if maybe I should tell Mom that his wife had left him.

Not that Mr. Wynter looked like a player. He was big and burly, with thick black hair like his son’s and a short beard that made him look like a large, cuddly teddy bear. He wore overalls over a plaid flannel shirt. Not really player material.

“Did you make a decision?” Mom asked now.

“About the wallpaper?”

“Not really. Can I think about it for a while?”

“Sure,” Mr. Wynter said. “We’re seldom in a hurry around here. That’s the beauty of island life.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought we might practice serving tea this afternoon. I found a recipe for watercress and cheddar sandwiches,” Mom said. “Don’t those sound lovely?”

“Uh, I guess.” I was a burger girl.

“What do you think, Mr. Wynter?” Mom asked.

“Sounds great to me.”

He grinned at her. I had a feeling she could have suggested dirt mixed with autumn leaves and he’d have said it sounded great.

“I’ve still got a few boxes to unpack so I’m gonna go . . .” I fluttered my hand and then made a hasty retreat.

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Once I started up the stairs, I was hit with the smell of fresh paint. My instincts screamed for me to simply walk on past that first bedroom, get to my room as soundlessly and quietly as possible.

And that’s what I’d planned to do. But as I went past, I peered inside.

Josh was using a long-handled roller to apply a creamy yellow to the wall. Like mine, this room wasn’t wallpapered.

He’d covered the furniture with the tarp I’d seen him lugging inside. He turned to dip the roller into the paint pan and froze as he caught sight of me.

“My dad left us,” I felt compelled to say.

He seemed to think about that. Then finally he asked, “How could he have left you when he was never here?”

“Well, first he left, and then we left.” I shook my head, as if doing so would clear it. “He left my mom about two years ago. We left because he’s about to get remarried.”

“Bummer.”

“Totally.”

He gave me a small grin. I smiled back.

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” I confessed. “You not remembering your mom or me not being able to forget my dad. I really miss him.” 68

That was something I could never tell my mom, because it would just make her feel guilty.

And telling it to a guy I’d just met—a guy I didn’t know well—was weird for me. While I’d dated several guys, I wasn’t in the habit of baring my soul to them or sharing secrets.

“Anyway, I just . . .” I did the whole flapping my hand thing again, like I thought that was the way to create words. I gave up and just shrugged.

“Thought I should say something, because I’m sure your mom liked you and it was the cold, not—”

“Hey, forget it. Like I said, I don’t even remember her.”

I couldn’t imagine that. “Not at all?”

“Want to help me paint?” he asked.

I didn’t blame him for the abrupt subject change. It was more polite than telling me to butt out of his business.

I narrowed my eyes. “Isn’t my mom paying
you
to paint?”

“Actually, she’s paying my dad.”

“Who no doubt pays you.”

He grinned. “Sometimes. What else have you got to do?”

“You tell me. This is your island. Seriously, what is there to do around here?”

“Lots.” He finally got around to dipping the 69

roller into the pan and started painting the wall again.

“Care to share?”

“Cross-country skiing is wildly popular.”

“Slight problem there. I’ve never been on skis.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Hello? Texas? We don’t get a lot of snow.”

“I can’t imagine.” He glanced over at me.

“What’s winter without snow?”

“Warm.”

He laughed really deeply, shaking his head. “I don’t see the point.”

“Well, I’m having a bit of a problem seeing the point to winter.”

He arched a brow.

“The season,” I added. I was beginning to see a point to Josh
Wynter
. He was someone to talk to.

“Is your dad a comedian or something?” I asked.

He turned around, grinning. What was it with the Wynter guys that they were always grinning?

“Actually, he does a stand-up routine down at one of the pubs on amateur night.” He grimaced.

“It’s pretty bad. Why?”

I shrugged. “My mom seems to laugh a lot when he’s around. I guess he’s practicing.”

“Not if she’s laughing. Trust me. No one laughs 70

at his jokes. They’re pretty lame. But for some reason, he knows how to make our customers laugh.”

“So my mom’s not special?” Was Mr. Wynter going to break her heart?

“He likes people to be happy. Why get bent out of shape about that?”

“I’m not bent.” I resented that he thought I was. “I’m just not used to hearing my mom laugh so much.”

“You say that like laughter’s a bad thing.” It was if my mom got hurt. I sighed. She was a big girl, she could take care of herself. After all, she’d survived a major breakup.

“You should try it sometime,” he added.

“I’ll have you know I laugh plenty.”

“I don’t think
plenty
means what you think it does. It means often, a lot—”

“I know what it means. I’m a laugh a minute.

Ha, ha. And I’ll laugh again in another minute.” He just stared at me like I’d totally lost my mind. Maybe I had. Chase had thought I was cute when I’d said almost the same thing. I didn’t know why it had worked with him and not Josh. Time for a serious subject change.

“So, are you, like, one of the five students in the junior class?”

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I’d researched the single school on the island so I knew that each classroom had two grade levels in it—until eighth grade. So students at different levels intermingled a lot more here than they did back home.

“Nope. I’m one of the six in the senior class.” Oh, an older guy. Intriguing. I crossed my arms, leaned against the wall.

He grimaced. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“Oh, shoot!” I pulled away from the wall, bringing a good deal of the paint with me. “You could have posted a sign.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious that wet paint was going on the walls.”

“Well, still . . .”

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Step aside.”

I did as he ordered, watching while he rolled fresh paint over the mess I’d made.

“I’m going to go change,” I mumbled.

“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come to your room.”

My heart thudded. “Excuse me?”

“To take measurements for those shelves.”

“You were serious about making them?” I asked.

72

“Sure.”

“Okay, then.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

“What do you want me to do? Hug you?” His eyes seemed to darken, then he shook his head and turned back to the pan. “Just holler when it’s okay for me to come up.” I backed up a step. “Give me ten.”

“Ten?”

“Minutes. Just come up in ten minutes.” Which, under normal circumstances, was all I would have needed, except my cell phone was ringing when I got to my room. I took off my paint-splattered clothes as fast as I could and answered the phone right before it went to voice-mail. It was Tara.

“Hey,” I said, holding the phone to my ear with one hand, while scrounging through a stack of clothes on a chair with the other.