He’s not my dog, my ass.
The snap of the fire is soothing against the quiet dark closing in on us. I watch Axel cook as firelight paints his face in sharp shadows—lips pursed, brow furrowed in concentration.
“I appreciate this,” I tell him.
He clears his throat and folds the omelet. “Least I could do, given the shitshow with the A-frame.”
“I feel bad about that. Seems like my showing up made a stressful situation worse. I just don’t get why Willa said to come up here when you’re here dealing with so many issues on the property.”
Axel clears his throat again, sliding the omelet onto a plate. He cuts the omelet in half and sets one piece each onto two plates. My mouth waters. It’s simple food, but it smells so good, and when he hands it my way, I can’t help but smile.
“Thank you,” I tell him. I taste my omelet and almost have a foodgasm. How does a cheese and veggie omelet taste so good? “This is incredible.”
“Good.” He turns back toward the fire, and his worn jeans pull across a high, hard ass as he picks up his plate. I nearly drop mine.
I have to get myself together.
“So,” I squeak. Then I clear my throat. “I feel like you’re avoiding this topic.”
“What topic?”
“Willa and Ryder sending me here, given what’s going on with the A-frame?”
“Ah.” Axel sits on a tree stump nearby, scooting his food around. “So… They don’t exactly know about the A-frame’s problems.”
“They don’t?”
He frowns and seems to hesitate, then he has a bite of omelet and chews. “No one knows what’s going on, except for me and my friends who own a construction business, and that’s only because they’re going to do the work on it.”
“Why?”
The dog flops to Axel’s feet again, setting his chin across his boot. Axel pats his side and says, “The place needs significant, expensive updates. The siblings handle small tasks and troubleshooting when it’s each of our turns here, but the bigger issues have compounded, some of which I already knew about, others which I didn’t realize until it was my stint here. I’m the only one who knows about those big updates and their cost.”
“Why not tell your family? You don’t think they’d want to contribute or have ideas for how to handle it?”
“My siblings would feel obligated to pay or obligated to me if they knew what I’ve paid, neither of which I want. And my parents will certainly have ideas for work this expensive.” He stabs a bite of omelet and brings it to his mouth. “Ideas involving a ‘For Sale’ sign.”
I lower the bite of omelet I had halfway to my mouth. “But they love the A-frame, don’t they?”
“Yes, but they’re also practical people. They’ve brought it up occasionally, selling the place, with the precise concerns I share—like any property, eventually just patching things up isn’t enough. They’ve said they don’t want the siblings to shoulder a heavy financial burden, and they aren’t willing to invest much in it, either, since Dad’s planning to retire soon and they can’t exactly afford to empty their savings.” He pokes at the fire, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air. “So I’m handling it.”
My heart spins as it clicks into place—why he’s doing this, who he’s doing it for. His family. He’s taking on this heavy financial and mental burden of saving the place behind their backs…because this is how he loves to love his family, because somewhere under all that surliness is someone with a big soft spot for his people.
I tip my head, examining him in the firelight, seeing him with new eyes. “This is your love language.”
He freezes with the poker. “My what?”
“Your love language.”
Axel frowns. Another jab of the fire sends sparks into the air. “I don’t have a love language.”
“Everyone does.”
“Not me.”
I grin and lean toward him. “You show the people you love what they mean to you through sacrificial, generous action. That’s all it means.”
Axel doesn’t say anything, just cocks a dark eyebrow as he eats his food.
“So, have your friends started working on it?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a minute. Then he slowly says, “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m still working on the financing.”
“Are you not painting? I’d imagine you’d be able to cover it, with how well your stuff sells.”
“Not right now,” he says, staring into the fire. “Creative block.”
I feel a wave of sympathy for him. “I’m sorry. What are you going to do?”
“I have a plan to handle it. My friends are helping me with that, too.”
I want to press him for more information because I’m curious by nature, but Axel doesn’t seem to want to share. So I let it go.
“I’m glad you at least have friends in your corner on this.”
He nods. “Please keep this between us. You can’t tell Willa. She’ll tell Ryder, then everything’s ruined if he knows.”
“I won’t.” The guilt of another deception weighs on me, but it’s not Axel’s fault I have a running tally of lies of omissions with my best friend. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” he says.
As we focus on our food, my thoughts wander and mull over what he’s told me. There’s still one part of this scenario that doesn’t have an explanation.
“Axel, did you say it was your turn here, at the A-frame? As in, currently?”
He nods, not pausing from eating. “Yes.”
Unease dances down my spine. Willa and Ryder don’t know what’s going on with the place, but they knew Axel was here. So why didn’t Willa tell me? What was she doing?
Unease becomes suspicion. I’ve heard of the Bergman family’s capacity for meddling, and I assumed that because I’m not one of them, I was immune. But what if I’m not?
Are they trying to set us up?
Why? Because of The Charades Kiss? That was just an embarrassing accident… Unless it wasn’t. Unless they gave me that kiss clue on purpose.
Holy shit. I am a plausible victim of Bergman meddling.
Embarrassment heats my skin as I revisit the charades night with fresh eyes. Me, swept up in my competitiveness, my frustration when no one guessed kiss. They knew what I’d do, that if they didn’t guess it, I wouldn’t pause and think, Gee, huh. Wonder why none of my teammates are guessing “kiss” when I’m giving them obvious clues? They aren’t trying to get me to kiss someone, are they?
They knew that, as the time dwindled, I’d grow desperate. They knew I’d grab Axel, the only age-appropriate and unclaimed Bergman son (who I may incidentally have a massive, purely sexual crush on) and kiss the hell out of him.
Damn. Those Bergman girlfriends and sisters played me like a well-tuned instrument.
And now I’m starting to think they had a hand in this A-frame adventure, too.
Why, though? They really think Axel and I have a chance? They’re in for a sore disappointment when they realize Axel doesn’t see me that way. That there’s nothing more than my lust and his indifference between us.