Know Your Heart: A New Zealand Enemies to Lovers Romance (Far North Series Book 2) (17 page)

Sav shook her head. “It’s not your job to give someone happiness—it’s not
anyone’s
job to
make
another person happy. Your only job was to love her, and you did, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Agreed.” The grim line of his mouth told her more than his words did.

Glen thought
he
wasn’t enough.

Sav’s heart ached for how wrong he was. He was more than enough for any woman lucky enough to earn his love.

“And now you understand why I’m still single.” He cranked open his door. “Let’s go shopping.”

Right
. Now wasn’t the time to get sappy when clearly he was done talking. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Lauren says Vee stocks some guy stuff, as well. I’ll buy Tom a decent fleece to wear while he’s up. He’ll probably try to sell the one you’re wearing online to the highest bidder.”

Sav smiled to show she accepted Glen’s abrupt subject change. “The least I can do is buy you lunch afterwards—on Nate’s dollar.”

“Sound’s good to me,” he said. “I hear there’s a fancy restaurant in town.”

***

Glen swung his dwarven sword and slaughtered the dragon.
Yessss
!

He took his hand off the controller and offered it to one-year-old Ruby seated next to him on the couch. She gave him a sloppy high-five and crowed something that sounded like “fuggle”, then shrieked. Her little blue sneakers kicked his thigh as she clutched her controller—one that wasn’t connected to the TV set in the corner of her mother’s shop.

Lauren’s friend, Vee, Ruby’s mum, hurried over from the dressing room where Savannah tried on yet another outfit. She paused by the
Husband Day Care
sign propped up against the game console. “Are you sure she’s okay with you?”

“She’s cool. We’re having fun, aren’t we Ruby?”

“Boobie.” Ruby smiled, exposing two tiny top teeth, two tiny bottom teeth.

She held up the controller and rattled off a number of words to her mother that sounded like a dialect of Swahili.

“See? Fun.”

Glen slid a glance to the back of the shop. One of the dressing room doors swung open, and Savannah emerged in a pair of multi-pocketed khaki pants rolled up at the bottom and a tee shirt with
Vee’s Closet
screen-printed on the front.

Savannah’s gaze locked on to his like a heat-seeking missile, the first time since they’d entered the shop. Every now and then—okay, often—he’d glanced up from the screen to catch a glimpse of her in a new outfit as she’d examined her reflection in front of the full-length mirror. He’d always snatched his gaze away before she caught him looking.

He wasn’t her boyfriend, or significant other, or her anything. She wouldn’t want his opinion on what she chose to buy.

“Last one.” Savannah struck a pose, hand on hip, shoulders back, oozing attitude. “Yes, a possibility, or do the pockets make my butt look like Godzilla’s?”

The tee shirt skimmed over her breasts—sadly now restrained with one of the bras Sav picked up at the department store—and finished just above the webbing belt that emphasized her hips. Only a little of her tanned calf was revealed below the rolled hem of the pants, but somehow that was sexier than her cut-off jeans. Those Victorian guys were onto something. Who would believe a woman in utility pants could turn his blood to lava?

Vee remained silent. Beside him, Ruby jabbed random buttons on her controller. Glen’s gaze flicked from her to Vee, and finally Savannah. “You’re asking me?”

Oh, hell no
. There was a reason comedians poked fun at men getting their asses chewed for this sort of stuff. It was one of life’s little clichés, but a lot of the time, there was more than a grain of truth in it. Take Tom’s little run-in with his aunty…

“I’m asking both of you.” Savannah did the head toss thing, her hair spilling over her shoulders. “I’m getting into character. Twenty-one-year-old Charlotte is about to do the school drop-off with little Amy, who’s running late because Muffin the snooty Persian shredded her homework. Does it work?”

Glen opened his mouth. Closed it again when his brain censored his original thought of:
Lemme get my hands on that sweet bod
…Yeah, the outfit worked. Just not in the way she meant. What the hell was wrong with him, panting over utility pants on a woman?

Maybe because he could picture Sav in this outfit for real. The two of them at a lazy Sunday brunch where they’d feed each other bits of smoked salmon and bacon, where afterward, they’d wrap their arms around each other’s waists and stroll along Bounty Bay’s beach. She’d lean her head on his shoulder and murmur something seductive while sea birds whirled above their heads. He’d laugh, promising to take her up on it once they got back to their unmade bed, which they’d made love in that morning.

A fantasy. As much based in reality as the plot of Savannah’s L.A. sitcom.

His fingers gripped the controller hard enough to snap it in two. “Looks fine. My younger sister Grace is only a few years older, and she’d wear that.” Glen kept his tone as level as possible, with just the right hint of boredom so she wouldn’t guess the crazy path his mind had momentarily taken.

Savannah smoothed her hands down the shirt and gave a little nod, her gaze sliding away from his. “Right. Add these to my tab, Vee, and I’ll keep them on, if that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Vee stroked Ruby’s dark curls and then walked to the small shop counter. “I’ll ring up the rest of the stuff and the fleece Glen picked out for his nephew.”

“Add one of your
Vee
shirts in black to that bag. I’ll pay.” Savannah tossed over her shoulder as she disappeared into the dressing room.

It shouldn’t give him the warm fuzzies that Savannah was buying a gift for Tom. It shouldn’t, but it did.

Talking to her about Tina reminded him of the chains he’d wrapped his heart in when he’d discovered his fiancée’s true motives. She’d never made much effort to conceal her dislike of his boisterous nephews—Reece, the youngest at the time, had once spilled blackcurrant juice on her at a family lunch. But Glen told himself she’d be different with their kids. Only Tina never planned to have any.

“
Key
.”

Glen snapped out of yet another daydream and glanced down. Ruby stood in front of him, rattling a set of brightly colored plastic keys under his nose. Her little hand gripped his knee as she leaned forward, and bright blue eyes focused like a laser on his face.

He mustered up a smile. “That’s right, Ruby. Key. What do they open?”

Ruby dropped the keys into his lap and toddled over to the basket of toys, retrieving a chunky plastic car. She brought the toy to him, jabbing her little finger at the car’s trunk, which had a square-shaped keyhole. Glen held out the key-ring to her, and she selected a key with a circular head. The little girl tried to get the round key into the square hole, her forehead creasing with frustration.

Ruby snatched the keys out of his hand and held them out to his other side. “
Key
.”

Savannah stood beside the couch.

“You want me to open it, sweetie?”

She perched on the couch arm next to him, and he passed the toy car over, the faintest brush of her fingers sending fire racing down his spine. She caught his stare and smiled guiltily.

“I should probably let her figure it out by herself.”

“Key!” Ruby insisted.

So Savannah slotted the square key into the square lock and turned, the car trunk popping open with a loud click.

“There.” She held the car out to Ruby. “All the keys are different. You just needed the right one.”

Writers had a bad habit of seeing symbolism and metaphor in any little thing. Nature, music, art, a fleeting phrase…the simple act of unlocking a child’s toy.

Glen kept his hands loose and relaxed in his lap as Savannah helped the little girl use the rest of the keys to unlock the car’s other doors. He wondered, in a symbolic metaphorical way, if the chains around his heart made the same loud click now that Savannah had unknowingly unlocked them.

Chapter 9

“She could’ve had my room.”

Tom sidled up to Glen as he sat sipping a beer on the deck, laptop in front of him.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the fold-out couch,” Tom added.

Glen replaced the bottle on the table and glanced back at the screen. Only a thousand new words written since he’d dropped Sav off at Nate’s that afternoon.

Distraction, thy name is woman.

He’d kept his lips zipped shut when Sav mentioned staying in Lauren’s workshop tonight on the futon Nate had slept on before he’d weaseled his way into Lauren’s bed. Even with his lips locked, Glen had still nearly blurted out an invitation to stay in his house.

In his bed.

Tom slumped into the second deck chair, his knee jittering up and down. The vibrations set Glen’s teeth on edge. Who said teenagers were easier houseguests than toddlers? At least a toddler could be entertained with cartoons and took afternoon naps. A teenage nephew, on the other hand, remained sullen and moody until right when his uncle was in the middle of a scene…then he got chatty.

“She wanted to go back to her cousin’s.”

“I didn’t get to thank her for the shirt.” Tom folded his arms and gave Glen the hairy eyeball.

Mister Manners emerging from the kid who’d grunted at Glen when he’d passed over the bag with new non-orange fleece inside.

“And for accidentally losing my sweatshirt in a public trash can.” Tom relented with a small smile. “She’s okay.”

High praise
. “You’ll see her tomorrow; you can thank her then.”

“Yeah.”

The kid went silent, staring at the sun setting though the puffy orange-tinted clouds lining the horizon. Glen returned his attention to the page and his characters, who were gearing up for the biggest battle of their lives.

“She should’ve stayed here, not at Nate’s. It’s her house.”

And…deep breath then count to five.

“It’s my house while I’m paying the rent. I explained that.”

“The tree falling on her caravan was a pretty wicked circumstance—an act of God. You could negotiate.”

“Jeez, Tom, anyone would think your dad’s a lawyer.”

Tom snorted and served up an epic eye roll. “Just saying.”

“Haven’t you got some studying to do?”

“Now you sound like both my olds. Study, study, and don’t forget to study.” Tom got to his feet. “I’m going to my room.”

Glen didn’t need to be a Teenager Whisperer to figure out what the kid really needed. “Tom?”

His nephew paused at the sliding door and looked back over a rigidly held shoulder.

“Give me an hour to wrap up this scene, then we’ll play a few hands of poker while we wait for the chicken to roast.”

The lines creasing Tom’s brow smoothed and he grinned, looking so much like Jamie at the same age that Glen’s gut clenched. He hadn’t seen his big brother smile in months.

“You’re on. Prepare to have your wallet cleaned out.”

***

Savannah had three choices since Daisy was a gone-burger. Auckland—back to party-hard friends and the cameras ready to send her candid jogging photos viral. Nate’s—because being near Nate and Lauren was like wrapping her dented spirit in a snuggly blanket. Or the Sea Mist Resort.

Savannah rolled up her borrowed yoga mat and took a long draw on her water bottle.

Three sharp bangs rang out on the workshop door, followed by a deep
whuff
—Savannah could guess who her visitors were.

“Aunty Sav! Are you awake?”

“Coming.” Savannah crossed the concrete floor and opened the door.

Drew held out a plump, deliciously scented muffin. Her nose twitched, catching the delicate sweetness of baked peaches.

“I bringed you a muffin,” he said.

Beside him, Java licked his chops and cast wistful glances at the boy’s hand.

“Mummy made them this morning, and I stole one to give to you.” He giggled. “Here.”

Other than letting it drop to the ground where the giant Rottweiler would be on it in a flash, Savannah had no choice but to take it.
Ah, hell. It’s still warm.

“You could come upstairs,” he said. “Spongebob’s on, and we could watch it while you eat.”

Sav glanced over her shoulder to the futon, made up with Lauren’s spare linen. A little ache in her belly reminded her of Daisy’s cozy if not overly comfortable bed, and the little ache spread into a dangerous warmth when her memory shifted to being in Glen’s bed, his big body wrapped around hers.

But he hadn’t even hinted that he’d like her to stay on the drive back from Bounty Bay. So, the Sea Mist it was.

“I’d love to.
Spongebob
and
Patrick
are cool, but
Squidward’s
my favorite.” Sav stepped outside and patted Java’s block-shaped head, keeping the muffin out of his reach.

Nate waited for her in the kitchen, mug of tea in hand. “Spill. What’s the next phase of your evil plan.”

Drew disappeared through the brick archway to turn on the TV.

Sav sniffed the fragrant warmth rising from the cup. “No evil plan. I’ll be heading to the Sea Mist for a few weeks.”

Nate’s brow crumpled. “Weren’t you supposed to be helping Tom and vice versa?” He added a mock glare. “Since you laughed at my mad acting skills after we read your script through the first time.”

“I’m not sure if that’ll work out. Where would we rehearse?”

“Clear the old barn; there’s plenty of room.”

“Huh.” The barn
was
big and airy inside. When she felt a little cabin fever alone at the Sea Mist, she’d drive up and spend a few hours rehearsing and helping Tom.

“And you could stay with us, you know.” Nate grinned and snatched the muffin out of her hand. “We’d love having you close by.”

But baking was Lauren’s thing. Muffins, brownies, cookies… A quick mental calculation of potential calorie intake versus pounds lost so far, then a comparison to her total lack of willpower and a sweet tooth, led Sav to a simple conclusion. Much as she loved her cousin and his new family, staying with them was a sucky idea.

“Thanks, but I’m looking forward to my little luxuries at the Sea Mist.” Since she couldn’t have her own spa bath and a writer-in-residence eye candy, then the resort was second best.

“But you’re right about the barn. It’ll be perfect once I give it a spring clean.”

***

Two hours later, Nate dropped her and two armfuls of cleaning equipment off at her place, promising to return after lunch to help.

The house was silent, the drapes still pulled in the office where Tom slept—no surprises there, since she’d once been a teenager. Giving the tree-damaged Daisy a wide berth, Sav followed the overgrown track past the caravan to the barn’s double wooden doors.

She put down the bucket, loaded with cleaning products and a couple of scrubbing brushes, leaned the broom and mop against the wall, and unlatched the door.

Sunlight slanted through the row of high windows, dimmed by thick spider webs spanning them. Nate had told her he’d already removed forty years of collected tools, broken down machines, and hoarded crap. Clumps of dirt and debris left behind after the workmen’s junk removal covered the concrete floor, and furtive scurrying from the shadowy back corner indicated she trespassed in some sort of rodent’s home.

Nice
. She’d leave both doors wide open, and hopefully Ratty or Mousy and their furry family would make a quiet exit.

Sav located the grime-covered light switch beside the door, but only two of the three bare bulbs dangling from the high ceiling worked. She ducked outside to retrieve her supplies.

She could do this.

She was many things, some of them not flattering, but she wasn’t a
diva
—she could cope with getting her hands dirty.

Sav marched over to the tiny, built-in cubicle in the far corner that Nate mentioned contained a toilet. She pried open the door, stiff from disuse, and died.

Just. Died.

There was filthy, then there was
filthy
.

At least she’d found the rodents’ love nest.

Sav glanced back at her broom, at the stacked-up bottles of cleaner, at the scrubbing brush.

With a sigh, she got to work.

***

When the words flowed, they came in a bloody deluge.

On the couch, computer on his lap, fingers flying over the keyboard, Tom still asleep so silence reigned…Glen was in heaven. Nate’s Range Rover had pulled up thirty minutes ago, and Glen’d had a flicker of awareness, a shimmering over the skin that told him Savannah was close by, but he’d ignored it.

He’d figure out what the hell to do with her after he’d gotten another couple thousand words down.

Because he was in the zone, baby.

The zone where his warlock was beating the snot out of Mathik, a childhood friend who’d betrayed him to their enemies. Blood brothers going head to head, with Mathik about to draw out a dagger and turn a brawl deadly serious. Glen typed faster. He was flying through the scene, he was—

A shriek worthy of a movie’s teenage scream-queen split the morning air.

It felt like a fist had rammed a jagged iceberg down his throat and into his stomach.

With speed Mathik would envy, Glen threw his still-open laptop onto the couch and bolted from the room, yelling Savannah’s name as he ran out of the house. The screams continued from the direction of the old barn.

Shit—was she hurt? Had the building collapsed?

Glen sprinted past the caravan, his leg muscles trembling as an overdose of adrenaline hit his system. Small rocks stabbed into his bare feet as he ran along the short path. The lights were on inside the barn, the doors wide open. His frantic gaze scanned the dim interior as he blasted through the barn entrance.

“
Savannah
!”

He spotted her at the far end, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes wide and shiny. She ran, skidding to a halt in front of him. Before he could check for injuries or ask what the hell happened, she spun around.

“Get it off me!”

Her hands flailed around, and she jumped from foot to foot in a crazy dance complete with booty shaking.

Caught between leftover fear, fuzzy confusion, and the ever-present and unwelcome twinge of arousal, Glen couldn’t form a coherent response.

“What?” he managed, raking his gaze down her grime-smeared shirt and jeans.

No bloodstains, good. No bone shards protruding anywhere, also good.

“Spider. A freaking spider fell on me—getitoffgetitoff.”

“A
spider
?”

He’d thought by the volume of that scream she’d at the very least lost a limb. But because he wasn’t a complete asshole, he laid a hand on her shoulder and added, “Hold still. I’ll find it.”

She immediately quit dancing and stilled. He scanned her back—there. Some sort of garden spider, and a decent-sized one, too, hitching a ride in the tangled strands of her hair. His nose scrunched up—he wasn’t overly fond of the eight-legged bastards, but for Sav…

Glen combed his fingers through her hair, dragged out the spider and flicked it onto the floor. “Got it.”

She whirled then choked out a breathy squeak. “Holy mother of God, it’s huge!” Sav darted behind him and gave him a shove. “Kill it! Stomp on it!”

The spider, likely irritated by all the jiggling and death threats, reared a couple of its brown legs off the concrete.

Glen ducked to the side before Sav gave him another push in the pissed off arachnid’s direction. “Hell no, not with bare feet.”

Her lips quivered into a smile. “Pussy.”

An insult both unexpected and slightly arousing, it caused a burst of laughter to explode out of him. “You’re calling me a pussy? Considering I thought you’d had a run in with an axe murderer, that’s rich.”

She edged closer to him and stabbed a finger at the spider, who must’ve decided they were both pussies and high-stepped it away from them.

“It was a bloody gigantic spider, and it dropped onto me while I was clearing cobwebs from the windows.”

“It didn’t bite you?”

Glen scanned through his knowledge of New Zealand’s eight-legged inhabitants. The country only had one venomous spider, and he was pretty sure that butt-ugly brown thing wasn’t it.

She shook her head then ran a shaky hand over her hair, ripples of disgust still twitching across her shoulders. “It’s a wonder it didn’t, but no. God.”

“I’ll check again.”

He turned her away from him, positioning her under the pathetic glow of one of the bulbs. Smoothing his hands over her hair, he searched, feeling a little like a chimp grooming his mate. The thought would’ve made him smile, if not for the continuing shudders running through Savannah’s body.