Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IVY

C.J. is onto something with her theory about the weather turning kids into little gremlins. The wind was gusty and unrelenting this morning, and my kids were bonkers. The silence in my car is a stark contrast to the deafening chaos of my classroom today. I had my “weather contingencies” in place, but the kids walked in wild and ready to flip tables.

If only I had a water heater that worked, I could end my day with a nice soak in a hot bath and go to bed with relaxed muscles. Not to mention, it’s freaking hair wash day tomorrow.

“Ugh,” I groan aloud. I forgot to mention the broken water heater to Ethan when he made his fixit list the other day. I’m sure he’d have used it for more ammunition for his argument that I shouldn’t be living here.

I near my driveway and release a whimper at the sight of Ethan’s truck parked on the road. What in Sally Field’s hair is he doing here?

Holy cow, I’m in a forced-proximity trope! Except the forced bit seems almost voluntary lately, which only makes this all the more confusing. At first, I thought Ethan and I were on the same page about sucking it up and riding this thing out for the sake of Colton and Ember. It felt like we’d made an unspoken agreement to get the renovations and wedding planning over with so we can return to mutual annoyance at best. But I think I may have legitimately upset him yesterday. I hate this ugly sting of regret. Why is he suddenly acting so broody when all we’ve ever done is insult one another? Our dynamic has been the same since we met, and I don’t remember either of us inviting feelings into this agreement. He’s supposed to help me fix the house to relieve some of his future sister-in-law’s stress, and all I have to do is accept his help and put up with his grumpy disposition—absolutely no feelings necessary.

I put my car in park and release a long exhale before quickly applying some tinted lip balm, then I cringe internally when I catch myself checking my appearance in the mirror.

Why are you prettying yourself, ma’am?

But I’m not making myself look cute. This is self-care. Because my lips were dry. I remind myself of the very clear roles I just reestablished for Ethan and me.

My hand smooths over the pastel-pink bow in my hair as I take a fortifying breath. With a sense of renewed determination, I haul my giant teacher’s bag over my shoulder and approach the house. The front door is closed, but I can see Ethan through the screen as I climb the steps. I trip on the last one, cursing my stupid heels.

I’d usually remove my shoes the moment I step inside, fearing I’ll end up with Barbie-like calf muscles from never walking flat-footed. But today, I’m temporarily distracted by the man in my home—the tall, sweaty, muscular man. Oh my.

Someone pass me a hand fan, because my cheeks are feeling rather flushed. Maybe I’m getting a cold, because it certainly can’t be Ethan King giving me the cold sweats, can it?

I watch as he crosses out the top line of the giant list on the wall, and I get stuck in a trance after staring at his back muscles for too long. His cap is on backward, and he sticks a strange-looking pencil behind his ear as he turns to face me.

My eyes dart over to inspect his masculine handwriting in an attempt to avoid getting caught ogling his rugged forearms. A wave of emotion hits me as I read the list, like a weight is lifted just knowing I’m not doing this alone. And the points he’s already checked off make this seem a little more doable.

Fix it List:

Check roof for water damage

Replace door locks

Replace ceiling board

Check integrity of deck boards

Pull out carpets

Sand and varnish floors

New cabinets + fixtures

Replace ceiling fans

Repair holes in walls

Paint walls

“How did you get in here?”

A smirk spreads across his lightly bearded face before he turns and taps his pencil on the second crossed-out item on the wall. Then he folds his arms, like he’s bracing for an argument.

“Those locks were crap, Marsh. It was a safety hazard.”

“You sure are a stickler for safety ,” I add with air quotes. Although it’s actually kind of sweet, I’m still annoyed he changed my locks without asking. And since I already told him the money from Gran’s lawyer won’t get transferred into my bank account for a few more days, he’s apparently used his own money.

He turns again, showing off that chiseled back and mumbling under his breath.

“And it looks like you’ve got your grumpy pants on again,” I remark as I pass him, stomping to the smaller bedroom I’ve been sleeping in. I figured I’d finish remodeling the master suite before moving my things in there.

Again, I decide to keep my shoes on, because the thought of losing the two and a half inches that they add to my height feels too vulnerable right now. I know they’re that high because the length of my thumb, from knuckle to tip, is exactly one inch. I prefer measuring with thumbs and hands. Measuring tapes are not my friend; all of those tiny lines between each inch drive me crazy.

In fact, I almost refused the measuring tape Ethan handed me last week. Thankfully, he only needed an estimate for the ceiling boards, so it was easy enough to read the nearest big number.

Stepping out of my room barefoot and two-and-a-half inches shorter would feel like walking out completely naked, not to mention highlight the fact that he literally has to talk down to me.

I stall in my room, putting away my laundry and straightening my half-made bed. I release a heavy exhale once I run out of tasks before ambling back to the living area.

Ethan is returning things to his tool box when I shuffle closer, and this situation we’ve found ourselves in starts feeling even more awkward. We’re the poster kids for things that don’t mix. Yet, he’s here—probably begrudgingly—as a favor to his brother and my best friend. The selflessness of his actions, him giving his time to help someone he clearly despises, is the one redeeming quality of Ethan’s I’ve been able to acknowledge. Because I refuse to appreciate any of his physical attributes. Admitting that I like the way he looks would be like handing out an honorary doctorate to a celebrity as a reward for doing nothing more than showing an interest in something.

Ethan doesn’t get a nice guy pass just because he’s hot. There, I said it. Moving on.

“Good news,” he turns to fold those big arms. “There’s no water damage in the roof. I’ll replace the ceiling boards next time I come by.”

Looking uncharacteristically sheepish, he glances to the side while unclipping something from his belt.

Oh no . It’s the freaking measuring tape again. I gulp, peering up at him while his mouth lifts with half a grin.

He steps closer, placing the tape in my hands as my heartbeat starts thumping in my ears. I don’t have the energy to fake this right now.

“Relax,” he gently reassures me. “Open it.”

My eyes fall to my hands, and I turn it over, pulling out the tape that’s like a mocking tongue.

But instead of only finding those tiny lines between each inch, I notice a small fraction written above each stroke. My forehead scrunches as I take in the numbers.

Ethan’s raspy voice comes out with quiet tension. “It’s a fraction tape measure.”

When I lift my head, I find his eyes bouncing between mine, searching for my approval. It’s the second show of vulnerability I’ve seen from him. The first was his reaction to all of my digs about him being a TV star.

Dame Judy Dench ! One more mark in his favor.

I’m wincing inwardly, because this gift is both thoughtful and incredibly intuitive. My own parents still haven’t recognized what he’s apparently figured out in a handful of encounters.

“Thank you.” The words come out scratchy. “I didn’t know something like this existed.”

He palms the back of his neck, eyes soft as he peers at me. “You’re welcome. I didn’t want to overstep. But I hope it’s helpful.”

This moment feels significant, like maybe we could start over with less animosity towards each other. “Ethan, I?—”

I jump back at the knock on my door.

“Open up, lover! It’s time to get smoochy!”

My eyes pinch closed.

Crud.

I forgot that Toby is picking me up for a movie to stage more fake-dating photos. This is going to be even more awkward than the time I asked my Uber driver about his favorite outdoor activities and he said ‘hunting,’ but I misheard it as ‘humping.’

I force my eyes open and find myself faced with a stormy look in Ethan’s. What’s got his undies in a twist this time? “That’s?—”

“Toby,” he grunts out and steps back.

My lips roll in, and I take a fortifying breath before pulling the door open.

“Hey, Bee. Ethan’s here.” I bug my eyes at Toby, trying to communicate that our ruse begins now.

“Oh. Hey, man.” Toby offers his hand, and Ethan pauses, pushing his bottom lip over his teeth before he finally shakes Toby’s hand.

Part of me wants to fake being sick so I can run and hide under my blanket, but I’ve created this mess. I’ve got to see it through.

Toby sidles closer and drapes an arm around me, then he awkwardly repositions himself like I have a skin disease he’s concerned about contracting.

Toby had thrown his arm around me before when he met Ethan in my classroom. But this moment feels different. We’re both acutely aware of the need to act like this is something we do all the time.

And now we’re staring at Ethan with forced smiles, the silence almost painful as we attempt to wordlessly convey the proof of our counterfeit romance.

Ethan’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit, landing on the points of contact between Toby and me.

“Well, we’d better be on our way. Ethan, I’m sorry to leave like this...Actually, scratch that, since this is my house and I didn’t know you’d be here…but thank you for all this.” I gesture awkwardly toward the ceiling as I slowly step back toward the front door. Then I begin swaying my arms and clapping my hands, as if it’ll help me look cooler. Just a totally normal interaction between adult acquaintances, right?

“Toby, shall we?” My eyes shift to the door with another quick finger point. Yes, I’m a coward.

Ethan’s expression somehow grows even broodier, and a slight growl resonates in his throat before he reaches into his back pocket.

“Here’s your new key, Marsh. I’ve gotta take some things to my truck.” He glowers as he picks up his toolbox. “I’ll use the spare to lock up.”

“Right. Kay…bye.” I wave robotically. This afternoon has gone downhill in no time. I haven’t even gotten the chance to pee when I got home. With the empty state of the house, there’s no way I’m going to risk having those noises echo down the hallway with Ethan around.

Toby grabs my hand, and I instinctively start to pull away but stop myself just in time. He widens his eyes, silently urging me to get it together. I mouth a “sorry” as I weave my fingers through his.

He plays his boyfriend duties well, opening the car door so I can slide in. I dare a look back in Ethan’s direction once I’m buckled and find him standing beside his truck while he tugs his shirt over his head.

My jaw drops as I lean closer, my head inching towards the window until my forehead finally bumps the glass, snapping me back to reality.

“You’re drooling, Vee,” Toby warns me with a grin as he starts the car. He shakes his head and adds, “That guy’s playing dirty. Good luck, sister.”

I snap my mouth shut, scowling at all the tanned skin and muscular lines Ethan’s parading around for all my neighbors to see. No one asked for this display of incredibly defined arms and the visible outline of abs over his otherwise flat stomach—certainly not me.

It still takes entirely too much effort to pull my gaze away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retort, brushing the hair out of my face. Toby chuckles quietly as he drives away, and I open the visor to check my appearance. And possibly to catch one more glimpse of the shirtless wonder leaning against his truck bed with a cheeky grin on his face.

Toby’s shoulder’s begin to shake as he snickers louder this time. “It all makes so much sense now. Your grump has a thing for you.”

“He does not. ”

I may sound like a whiny teenager, but I will deny Toby’s claim until my last breath. Ethan can barely stand to be around me. From what I’ve heard from Ember, he’s a serial dater and an adventurer at heart, a free spirit that roams wherever the wind takes him. He’s destined for big things. Besides the fact that we literally argue every time we’re in the same room, I wouldn’t open myself up to someone who can’t commit and would eventually leave.

Leave the way my parents did, when they chose international aid over helping their own son and dumped Ross’s problems on me. Leave the way Ross has left me in the lurch too many times to count.

No. Tolerance is the best that Ethan and I can hope for.