Emma busied herself in his expansive backyard so that she didn’t have to see him on his way out, appreciative of the cool air to busy her mind as she impulsively went over the past thirty minutes in her head. Hunter was definitely playing with her. There was no doubting that anymore. The causal, lazy glances up and down her body, the whispering in her ear (really, who did that?) and the devilish grins. She didn’t understand what he wanted from her but whatever it was, she wasn’t willing to participate.
What she did know for certain though, was that he wanted her unbalanced and she assumed it had something to this grudge that everybody in the town seemed to have with her dead dad. She sniffed and hmph’d away the resentment and she carried on working.
Her breath came out in icy puffs, and her cheeks were pale as she raked in broken twigs, dead grass and cracked leaves. She was wearing gloves she found in a cabinet by the front door and had also grabbed a scarf that was hanging by a hook on the kitchen backdoor. The grey cotton scarf was wrapped around her neck and covered her nose, and mouth – which she was regretting. His musky cologne, of sharp cedar wood and spicy, roasted apples, still lingered and was only doing a number on her hormones. This was simply self-inflicted torture.
The morning had passed by so much better than she had ever expected it would. She had been expecting a much more challenging rebuttal. Certainly, Hunter didn’t appear like someone who just rolled over and agreed to anybody’s whim and fancy.
But he hadn’t said a word. Either she had actually convinced him that she knew a thing or two of law (which she didn’t), or he was letting her win this fight because he had something else in store. She hoped it was the former.
Only when her nose felt like it was going to fall off from hypothermic shock, did she decide it was time to head back in. Little chimes rang as she entered back into the kitchen, making her look up in curiosity to see the bells hooked onto the doorframe. It was so odd and such a non-Hunter thing to have. But what did she know? It wasn’t as if she knew him that well at all. If she hadn’t run into little Molly last night, she wouldn’t have even known he had a brother.
She carried on working, getting into the rhythm of things. Sort of. She still fumbled her way through doing his dishes, almost breaking a glass bowl in the process. She worked on dusting the living room today, as well as the basement, picking up on little clues about Hunter’s personality in the process. Hockey gear littered the garage, and toy trucks and cars, and a plastic slide were stashed away in the attic upstairs, probably for little Molly. She couldn’t imagine him as the doting uncle. That was something she would have to see to believe.
Around eleven, when she took break on his staircase to wipe her brow, feeling particularly grimy, she craned her head back as an idea suddenly popped into her head.
There was absolutely no way he would know…
Especially if she was quick about it.
And only God knew when she’d get her generator to work.
Moving before she could change her mind, she ran up the staircase to where she knew the bathroom was. He had written on a note on the fridge that the upstairs bathroom and his bedroom were off limits, but she’d make sure to leave no evidence.
After finding a clean towel in the linen closet upstairs, she snuck into his bathroom and began to peel away her clothes. This was her only chance at a hot shower, and it had literally been four days since she’d last bathed and it was beginning to look obvious.
Once she’d undressed, she turned on the faucets and sighed a blissful sigh of pleasure as scalding hot water began to pour down through the showerhead.
What more could she could ask for? A hot shower, in what felt like the North Pole.
She tried not to think about the fact that she was currently very naked in the same place that Hunter was usually very naked, and that this was – in some way – invading his personal privacy. Whatever, he should have thought of that before hiring her as a personal maid. She looked at the shampoos and soaps on the bathtub crooks. She snorted. Such guy things. Dove for Men body wash, Head & Shoulders shampoo, a few Gillette razors.
She wasn’t desperate enough for the razors, but she helped herself to his shampoo and soap. She sure was going to come out of this smelling like a man…
The shower was meant to last only five minutes, but she ended up staying in there for over thirty minutes. It felt as if the hot water was kneading her tense muscles, massaging her taut skin and sinking in to relieve her stress. She was so happy, that she could cry.
If only the momentary bliss could’ve lasted. She was halfway between imagining she was in Hawaii and planning a trip to Florida when she remembered that she had to pick up some sort of shipment at noon.
She almost jumped out of the shower. Turning everything off in a rush, she quickly ran back into the unforgiving chilliness of the bathroom, toweled off, and frantically pulled on her clothes. Her body yearned for the comforting heat of the bath, but she zipped up her pant zipper and buttoned up her oversized sweater instead.
Crap. She was going to have to run.
Not wanting to get a headache, she tied her sloppy, wet hair in a bun and pulled her winter hat over her head to get some sort of protection.
And then she was outside.
It was such a cruel joke. Literally three minutes ago, she’d been close to orgasming and now she was puffing down the sidewalk as she stomped her way to the harbor.
This time, the looks that she got as she made her way through town were of simple amusement rather than suspiciousness. It was as if people were wondering why she was still here, and why she hadn’t run off back home already. Seeing as how small the town was, she was sure that anybody who was anybody had heard of the vandalism at her house already. To be fair, any sane person would have left. It said more about her than them that she was still here.
She barely made it to the harbor on time. The place was chaotically busy. Stalls and booths lined the waterfront, selling fish and different sorts of meats by the pound. Oil sizzled on pans as vendors cooked their daily fish in an assortment of unique ways; on rice, on potatoes, on garlic sauce, on asparagus, and the worst – on maple syrup. She’d been born Canadian, but she could never be that Canadian. On the water, boats bobbed as people lugged in their catch of the day. She walked along the water, trying to figure out what Hunter had exactly meant by being there at noon to get his shipment.
When she saw the harbor clock, it made sense. A tall white building perched near the center of the harbor, acting as a sort of post for ferries to sail towards. A red and white ferry-boat, with ‘postman perry’ painted on the side, had docked and was unloading boxes. There was a crowd of townsfolk waiting for their name to be called. She’d only just gotten there when she heard the name “Hunter Stone.”
She had to push and squeeze her way through the crowd to get to the front, “Yes, that’s me.”
A few heads turned, accompanied by raised eyebrows, as she deftly took the box from the postman’s hands and wordlessly turned away.
She didn’t bother to return the looks or offer an explanation. She was here to do work. If people wanted to wonder. They could wonder. She wasn’t going to be here long anyway.
She was just about to head back when she heard a shout from behind her.
“Emma!”
She paused, not really recognizing the voice. Slowly, she turned around to see the boy from her second day here. Soft brown hair, light green eyes, a warm, inviting smile.
Clearly he hadn’t made an impression on her, because she was having a hell of a time remembering his name. Luckily for her, he picked up on it straight away.
“It’s me, Clayton. We met at the workshop earlier on this week,” he gave her a goofy grin, as if he’d made some sort of joke. She smiled back, clueless.
All she wanted was to get back to the house and dry off. She could feel her hair freezing into a block on her head right now. “Sure, I remember. You look different without all the grime and dirt on you.”
“Yeah,” he gave another shy smile, and combed a hand through his hair as if to busy his fingers with something, “I work at one of the stalls during the off day. What are you doing here?”
They both looked at the shipment, with Hunter’s name clearly sprawled on the top.
“I was doing the sheriff a favor,” she explained. For some reason, she felt it hard to admit to him that she was currently working as Hunter’s maid. Everyone had that little bit of an ego they held on to.
“Ah, so you found the station easily that day?”
“Yeah, no problem.” She stood there, not really knowing what to say or do. She hadn’t had a normal conversation with someone in so long, she wasn’t quite sure she remembered what it was like to socialize.
To her relief, it didn’t seem like Clayton was too good at it either. He shuffled around awkwardly before putting his hands in his pockets, “How are you liking it here?”
“It’s fine.”
“You moved here from the city, I heard?”
From who? She wanted to ask, but she ignored his obvious slip. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a change.”
“Us townsfolk aren’t so bad if you give us a chance,” he gave a quick wink, which was surprisingly a little charming.
She didn’t know what to say to him, however, so they lulled into an awkward little silence. Clayton eventually came up with something to talk about. “Is that Sheriff Stone’s scarf?”
“Oh, this?” a hand went to it instinctively. In that moment, she was vividly aware of how much like Hunter she probably smelled. She had used his shampoo and soap, was wearing his scarf, and was picking up a package for him. “I didn’t have a scarf so he…er, gave it to me.”
“Oh,” Clayton looked a little crestfallen, and it suddenly dawned on Emma that he may have been trying to flirt earlier.
“Hunter isn’t my boyfriend,” Emma offered bluntly, to which Clayton’s cheeks colored in response. “It’s an odd situation, but I just, wanted to make clear that he, uh, isn’t … you know, my boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Clayton gave a slow shrug of the shoulder, “so does that mean you’d want to go out with me sometime?”
She blinked. That had been straightforward and extremely fast.
Well, she had nothing to lose.
“Uh, sure.” This was the most awkward asking-of-a-date she’d ever had to go through. “When?”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up from your house?”
“Yeah, okay.”
That was that.
xx.
Nearly, three hours later, Emma was just folding the last bit of laundry when she heard a little alarm clock go off in her pocket. Her mobile phone signaling to her that her torturous shift at Hunters was over and she could head home. She’d been on a little bit of a buzz the entire day, from having Hunter agree to her contract to being asked out by Clayton, and so the time had passed by fast. If anything, having Clayton ask her out had assured of her one thing – that she had at least one ally in this god forsaken town. Her dad had managed to die without pissing of Clayton in some way or the other and that was all she needed. A friend! Well. He wanted something more, but if all else failed, he could still be a friend, right? She couldn’t believe her luck.
After turning the alarm off, she pocketed her phone and then finished folding the last blanket. Despite it being a task that would normally make her miserable, she had a small smile on her face. They had exchanged phone numbers and he had texted her minutes after with a cute message that read, ‘see you soon.’
She was so busy replaying the odd little encounter she’d had with him that she wasn’t watching her step when exited the laundry room and made her way through the kitchen. Before she knew it, she had knocked over a jar that had been perched too closely to the counter edge, and the glass shattered on impact.
Emma jumped, nearly dropping the blankets and groaned as she realized what she’d done. She’d been so close to being done too!
Sighing, she placed the blankets on the counter and then made her way to find a dustpan and broom. As much as she wanted to hurt Hunter, she wasn’t morbid enough to leave this lying around here.
It was 3.40PM, and she wanted to be out of here before Hunter got home. She dropped to her knees, and began sweeping up the shards and sharp pieces. It had been a large, long-island iced tea kind of jug so the pieces stretched across the kitchen floor.
Her good mood dissipated immediately.
It worsened when she heard the front door open and the familiar sound of keys dropping onto a counter.
Damn it.
He was back.
She just hoped he would let her be and go upstairs or something.
When she heard his footsteps approach, she sighed.
Of course, she knew better than to wish for something so futile.
She didn’t look up when he entered the kitchen and focused on the task as he moved around the place.
“That was my favorite jug,” he commented absentmindedly, leaning against the counter in front of her.
She didn’t look up. “It’s why I dropped it.”
“You’re in a bad mood.”
“Sorry,” she said unapologetically. “I was almost done before this happened.”
“Hm,” he crossed his legs, and didn’t move. She finally glanced up to see him watching her, his hands leaning against the counter behind him. He looked a little tired, as if drawn from his day at work, but the tiredness only seemed to age him in a way that made him seem darker, and dangerous in a way.
She looked back down.
“How was your day?” he asked, almost sounding as if he cared.
“It was good,” she moved forward to sweep in a shard of glass that was near his feet. “I got asked out on a date.”
“Did you now?” He uncrossed his legs, and she could feel him watching her. “Who’s the unfortunate boy?”
“Clayton,” she said cheerfully, “and mind you, he seemed quite excited about it,” she swept away the last bit of glass near his feet, and made sure that there were no other pieces left.
“Make sure not to stay out past your curfew.”
“Oh, shut up,” she looked up to glare at him, and only then realized what an uncomfortable position she was in. On her knees in front of him, in between his legs.
Her mind immediately shut down, or at least, the part of the brain that connected to her body seemed to disconnect. Her eyes immediately lowered to the zipper of his pants, which was in direct sight of her. She blinked, and then looked away, her face immediately flushing.
What was wrong with her!?
She coughed to clear her throat, and then stood up, although her legs suddenly felt a whole lot shakier. She prayed he didn’t notice, but she was almost too scared to look at him again, because she was sure he had.
“I got your package,” she said, but then almost cringed. Was that her own voice? She sounded breathier somehow. Her words also sounded wrong. Everything sounded like it was laced with sexual innuendo.
“Where is it?”
Her breath hitched in her throat as the tone of his voice snaked around her body. It was husky, an octave lower.
“On top of the table.” She emptied the glass into the trash bin, and then turned to face him. His eyes were on her, as if they hadn’t once left. His icy blue eyes suddenly felt like they were burning through her, and she pressed her back against the sink, as if to get away.
He pushed away from his spot and to her dread, walked closer to her. “Are you going to put the bedsheets away?”
She nodded meekly.
“I keep them in the closet in my bedroom.”
“But your, uh,” she swallowed as he stopped in front of her, “isn’t your bedroom off limits?”
Something had changed in the air between them, and she couldn’t figure out why. Was it because she had mentioned her date with Clayton? Where did he get off on getting all high and mighty because she finally had someone who was interested in getting to know her? Or was it because she’d been kneeling on the floor… in between his legs…
“Well, rules can be changed,” he gave her a piercing look, his gaze thoughtful. “We can redefine bedroom etiquette, right?”
What exactly were they talking about here? Emma wasn’t so sure she knew anymore.
“So, should I go put them away?” she asked, her voice sounding extremely quiet.
“Mmhm,” he responded, but didn’t move. Instead, he reached forward and gently clasped her hand. Her cheeks were burning as she looked down to see what he was doing.
She stopped breathing entirely when he drew her clasped hand forward and pushed it firmly against the hardness in his jeans. Her mouth parted slightly, and her eyes widened as she felt it stiffen further under the touch of her hand.
Her heart pounded painfully against her chest. Her head felt like it was going to explode. Or melt. One or the other. She simply couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
“You really think you can look at me like that, and get away with it?” he murmured, and pushed himself closer to her. She bit her lip to swallow her words, and against better judgement, moved her hand against him.
She felt him inhale sharply, and before she could sort out right from left, felt his free hand push her hips against the sink. His hand traveled around her back, snaking up to sink into the base of her hair. He tugged her head back, and a small gasp escaped her lips as he did so.
“Tell me to stop,” he muttered, as if perplexed by his actions himself.
She didn’t.
He kissed her then, his lips parting hers immediately. It wasn’t a nice kiss, the ones that make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was a harsh kiss, the ones that make you feel like you’ve been burned, and want you gasping for air after.
To her own surprise, she kissed him back, her lips hot against his. When their tongues met, they weren’t tentative and when he separated her legs so he could push against her, she heard herself moan against him.
Then the doorbell rang.
The two parted immediately, both of them panting and at once, any defenses that had dropped were drawn up instantly.
She couldn’t look at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” was all she said before leaning down to pick up her wallet that had fallen. He didn’t say anything as she scurried out of the kitchen and into the living room.
She was almost at the door when she heard his voice again, “don’t forget your jacket.”
Damn him for sounding so calm and collected. She nodded awkwardly and went back to get it from the sofa.
When she opened the door to leave, she felt the blood from her face leave as she saw Hunter’s brother at the door, two kids in tow, and a wife reversing into the driveway.
He gave her a big smile, “oh, hello Emma! Are you staying for dinner?”
“Uh, no.” Was all she said before rushing past him and down the drive way.
Fuck.
Her life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.