Her personal history remained blank as ever.
Well, at least she had a name, sort of. And she didn’t need to know the man’s name to know the sight of him heated her blood. The sight of a smile on his face when another woman had put it there made her want to grind her teeth.
Leaving the office, she forayed down the hall into a spacious, sparsely-furnished living room strewn with plastic shopping bags and colorful fabric. A simple ceiling-fan chandelier lit the space, and a framed doorway with unused hinges offered a glimpse into a craftsman kitchen with butter-cream-yellow tile countertops and mismatched appliances. The maroon front door had a thumb latch instead of a doorknob. Beside the door, a three-paneled window dressed with blinds looked out onto a front porch lit up against the night. At the base of the radiator below the window lay a long pewter rod with decoratively-pitted glass bulbs on either end. The strips of fabric all over the place must be curtains. The thought of the man and Haley hanging curtains together warmed her heart.
As she headed to the kitchen to continue her exploration, the jingle of keys in the front door made her freeze. Her body tensed to flee back to the familiar shelter of the bedroom, but she held her ground. No more being timid. No more reason for regret. If her instincts could be trusted, it would be the man at the door, and he would be alone, likely having returned Haley to her mother’s house. And he probably wouldn’t see her, anyway, since she wasn’t on the bed.
He shouldered through the door, and a flutter of desire tightened her tummy. But something felt off. He lumbered forward and missed the peg with his keys. They crashed to the floor. He cursed and wiped a hand down a face that looked even more serious than usual. His army green t-shirt was rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair stood up in all directions like he’d just finished vacuuming it. When he walked past her to the kitchen, Jim Beam fumes stung her nose.
Her joy at seeing him morphed into outrage. What was he thinking, getting drunk as a skunk? He was a father. He had responsibilities. Oh, no, he hadn’t just driven drunk, had he? She dashed to the window and peeked out to see an empty driveway.
Well, that was something. A cab must have dropped him at the curb. And Haley wasn’t around to witness him like this. Still, disappointment flattened her earlier enthusiasm. Who wanted to be dream girl to a drunk?
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered.
She cautiously stepped into the kitchen to find him leaning with one hand on the counter, guzzling a glass of water.
“Shit,” he said when he’d drained the glass. He wiped a hand over his face again. “I’m shitfaced.”
At least he had no delusions.
He weaved toward her and she sidestepped to let him into the living room. He stood with his hands on his hips surveying the mess of curtains. He made a strangled noise.
She came up beside him, shocked to see his eyes moist and his lips pinched in distress.
“I’m so sorry, Haley-girl.”
Her heart broke. Something bad had happened tonight, and drinking had been his way of handling it. For a second, she worried something had happened to Haley, but the look on the man’s face wasn’t grief. It was regret, an emotion she knew all too well.
He scrubbed a hand over his face again and a look of determination replaced his sadness. He walked deliberately down the hall, only needing to brace himself on the wall once, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned a few minutes later with an orange extension cord coiled around one shoulder and a power drill dangling from his hand.
She watched in anxious helplessness as he spent the next hour hanging curtains in the living room, office and his bedroom. Using power tools didn’t strike her as a healthy activity for the inebriated, but he operated the drill like it was an extension of his hand. The task seemed to sober him. By the time he had a set of silver
Well, at least she had a name, sort of. And she didn’t need to know the man’s name to know the sight of him heated her blood. The sight of a smile on his face when another woman had put it there made her want to grind her teeth.
Leaving the office, she forayed down the hall into a spacious, sparsely-furnished living room strewn with plastic shopping bags and colorful fabric. A simple ceiling-fan chandelier lit the space, and a framed doorway with unused hinges offered a glimpse into a craftsman kitchen with butter-cream-yellow tile countertops and mismatched appliances. The maroon front door had a thumb latch instead of a doorknob. Beside the door, a three-paneled window dressed with blinds looked out onto a front porch lit up against the night. At the base of the radiator below the window lay a long pewter rod with decoratively-pitted glass bulbs on either end. The strips of fabric all over the place must be curtains. The thought of the man and Haley hanging curtains together warmed her heart.
As she headed to the kitchen to continue her exploration, the jingle of keys in the front door made her freeze. Her body tensed to flee back to the familiar shelter of the bedroom, but she held her ground. No more being timid. No more reason for regret. If her instincts could be trusted, it would be the man at the door, and he would be alone, likely having returned Haley to her mother’s house. And he probably wouldn’t see her, anyway, since she wasn’t on the bed.
He shouldered through the door, and a flutter of desire tightened her tummy. But something felt off. He lumbered forward and missed the peg with his keys. They crashed to the floor. He cursed and wiped a hand down a face that looked even more serious than usual. His army green t-shirt was rumpled, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair stood up in all directions like he’d just finished vacuuming it. When he walked past her to the kitchen, Jim Beam fumes stung her nose.
Her joy at seeing him morphed into outrage. What was he thinking, getting drunk as a skunk? He was a father. He had responsibilities. Oh, no, he hadn’t just driven drunk, had he? She dashed to the window and peeked out to see an empty driveway.
Well, that was something. A cab must have dropped him at the curb. And Haley wasn’t around to witness him like this. Still, disappointment flattened her earlier enthusiasm. Who wanted to be dream girl to a drunk?
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered.
She cautiously stepped into the kitchen to find him leaning with one hand on the counter, guzzling a glass of water.
“Shit,” he said when he’d drained the glass. He wiped a hand over his face again. “I’m shitfaced.”
At least he had no delusions.
He weaved toward her and she sidestepped to let him into the living room. He stood with his hands on his hips surveying the mess of curtains. He made a strangled noise.
She came up beside him, shocked to see his eyes moist and his lips pinched in distress.
“I’m so sorry, Haley-girl.”
Her heart broke. Something bad had happened tonight, and drinking had been his way of handling it. For a second, she worried something had happened to Haley, but the look on the man’s face wasn’t grief. It was regret, an emotion she knew all too well.
He scrubbed a hand over his face again and a look of determination replaced his sadness. He walked deliberately down the hall, only needing to brace himself on the wall once, disappeared into the laundry room, and returned a few minutes later with an orange extension cord coiled around one shoulder and a power drill dangling from his hand.
She watched in anxious helplessness as he spent the next hour hanging curtains in the living room, office and his bedroom. Using power tools didn’t strike her as a healthy activity for the inebriated, but he operated the drill like it was an extension of his hand. The task seemed to sober him. By the time he had a set of silver
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