of the various offerings, centered by a largish, gurgling fountain, to point to a row of clay-colored blocks that actually looked...not terrible. “Sure—”
“Or...I dunno.” Bending over, he rested his palm on one that was a lighter color, more beigey. Guy had a nice butt, she had to say. Well, think, anyway. “Maybe this?”
Laurel dislodged her eyeballs from his tush. “Which goes better with what you already have?”
He straightened, dusting his hands. “Either would work. You?”
“Same here. Price?”
“They’re the same. But you know...” He slugged his fingers into his jeans’ pockets. Which already sat kind of low. Then he looked at her with a little-boy grin that, when paired with the streaked, dirty-blond hair—not to mention the low-slung jeans—got all sorts of things fluttering and sighing and giggling. How old was she, again? “No reason we couldn’t do both.”
The baby stirred, jolting her back to reality. “Both?”
“Use two colors, make a pattern. Nothing weird or wild, just...not boring. It won’t look stupid, I promise.”
“Then...sure. Why not?”
More grinning. “Yeah?”
Honestly. The kid in the ice-cream store, getting to pick two different flavors for his ice-cream cone. Laurel laughed. “Yes. Because you’re right. One color would be boring.”
She laughed again when he did a quick fist-pump, then pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket he’d shown her earlier, with all the specifications already figured out. Fifteen minutes later, their order placed and delivery arranged, they were back in the truck, Tyler practically buzzing with excitement as he went on about how he’d demo the old fence that night, if it was okay with her, then get started digging the trench for the new wall so he could get on it by the weekend.
His enthusiasm, if not contagious, was definitely endearing. Except then he seemed to catch himself. “And you’re not the least bit interested in any of this, are you?”
“In how this wall is going to happen? Not really. But I think it’s terrific you are. Seeing as you’re the one who’s going to make it happen.”
With a grin and a shrug, he looked back out the windshield. “I like...putting things together. Making the pieces fit. Even if it’s only a wall. Because there’s something really satisfying about building something from nothing, you know? No matter how long it takes, or how much you might swear in the process,” he said, and Laurel chuckled.
“I can relate, believe it or not. Even though I’m working with words and ideas and not cement and blocks, it’s sort of the same thing, isn’t it?”
“I never thought about it like that, but...yeah. I guess so.”
They rode in silence for a while until she said, “You know, that Green Day song you were playing earlier? I haven’t heard it in forever. You mind putting it on again?”
Tyler frowned over at her. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
A moment later, the cab was filled with sounds from Laurel’s past, from a time when her future stretched out in front of her, ripe with promise. Not that it still didn’t—the baby shifted again, bumping almost in time with the music—but boy, could her life be any more different than she’d imagined?
“Hey...you okay?” Tyler asked, which is when she realized her cheeks were wet.
Laurel dug in her purse for a tissue, wiped her eyes. Blew her nose. “I’m fine. This takes me back, that’s all.”
“To a better time?”
“To...a different one, maybe. But not better.” She paused. “Or worse. And I have no idea why I’m reacting like this,” she said with a little laugh. “It’s only a song, for heaven’s sake. And it’s not like I don’t listen to old music all the time. Music I have a connection with, even. Like the music my grandmother played—old jazz, Big Band. Perry Como,” she said, chuckling. “But...that was her past, wasn’t it? Her nostalgia? Not mine.”
“I...guess?”
“Sorry. Another hazard of living alone, I spend way too much time in my own head. And it can get kind of creepy in there.”
“Tell me about it,” Tyler muttered as they pulled into her driveway. From his house, they could hear Boomer barking. “Dumb mutt recognizes the sound of my car.”
“Which would make him not dumb at all. Confused, though, since it’s in the wrong spot.”
“You’re probably right.”
And that should have been where she got out of the truck, he switched from her driveway to his and that was that. A total nonevent.
Not their facing each other at the same moment and her saying, “Wanna get a hamburger or something? My treat.”
The music stopped. The dog kept barking, barking, barking...
“Uh...it’s only three o’clock?”
“Oh.” Laurel mentally slapped herself. And not only for not knowing what time it was. “Of course, you’re right. But tell that to this...my stomach.”
“Actually,” he said—very gently, like the way you talk to the crazy woman, “I gotta get back to work for a little bit—”
“Of course, sorry—”
“No, it’s okay. Another time, though?”
“Sure, absolutely.” She climbed out of the truck as gracefully as she could, which wasn’t saying much, and shut the door.
Tyler leaned across the gearshift to talk to her through the open window. “But I’ll still start taking down the fence this evening. You don’t have to be around or anything. If the noise gets too loud, though, let me know—”
“I’ll do that,” she said, backing away, suddenly anxious to get back to her own safe little space, where she could coddle her embarrassment without witnesses. “Thanks. For everything.”
With a little wave, he pulled out of her driveway, and Laurel mustered whatever vestige of dignity she had left to sedately walk across her yard and up her steps.
Instead of, you know, bolting like a freaked-out rabbit.
* * *
“Jeez, what’s with the frowny face?”
With a grunt, Tyler walked past his sister Abigail, sitting cross-legged on the dusty warehouse floor as she sanded flaking black paint off a late-nineteenth-century, wrought-iron chandelier, which she’d then refinish and slap up on eBay...and probably resell for ten times what they paid for it. Naturally, she got up and followed him to the office, a blond terrier in a ponytail and combat boots.
“So did you get the blocks and stuff for the wall?” He threw her a look. “I think that’s called an
