The Path to You: A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers Romance Page 2

  I plant my hands on my hips. "I didn't come over here to get in your business. And I'd be more than happy to leave you alone given your deplorable attitude and acrimonious words."

  He laughs to himself as he grabs the wrench.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Why the big words? Trying to show off? Show that you're smarter than me?"

  "No! I just—" I take a breath. This guy is making me really angry, and it takes a lot to piss me off.

  "Just what?" he asks, cranking on something with the wrench. It makes the muscles in his arms move, which is annoyingly sexy. Is it possible to loathe someone and be turned on by them at the same time?

  "It's just that when I get mad I…" I'm too embarrassed to admit this. It's not really embarrassing but I know this guy will make fun of me for it so I'm choosing not to tell him.

  "You what?" He cocks his head, looking at me with those gorgeous green eyes, a slight grin on his face. His smile is just as sexy as the rest of him. Just once, I'd like to meet a hot guy who isn't an ass.

  "I'm not telling you," I say, folding my arms over my chest.

  "Then I guess I'll just go with my original assumption that you use big words to show off how smart you think you are." He turns back to the car and continues whatever it was he was doing.

  "I AM smart, but that's not why I use big words."

  "Then what's the reason?"

  I pause, still not wanting to tell him. Actually, I kind of already did but he didn't pick up on it. My eyes go to his head, which is still bleeding. It's not a lot of blood but it does need to be cleaned.

  "If I go get a clean towel, will you at least attempt to clean up your bleeding head?"

  "Don't need to. It's fine."

  I sigh. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. If you let me clean up your cut, I'll tell you why I use big words."

  He looks at me. "Why the hell are you so worried about my head?"

  "Just answer me. Do we have a deal or not?"

  "Fine," he mutters. "Whatever."

  "I'll be right back."

  Racing over to the house, I stop myself before going inside, knowing Grams will ask questions if I'm not walking in with a box. I can't tell her I was over at the neighbor's house. She'd scold me and then lecture me on all the reasons why I need to stay away from the evil boy next door with the tattoo.

  I never saw a tattoo on him. I wonder where it is and how Grams saw it but I didn't.

  Going back to my car, I get the box I left on the trunk. I walk in the house just as Grams is coming out of the kitchen.

  "Lunch is ready," she says with a smile.

  "I'll be there in a few minutes. I have to get something from the car."

  "You can get it later. Come and eat. You don't want the spaghetti to get cold."

  "It's just that it's really hot in my car and all my makeup's in there and I don't want it to melt."

  She sighs. "Then hurry up and get it so you can eat."

  "I will, but first I have to use the bathroom."

  She gives me a funny look. I hurry down the hall to the bathroom. I open the cabinet and find the towels. Every single one of them is pink. Who only has pink towels? I grab a hand towel and notice it has flowers embroidered on it. There's no way the neighbor guy's going to let this towel near his head but I have to at least try because it's my only option.

  By the time I get back over there, he's sitting at his workbench, doing something with some kind of part he took from under the hood of the car.

  He notices me from the side of his eye but doesn't turn his head to look at me. Instead he says, "Reason first."

  "What?" I ask, confused.

  "Give me the reason before you do whatever you're going to do to my head."

  "No way! I don't trust you to keep your end of the bargain."

  "And why is that?" He finally looks at me. "You don't think I'm trustworthy?"

  "I'm not sure. I just met you."

  "What does your gut tell you?"

  "I don't know. It's too soon to tell. I haven't been around you long enough." I glance out the garage, fearing Grams is going to show up any minute and scold me for being over here. "Can we just hurry and do this?"

  "Go ahead." He pulls out a drawer in his workbench and searches for something.

  I reach up to clean his head, then feel his hand grab my wrist. Our eyes meet and my heart races in my chest, either from shock that he grabbed me or from the fact that he's touching me. This guy really messes with me. He's got me annoyed, angered, and turned on all at once.

  "What are you doing?" I ask, trying to pull my wrist back.

  He keeps hold of it. "Reason first, head second."

  "I didn't agree to that."

  "Take it or leave it."

  "Fine." I yank my wrist out of his hand and quickly say, "When I get angry I use big words."

  He struggles to keep a straight face. "You what?"

  "You heard me the first time. I'm not saying it twice. Now turn around so I can fix your head."

  "Not yet." He folds his arms over his chest and smiles at me. "I'm trying to figure this out."

  "What's there to figure out?"

  "I've never met anyone who uses large words when they're pissed. Curse words, sure, but dictionary words? Spelling bee words?" He snickers. "Never heard that before."

  "Yeah, great, so anyway, can we move this along? I need to get back."

  "The old lady got you following a strict schedule?"

  "No, but she has lunch ready and it would be rude to make her wait. And for the record, she's my grandma, not the 'old lady'. Or you can call her by her name, which is Cora."

  "How about you? What's your name?"

  "Faith. And you?"

  "Tyler."

  I hear my grandma's voice calling out, "Faith? Are you out here?"

  "Shit." I wave my hand at Tyler. "Hurry up. Turn around."

  "Faith?" Grams yells.

  I get out my phone and call her landline number. She'll hear it and go back inside, answer the phone, find out nobody's there, then spend a few moments trying to figure out who might've called. By then, I'll be back over there.

  After a few rings I see her go back in the house. I put my phone away and go back to Tyler. "C'mon. Turn around."

  "You're not using that on my head." He points to the pink towel. "Where the hell you'd get that? A Barbie house?"

  "Who cares what color it is? It's clean. That's all that matters." Since he refuses to turn around, I walk around to the back of him and dab the towel over the dried blood.

  "It's cold," he says.

  "Yeah, well, I didn't have time to wait for the water to warm up before getting it wet. Deal with it."

  "You're a horrible nurse."

  "I'm not a nurse."

  "Good, because you'd be horrible at it."

  "Thanks," I say, rolling my eyes.

  The cut has stopped bleeding but cleaning it up has left the towel stained with blood. I can't bring it home looking like that.

  "I'm done." I hold out the towel to him. "Is there any way you'd consider washing this for me? If Grams sees it with blood on it, she'll freak out."

  He grabs the towel and tosses it in the open trash can in the corner.

  "I asked you to wash it, not throw it out."

  "Something that hideous belongs in the trash."

  I sigh. "Okay, well, I'll see ya later." I start to leave then hear him talking.

  "You never said why you came over here."

  I turn around. "Oh. Yeah. Your music is kinda loud. I was wondering if you could turn it down."

  He looks at the radio that's sitting on the tool bench, then looks back at me. "Sure. I could turn it down."

  "Really? My grandma said she asked but you wouldn't do it."

  "Because she didn't ask. She demanded, and then she called the cops."

  "She called the police weeks ago. You didn't even live here then."

  He smirks. "So you've been talking about me."

  "Sh
e mentioned that you'd just moved in. That's it. And she didn't call the police about the music. It was about the noise coming from the garage. Your grandpa was in here working and whatever tools he was using were loud."

  "Walter." Tyler stands up and goes over to the radio and turns it down.

  "That's your grandpa's name? Walter?"

  "Or Walt. He goes by either."

  "I'd love to meet him but I really need to get back to the house. I hope your head gets better."

  "I have faith that it will," he says with a hint of a smile.

  I smile back at his play on my name. "Bye, Tyler. Oh, and thanks for turning the music down."

  He just nods, a slight smile still on his face, those sexy eyes making my stomach flutter.

  I hurry back to the house. Grams is on the phone.

  "Betty, did you phone me just now?" She listens, shaking her head. "Must've been a wrong number." She nods. "Yes, Faith just arrived. We were just about to have lunch." She nods again. "You too. We'll talk on Monday. See you then." She hangs up the phone and says to me, "What took so long? I thought you were just getting a box."

  "I was. I mean, I did. And now I'm back." I smile. "Ready for lunch?"

  She eyes me. "You weren't talking to that horrid neighbor boy, were you?"

  "No. Of course not." I walk past her to the kitchen.

  She follows me in there. "I realize you're an adult now, Faith, but that doesn't mean you make the best decisions, especially when it comes to young men."

  She's referring to Tom, my former fiancé, a guy I dated for two years in college. We were supposed to get married the summer after graduation but I called it off when I found out he was dating a girl in another state that he'd met online. I couldn't figure out why he kept going out of town. He said it was to see friends but he never gave me any details about these friends and he never let me meet them.

  "Not every guy is like Tom," I say as I sit at the table.

  "Perhaps not, but I know for a fact that a boy like Tyler Hooster is not the type of boy you should be associating with." She pours me a glass of iced tea, then joins me at the table.

  "That's his last name? Hooster? What else do you know about him?"

  Her eyes go to mine. "Why do you ask?"

  I shrug. "No reason." I place my napkin on my lap. "I'm just making conversation."

  "Well, I would prefer a different topic," she says, emptying a sugar packet into her tea. "At least he turned down that incessant music."

  "See?" I smile at her. "Maybe he's not so bad after all."

  She huffs. "I've been around long enough to spot trouble, and believe me, that boy is trouble."

  He does seem like a bad boy but sometimes bad boys have a sweet side that's just waiting to come out. I might just have to get to know him to see if that's true.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Grams is knocking on my door at seven, a loud series of knocks that ends with, "Faith, are you up?"

  "Not really." I roll onto my back, yawning. "What do you need?"

  She opens the door and I realize I'll have zero privacy living here. My mom would always ask before coming in my room, but Grams just walks right in, her hair in curlers, a light blue housecoat on.

  "I thought we'd start cleaning out the cupboards this morning," she says with eagerness in her voice. She loves to clean and organize. Most people dread it but she finds it exhilarating.

  "Grams, we have two years here. Can't we clean the cupboards out some other time?"

  "We could, but why wait? Now is the perfect time. You're not in school yet and this will be a fun activity we can do together."

  It's not exactly my idea of fun but I agree to it and force myself out of bed.

  "I thought by now you would've already been through everything," I say, yawning, as I go to the dresser to find some clothes.

  "I spent my time getting the yard in shape. You should go see the flower gardens out back. I forgot to take you out there when you arrived yesterday. I also have a few vegetable plants, although they didn't take off like I'd hoped they would." She walks over to the window and throws open the drapes. "I don't know how he does it." She crosses her arms as she stares out the window.

  "Does what?" I ask, grabbing a tank top and pair of shorts from the drawer. "Who are you talking about?"

  "Walter. The man next door. How can someone with such a petulant demeanor create such beauty?"

  "What do you mean?" I meet her by the window, stunned by what I'm seeing. "Wow. That's amazing."

  The neighbor's back yard is nothing but flowers. No grass. Just rows and rows of beautiful flowers with crushed rock pathways in between. Red and pink roses line the center rows and beyond that are flowers I don't know the names of but they're all different colors and they're absolutely beautiful. It's like something you'd see in a public garden or a botanical center, not someone's yard.

  "The flowers are nice," Grams reluctantly admits, "but he doesn't keep them up. Look at all the weeds. It's a mess. It's just like he keeps his house. There's no order. No cleanliness."

  "He's a bachelor. He probably doesn't care."

  "Which is yet another reason why I don't like that man. A grown man should keep his house in order, with or without a woman present."

  "I think you're being too hard on him. Not everyone's a neat freak."

  "I'm not a neat freak. I simply like cleanliness and order. There's nothing wrong with that."

  I unlock the window and yank it open.

  "Faith, the air conditioner is on!" Grams scolds.

  "I just have to see if I can smell them." I put my face out the window. It's a windy day and the flowery scent is being carried through the breeze. "Grams, come here. You have to smell this."

  "Faith, you're not going to smell them from way up here."

  "You can! Take a sniff.”

  Grams pokes her head out the window just long enough to sniff the air.

  "Well," she says, sounding surprised. "Isn't that something? I wouldn't have thought the scent would carry like that."

  I gaze out at the flowers. Even with the weeds, they're really beautiful. "Did Walter plant all those? Or did he hire someone?"

  "He did it himself. He made the garden for his wife. She passed away a couple years ago."

  "That's really sweet. He can't be that bad of a guy if he does something that nice for his wife."

  "I never said he was a bad person," she says, gazing out at the flowers. "He's just inconsiderate regarding the noise."

  "He can't really help it if his tools make noise," I point out.

  "He could limit their use to within reasonable hours. Sometimes he's out there at six in the morning, hacking away with his clippers, talking to himself, playing his music. And the music volume is something he CAN control."

  "What kind of music is it?"

  She huffs. "Rock 'n roll music from the Fifties. Even when I was a teenager I didn't like that kind of music."

  "What if it was music you liked? Then would it bother you?"

  She walks away. "Honestly, Faith, I don't know how you get us off on these tangents. We need to focus on the task at hand, which is to clean up this house and get it in good enough shape to live in and then sell. Hurry up and get dressed. We need to get to work and stop talking about Walter and his flowers and his ridiculous rock 'n roll music." She hurries out of my room.

  That was odd. Usually if she doesn't like someone she's more than happy to continue complaining about them, but when I mentioned Walter she ended the conversation and raced out of the room.

  Looking out the window, I see Tyler pulling the lawn mower out of the storage shed that's behind the gardens. He's shirtless again. Does the guy not own any shirts? Not that I mind. I like seeing his bare chest. In fact, I might just stand here a moment and watch his muscles flex as he works.

  My phone rings. I see it’s Jules and answer it, my eyes still on Tyler.

  “Hey, Jules.”

  "Hey, how's life in Indiana?" br />
  "Good."

  "I don't know how you can live out in the country like that. I'd be so bored."

  "There's stuff to do in town. I just have to drive there."

  As she continues to talk my eyes fix on Tyler as he struggles to start the mower. With each pull, his arm muscles flex, along with his back muscles. The man is all muscle.

  "Faith? You still there?"

  "Yeah. So what are you up to today?"

  "I'm getting my hair colored. I just told you that. Weren't you listening?"

  "Sorry, I guess I was distracted."

  "By what? What's going on?"

  "The neighbor. He's trying to start his mower and it's kind of loud."

  "Is this the old guy your grandma hates?"

  "No, it's his grandson."

  "How old is he?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe 25?"

  "Is he hot?"

  He got the mower started and is going over the grass that lines the side of the house. I can see his face, and to answer Jules' question, yes, he's definitely hot.

  "He's okay," I say, nonchalantly.

  "Meaning he's hot."

  "I said he's okay."

  "But you said it in that tone you use when you don't want to admit how hot you are for a guy because you think you have no chance with him."

  "I don't have a tone. And that's not what I meant when I said he's okay."

  "It's totally what you meant. We've been friends forever. I know you better than you know yourself. Now tell me the truth. How hot is he?"

  I smile as I continue to watch him. "Like fitness model hot."

  "Like with bulging biceps and veins popping out?"

  "No. Not like that. He's just muscular like he works out a lot, but not too much. And he's got these gorgeous green eyes and dark hair and he's tall."

  "How'd you see his eyes? Did you go over and talk to him?"

  "Yeah. Yesterday, while Grams was on the phone. If she found out I went over there, I'd never hear the end of it. She told me to stay away from him. She thinks he's dangerous because he has a tattoo."

  "Dangerous?" Jules laughs. "Does she not realize how many people have tattoos these days?"

  "She didn't actually say he was dangerous, but she implied it and told me not to go over there."