offer you. Ain’t often I have guests.”
I somehow manage to pry my eyes off hers and turn to
swing the fridge door open, nearly cringing at what I see there.
The only items inside are three lone Sam Adams longnecks, an
unopened gallon of milk, and a nearly empty carton of OJ. Shit.
Fucking shit. Motherfucker.
I snag a beer to offer to her when she peers around
my back. “I’m really not that interested in a drink. How about a
tour instead? So, what would you call all this?” She waves her
right hand around at the complete havoc of exposed plaster, beams,
sheetrock, power tools, ladders, and general wreckage. “Home Depot
Work in Progress Chic?”
My lips press together as I fight a smile. “Funny
one, babydoll. I’d like to think of it as one man’s crazed attempt
to bring back a slice of history. Estimate she should be straight
and restored to her long-lost glory in about two years. Don’t sleep
much, so this beauty gives me somethin’ to occupy my time with when
I’m not looking after the bar. We tend to keep each other company.
If you’re that interested in my fixer-upper, then I’m obliged to
give you the full tour. Follow me.”
I use the opener on my key ring to pop the top off
the beer and extend my arm in an exaggerated, sweeping motion.
“After you, wildcat. I’d watch where you step, though. Nails and
shit scattered about, at least down on this first level.”
She makes her way into the living room, slowly
winding around stacks of lumber and gallons of paint. Still
inspecting, she asks curiously, “Are you renovating this all on
your own?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you study architecture or historical
restoration?”
I choke out a laugh into my fist, nearly splashing my
beer all over myself.
She spins around, her eyes questioning.
“Shit no, wildcat. Never went past high school. But
that don’t mean a man can’t pick up a few books at the library.
There’s a world of free education out there if you go lookin’.
Learn as you go, that’s my motto. Wouldn’t have it any other
way.”
“So you have a creative streak in you then,
cowboy?”
“Wouldn’t go that far. Just like makin’ things right,
that’s all. Saw this house, and it was endless levels of fucked up.
They were practically givin’ it away due to the termite damage
alone. I could see past the chaos, knew it was somethin’ special
once, long ago. Needed a place to live after I did my ten years in
the army and wanted to settle downtown in the historic district, to
be close to the action. Figured we’d make a good match. So far, I
was right.”
“It suits you.”
I grin. “Oh yeah, how’s that? Weathered and
gritty?”
She takes a step closer and lowers her voice, the
streaks of moonlight complementing her flawless skin. “Hardly.
You’re an excellent match because you’re both damaged and quite
beautiful.”
My chest tightens. Her words … her simple damn
words are a direct hit. This woman, this strange, confusing woman,
with one look can somehow manage to see me, the real me. The man
whose need for self preservation has always driven him to walk the
solo route through life.
I shrug, doing my best to act casual.
“Yeah, well, might want to rethink that theory,
sugar. Just a simple guy who likes to fix shit—’bout as
straightforward as it gets. C’mon, I’ll show you what I’ve actually
finished so far. It’s not all ruin and grime inside.”
I prefer talking about factual shit versus emotions
of any kind—something I know little about and a topic that makes me
extremely uncomfortable.
Following behind her, I wonder how the fuck she can
be so graceful in those five inch stiletto boots, but then again,
everything about her is like that, so why should I be
surprised?
As she reaches the top step, I tell her, “Turn right
and head to the last door, the one at the end of the hallway.”
She’ll be the first person, with the exception of
Alex, to see the master bedroom. I’m curious what
I somehow manage to pry my eyes off hers and turn to
swing the fridge door open, nearly cringing at what I see there.
The only items inside are three lone Sam Adams longnecks, an
unopened gallon of milk, and a nearly empty carton of OJ. Shit.
Fucking shit. Motherfucker.
I snag a beer to offer to her when she peers around
my back. “I’m really not that interested in a drink. How about a
tour instead? So, what would you call all this?” She waves her
right hand around at the complete havoc of exposed plaster, beams,
sheetrock, power tools, ladders, and general wreckage. “Home Depot
Work in Progress Chic?”
My lips press together as I fight a smile. “Funny
one, babydoll. I’d like to think of it as one man’s crazed attempt
to bring back a slice of history. Estimate she should be straight
and restored to her long-lost glory in about two years. Don’t sleep
much, so this beauty gives me somethin’ to occupy my time with when
I’m not looking after the bar. We tend to keep each other company.
If you’re that interested in my fixer-upper, then I’m obliged to
give you the full tour. Follow me.”
I use the opener on my key ring to pop the top off
the beer and extend my arm in an exaggerated, sweeping motion.
“After you, wildcat. I’d watch where you step, though. Nails and
shit scattered about, at least down on this first level.”
She makes her way into the living room, slowly
winding around stacks of lumber and gallons of paint. Still
inspecting, she asks curiously, “Are you renovating this all on
your own?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you study architecture or historical
restoration?”
I choke out a laugh into my fist, nearly splashing my
beer all over myself.
She spins around, her eyes questioning.
“Shit no, wildcat. Never went past high school. But
that don’t mean a man can’t pick up a few books at the library.
There’s a world of free education out there if you go lookin’.
Learn as you go, that’s my motto. Wouldn’t have it any other
way.”
“So you have a creative streak in you then,
cowboy?”
“Wouldn’t go that far. Just like makin’ things right,
that’s all. Saw this house, and it was endless levels of fucked up.
They were practically givin’ it away due to the termite damage
alone. I could see past the chaos, knew it was somethin’ special
once, long ago. Needed a place to live after I did my ten years in
the army and wanted to settle downtown in the historic district, to
be close to the action. Figured we’d make a good match. So far, I
was right.”
“It suits you.”
I grin. “Oh yeah, how’s that? Weathered and
gritty?”
She takes a step closer and lowers her voice, the
streaks of moonlight complementing her flawless skin. “Hardly.
You’re an excellent match because you’re both damaged and quite
beautiful.”
My chest tightens. Her words … her simple damn
words are a direct hit. This woman, this strange, confusing woman,
with one look can somehow manage to see me, the real me. The man
whose need for self preservation has always driven him to walk the
solo route through life.
I shrug, doing my best to act casual.
“Yeah, well, might want to rethink that theory,
sugar. Just a simple guy who likes to fix shit—’bout as
straightforward as it gets. C’mon, I’ll show you what I’ve actually
finished so far. It’s not all ruin and grime inside.”
I prefer talking about factual shit versus emotions
of any kind—something I know little about and a topic that makes me
extremely uncomfortable.
Following behind her, I wonder how the fuck she can
be so graceful in those five inch stiletto boots, but then again,
everything about her is like that, so why should I be
surprised?
As she reaches the top step, I tell her, “Turn right
and head to the last door, the one at the end of the hallway.”
She’ll be the first person, with the exception of
Alex, to see the master bedroom. I’m curious what
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