Snowed In by Rachel Hawthorne Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    67
    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