“Jeez, lady—signal before you turn, okay?”
“Sorry, got tired of talking about myself. Another hazard of living alone, you forget the finer points of human interaction. And being a novelist, curiosity is my default mode. Relationships fascinate me. People fascinate me.”
“You think I’m fascinating?”
“I was talking about Starla?”
“Oh. Right.”
“I’d love to know her history. What, or who, made her who she is today. It’s like...her past shimmers through her. Don’t you think?”
He had to laugh, even though the conversation was making his chest ache. “You got this from like five seconds?”
“Well, it does. And anyway, I pretty much think that about everyone I meet. I love people.”
“Just not being around them?”
Now she laughed. “Guess that does sound a little weird, huh? But as I said, she reminds me a little of my mother. That whole free spirit thing she’s got going on. Love it. Especially since I’m so not a free spirit.”
“Judging from this conversation? Don’t underestimate yourself. And didn’t you say you live life exactly the way you want to? How much freer could you be?”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like structure. Or order. I’m a bit of a neat freak, actually. In fact, sometimes I think that’s why I like living by myself, because I’m sure I’d drive someone else nuts.” She wrinkled her nose. “God knows I did Gran.”
An image flashed through Tyler’s head, of his own house. A neat freak, he wasn’t. “So I’m guessing you’re not a risk taker?”
He’d only meant to tease, to follow the lead Laurel had given him. So her stillness threw him, made him glance over at her. “Not generally, no,” she said quietly, then offered him a slight smile. Facing front again, she nodded toward the brickyard’s large sign about a half block away. “Is this it?”
“Uh...yeah.”
Tyler pulled the pickup into the parking lot, inexplicably annoyed that Laurel didn’t wait for him to come around and open the door for her. Even though there was no reason for her to wait. Or for him to play the chivalry card.
Same as there’d been no real reason for him to sidestep her completely innocent query about Starla. Other than habit. And self-protection. Which he supposed was the habit. He’d just never been keen on talking about stuff he hadn’t worked through himself. Especially with strangers. He did wonder, however, as he grabbed the glass door to the showroom before Laurel could, whether she realized he’d dodged her question.
And why, even if she did, that should bother him.
* * *
The block yard blew Laurel’s mind.
Mountains of the things, in a staggering number of colors, shapes and sizes, stretched before her like some ancient religious site. Oh, sure, she and Tyler had settled on brown, rather than prison gray, but what shade of brown? Light, dark, reddish, taupish...?
She jumped, knocking into Tyler when a forklift beep-beeped right behind her, then rumbled past them across the packed dirt field. He caught her long enough to steady her, to slightly rattle her...to remind her of their conversation in the truck coming over. The thrust and parry of it, the gentle, comfortable teasing—which she’d never experienced with any guy, ever—interspersed with the occasional avoidance. As in, Tyler’s—
“You okay?” he asked, still gripping her shoulders.
Oh, my. “Sure.”
Not that either of them owed the other anything, of course. Whatever he chose to tell her, or not, was his business. They were only here to buy blocks. To build a fence. So his dog wouldn’t get loose anymore—
“So whaddya think of this one?”
Tyler had walked over to a display 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