The Hidden Legacy

off and finally swiveled to face him. “Talk,” I said.
“I only want to say this once,” he began, and quicker than I could react, he looped his finger through the wire to my remaining earbud and tugged it out.
I batted his hand away. “Hands off.”
His mouth kicked up. “Wanted to make sure you could hear me.”
I shoved the safety glasses on top my head. “You are, without a doubt, the rudest man I have ever met.”
“Listen darlin’—”
“In my entire life,” I spoke right over him.
His brows lowered. “You gonna let me apologize, or keep interrupting?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.
“Edmund spoke to me last night.” He took his sunglasses off and set them on an open space on my workbench. “He told me about your boy’s father.”
I tipped my head over to the side, but said nothing.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I also wanted to apologize. I jumped to the wrong conclusions about your relationship with Edmund. He explained that you’ve been friends since you were kids.”
You’re not the first—” I stopped myself from saying idiot, and changed the word at the last second, “person to assume that. Some people simply can’t wrap their mind around a man and woman being friends...but let me make something clear, Mr. Walker. Edmund and I are more than friends. We’re family.”
He nodded. “Understood.”
I silently counted to ten, as he continued to just stand there. Finally, I’d had enough. “Well this has been lovely, but I have to get back to work.” I gestured towards the open garage door. “There’s the door Mr. Walker. I’m sure you can find your way out.” I pulled the safety glasses back down and turned my back in dismissal.
Instead of leaving, he stepped closer and considered the stacks of recently sanded boards on the workbench. “What are you doing in here, anyway?”
“Baking cupcakes,” I snarked, picking up the circular saw from the bench.
“You’re going to hurt yourself with that,” he said.
I was sorely tempted to pull the trigger on the saw for a second, so it would come on with a loud grind. But considering that he was armed, that might not be my smartest move. Instead, I unplugged the saw and wound up the cord. “Trust me, I know how to handle power tools.” I said through my teeth.
“Did you cut all these boards up yourself?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
I rolled my eyes at the chauvinist question. “Of course.”
He scanned the sander, and drill press, and finally seemed to put all the pieces together. “You’re actually doing woodworking?”
I flared my eyes wide at him. “Wow, with that level of deductive ability, the local criminals should be shaking in their shoes! I mean honestly, what was your first clue? The boards, the sander I was using, or the sawdust I’m currently covered in?”
“Guess you told me.” He snorted out a laugh and he smiled. A real smile, and when he did...it changed everything about him.
It must have been some sort of magick, but the smile made the casual clothes seem charmingly scruffy—as opposed to messy. The smile added some appeal to those roguish green eyes, and I felt a little twitch in my belly in reaction.
And that annoyed the hell out of me.
“Okay, so you apologized,” I said, ungraciously. “Now go. I have work to do.”
“Maybe I’m curious, it’s not every day you meet a woman who can handle power tools.”
“Do you mean to be sexist or can you simply not help yourself?” I sputtered.
“Most women I know appreciate a compliment.”
“I imagine the ones you know, do. However, I’ve yet to hear one from you.”
“Are you fishing for a compliment, darlin’?”
“Is this your version of Southern charm?” I asked.
“Is it working?” he asked cheerfully.
“No,” I told him. “It most definitely is not.” That slow drawl was getting on my last good nerve, and yet, I struggled not to smile.
Unfazed, he started poking around the garage. “So is this woodworking a hobby or something? What are you making?”
“I’m making signs. Decorative signs,” I explained. “I sell them at my parent’s shop and online.”
“You got any finished ones in here?”
“Yes, I do,” I said, pointing to the area where I stored the finished signs.
With that he walked over to the opposite side of the garage where the boxes of signs were stacked together and waiting to be shipped out. He made himself at home and starting rooting through them.
“I like this one.” He held up a pirate themed sign.
“I can’t tell you how much your approval means to me.” I tucked my ear buds back in and hit play. I plugged in the shop-vac and turned it on, cleaning up the saw dust from my work table and bench. I took my time, even though it was miserably hot in the garage, and I fully expected him to be gone by the time I finished cleaning up.
It was probably not my best move, being so rude to the man...Considering that I had to work with him. Sure he had tried to apologize, but he’d barged into my workshop, asking all sorts of stupid questions...Then he had to go all Southern charm, and smile at me, and the fact that I’d reacted to it…that really pissed me off more than anything else.
My mind went back and forth, and by the time I finished with the shop-vac, I was relieved to find that he’d left.
Cleanup finished, I clicked off the fan and headed out on the back patio. Everyone was out for the day, and I eyeballed the garden hose. I was miserably hot, itchy, and the idea of trailing all that sawdust into the apartment didn’t appeal to me. I kicked off my shoes, took off my iPod, rolled up the cords to the earbuds and tucked them inside one of my shoes.
Barefoot, I jogged over to the faucet, turned on the water, and carried the hose across the grass. I waited a few moments for the cold water to run through the hose. I tested