I pulled it on as I stomped out, the banging stopping. But I kept motoring toward the front door even if I was in my PJs under the sweater, which meant a cropped tank top and pair of baggy but clingy silk short-shorts that had flowered embroidery up the hips.
I tore my hand through my hair as I saw a white T-shirt at the door and suddenly I was not one with the idea that Deke Whoever-He-Was was not the only man in the universe for me.
Suddenly, I was ticked off that Deke Whoever-He-Was had not felt the same as me yonks ago in Wyoming, which meant we’d spent the ensuing time together and he knew I stayed up until earliest midnight and never got out of bed before nine.
Which was what I’d done last night, reading in my cold-as-fuck bedroom until two in the morning.
I unlocked and yanked open the door just as the pounding started again.
“Okay, okay,” I snapped, looking up at hot, man-bunned, colossal, alert Deke, a Deke who was so hot, the man bun worked so well on him, was so big and so…Deke, I didn’t notice his eyes take a quick journey south upon my opening the door. I just declared, “I’m up. What the hell?”
His brows shot together and his attention cut to my face. “What the hell?”
“Yes, what the hell?” I asked.
“Woman, I’m here to work on your house,” he informed me.
“I know that, Deke,” I returned. “But it’s not even seven in the morning.”
“Hours seven to four,” he stated shortly, something I vaguely remembered Max mentioning to me during our meeting. “For you, since you want overtime, seven to six. It’s seven.”
“It’s ten to seven,” I shared.
“It’s as good as seven,” he shot back. “You want me to show right at seven, whatever. I’ll do that tomorrow. Now I’m here.”
“Yes, and the here you’re here for, it’s my understanding, requires work outside the house. Not you banging on the door and dragging me out of my bed.”
“Can’t start work on a property without letting the owner know I’m around.”
“Is that a rule?”
“You want me to get on with it without disturbing your beauty rest, I’ll do that too. But just sayin’, construction ain’t quiet.”
He had me there.
And I was acting crazy, something I was wont to do on the rare occasion I was dragged out of bed before nine.
But Deke hadn’t spent the last seven years learning that about me so I reined it in.
“Point taken,” I granted. “Now I know you’re here. Go for it. I’ll keep the door open if you need anything. Do you want coffee?”
He did a slow blink.
It was hotter than him just standing there which in and of itself was hot enough.
“You bite my head off and ten seconds later offer me coffee?”
A new tone from Deke.
Incredulous.
“I’ll be making some, and if you drink it, I can make you some too,” I pointed out.
“Had some already.”
It was my turn to blink.
“You’ve been up long enough to make and drink coffee?” I asked.
“There are some of us who live in the real world, gypsy princess,” he struck out, his aim true, and I felt the sting of the bite. “Get up. Get juiced up. Go to work. That’s what real people do.”
“I didn’t mean—” I started, my tone conciliatory.
Deke didn’t feel like being consoled.
“We done here?” he asked.
“You haven’t answered about the coffee.”
“Thanks,” he clipped, not sounding grateful at all. “I’m good.”
He then turned on his work boot and tramped out of the arched entryway, shifted left and I lost sight of him.
As I seemed to do a lot around Deke, I stood in the door where I noticed belatedly the chill from outside was no more chilly than the chill inside and I stared at the place I last saw him.
Okay, so I’d sorted my brain about Deke yesterday, which was good.
Today, it was barely dawn (right, so actually it was past dawn but it seemed barely dawn to me), and I’d already created a situation where I needed to sort different things out with Deke.
“Shit,” I muttered as I closed the door.
I moved through the house to get to the garage to start coffee, wondering if I should have turned on the furnace that now had nice, shiny thermostats in three places.
Since I had no insulation, and even rich as sin, I didn’t feel like warming the Colorado night around my house along with warming my house, I hadn’t.
I’d be glad for insulation.
Which meant I needed to be glad I had Deke because I’d be screwed if I didn’t.
Which meant I had to sort things out with Deke.
Shit.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, hair wet and hanging down, wearing a dress made of pretty much nothing but cream lace (over a cream shift, of course) that had short sleeves and a shorter hem (this hitting me at mid-thigh) as well as a pair of sky-blue wellies with ladybugs on them, I made my approach to Deke. I was carrying a mug of hot coffee in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, a bag of sugar held against my chest with my arm.
He heard me coming, turned, gave me a once-over, and his usually expressionless face formed an expression.
Irritability.
I’d earned that, being a bitch, so I ignored it.
“Hey,” I called as I got close.
He did not return my greeting.
I finished getting close, which was to say stopping four feet from him, doing this a little surprised that the large rectangular fire pit that would eventually be the focal point in the middle of the deck was already constructed to three feet up, rising from the moist earth.