by Eden Rayna
“Snooping on the competition?” he asks.
Guaranteed, any idea I have is way better than what he will ever come up with. Every muscle in my body clenches at his arrogance and my uninvited reaction to him. I swear, I’m going to get six-pack abs before he moves out.
Why do I care that he looks like he’s about to pose as a model for the next Work Authority catalogue?
Good thing his shitty attitude helps distract from his faultless looks and will keep me centred.
“No.” I hiss as the last pulses of discomposure morph to aggravation. I pick up my phone and examine the screen for cracks.
“There’s someone in there.” I say as I’m strutting away, questioning why I bothered trying to be nice to him. He can deal with whoever is tossing their elliptical trainer or other equally disused piece of exercise equipment in there for disposal on Owen’s dime.
“You mean me?”
Argh! As if dealing with one Black Ladder employee wasn’t enough, Scott comes striding out of the dumpster.
“Dumpster diving, Scott?” I tsk. “Owen, I heard you like to cut corners, but surely you can treat your employees better than this.”
“I don’t cut corners.” His words are forced over our shared property line with a bellowing huff.
My retort gets him like a paper cut between the fingers. The work on the Morrow house is impeccable and, if I can judge from that one project alone, he takes a lot of pride in his trade.
“Hey lady, he doesn’t cut corners.” A small voice comes from the front steps behind Owen.
“Tommy,” Owen states in a serious but gentle tone. “Be respectful to Ms. Holt.” He turns to me using the same inflection, “Even if her accusations are unfounded.”
“Sorry, Ms. Holt,” the young boy says, eyes turning downward.
I am stunned into an Owen-state of silence. He’s got a kid?
Scott grabs Owen by the arm and attempts to spin him away from me and into the house before things escalate. Or to prevent me from asking questions because that’s Scott’s kid?
Scott’s efforts are met with the same result as if he were trying to twist a fifty-year-old spruce out of the ground with his bare hands. Doing my part to spare the child witnessing the downfall of his hero—whichever of the two that is—I go back to the old fridge.
Owen doesn’t feel the need to protect his young in the same way, and his eyes burn holes in the back of my shirt, making me want to run, not walk. It doesn’t matter how many times I get into it with him, I still resent the confrontation. It’s made worse when a child is around to witness it. I tip the dolly to push the beast towards its final resting place along with this sidewalk chit chat.
“Don’t break a nail, Princess.”
“So nice of you to show concern, Owen. Better not make a habit of it or you’ll give me the wrong impression.”
Scott laughs and shakes his head before tugging on Owen’s arm again. “She got you there.”
When Owen still doesn’t move, Scott goes inside on his own, calling to me that he’ll see me soon. Unfortunately, that’s probably true.
What was Greg hoping I’d notice in Owen? He said something at the pub about how Owen’s lost sight of things. Was he a good guy once upon a time? Is it possible that hiding somewhere behind that black-clad, sharp-edged, tattooed exterior is a nice person looking to build dream homes?
I cast one last look at him as I climb my makeshift ramp and into the house. He’s still standing in the same place, arms folded across his puffed-out chest. His hard eyes follow my stride up the walkway, and I tighten my abs around the flapping butterflies once again.
Nope. Nice guys don’t make their neighbours feel this way.
I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF taking off cabinet faces when there’s a knock on the door.
“Hang on a minute!” I holler and twist the screwdriver faster to loosen the screw from the bottom hinge. I drop the tool on the counter, rest the cabinet face on the floor, and pull my mask to hang around my neck.
“Hi.” I’m more than a little surprised to have the kid from next-door standing on my front stoop.
The boy extends his hand for me to shake. He has a firm grip, and I see when my gaze travels from his hand to his face that he’s looking me in the eye. This kid is on a mission, and if I had to guess, he’s here of someone else’s choosing.
“I’m sorry for being rude, Ms. Holt.”
I laugh. Not at his apology, he apologised earlier and that’s good enough for me. I laugh at his delivery. He’s so formal and succinct and sounds way older than a boy his age should.
“Thank you. Tommy, is it?”
“Yes, Ms. Holt.” He drops my hand and bounces on the tips of his toes as he peers around my body. There’s the youthfulness I’d expect.
“You can call my Izzy if you’d like.”
“The guys call you Princess.” He smiles, knowing that he’s telling me something he shouldn’t.
I sweep my hands down my dusty clothes. “Princesses don’t dress like this, do they?”
Tommy shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t read fairy tales. Whatcha doing in here?” His inhibitions fall away as quickly as the formalities, and he steps inside to get a better view.
I’m sure Owen sent him here to spy, but I can’t deny his cute curiosity. Besides, there’s nothing top secret to learn.
“Wow.” The word falls out over several steps as we go into the kitchen. “Look at those colours.” His eyes are wide. “They’re so cool. Black Ladder houses are always white and grey. Bo-ring.”
“That’s the style now.” I watch him looking around and can’t contain my smile. “Bright colours were the style in the 1950s—way before you were born. Have you ever seen a house like this?”
“I’ve seen this house lots of times.” He says it like I’m crazy for asking, crinkling his face to match his tone.
“This house?” I point to the floor, questioning if it’s this house specifically or one like it.
“From the outside. Owen and me have drawings for the house that’s going to go here one day.” Oh, really? My palms feel the bite of my nails. “I’m going to change them now ’cause I like the colours you have. I didn’t know houses could be colourful.”
“A house can be anything you want it to be. As long as it’s yours.”
He doesn’t catch my meaning, nor should he. Why would Owen tell Tommy he can design a house for this lot when Owen doesn’t own it? For someone who seems bent on teaching this child to be respectful, it’s a prick move.
“How long have you been working with Owen?” I ask with sarcastic amusement.
My question makes him laugh, and his big curls bounce as he shakes his head. “I don’t work with him. I’m only in grade five.”
“But you draw up plans together,” I say.
Tommy walks away from me, moving into the living room to see what’s there.
“For fun. He never builds the houses like I want him to. I told him this one should have a rocket launcher in the backyard, but he won’t build it.”
Because he has something against space travel or because this land doesn’t belong to him?
“The houses are pretty close together in this neighbourhood. You wouldn’t want to upset the neighbours with the noise.”
“That’s exactly what Owen said.” Tommy’s eye bulge as if I’m a mind reader. This kid has a noble spirit and couldn’t be more opposite to his mentor.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yup.” He’s as curious about the question as I am about the answer he’ll give.
“Who is Owen to you?” Father is off the table since Tommy keeps calling him by his first name.
“My brother. My big brother.” He clarifies in case I was confused at which way the age gap went.
His response catches me off guard. Tommy is a ray of sunshine with his glowing blond hair and cheery personality. Owen is, well, nothing like that. I suppose with the difference in age, they wouldn’t have grown up under the
same circumstances.
I escort Tommy to the door because I have a feeling he’d stay all day if I let him.
“If you ever have questions about colour combinations, you come visit me, okay? I love talking with other creative people.”
“You think I’m creative?” His face lights up like I told him he’ll rule the design world one day. My heart cracks for him. All children should think they can be the best at something if they work for it.
“Yes, I do, Tommy.”
“Thanks, Izzy.” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in for a hug. I rest my hand on his head, flattening his wild blond curls. “I’m going to get an ice cream from 7-Eleven. I’ll share with you if you want.” He’s too sweet for words. Too sweet to be corrupted by Owen.
“Thanks, but I have work to do today. I’ll take you up on the offer another time, alright?”
“I’ll be here next weekend,” he says as he runs out the door like I should put it in my calendar. “Bye, Izzy!” He turns and waves enthusiastically before running down the ramp.
I can’t wipe the smile from my face after my unexpected visit, even though I’m sure I’m being manipulated.
Chapter 13
Owen
“Do you think she’s on to something?” Scott leans against the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of water. I let her get under my skin and now Scott is burrowing in the same hole that she started digging.
“I don’t cut corners.” Princess has seen my work and the standards I expect from my trades. There is no way she thinks I’m bad at what I do. Aside from Pops, my friends, and now Tommy, nothing matters more to me than my homes and the people who build them. Scott’s certainly getting lower on my list.
He places his glass on the counter so he can use his hands to emphasise his point. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Of course. That would be as much a knock against him as it is against me. But I refuse to entertain the only other thing he could be getting at. So, I sit at the counter, smugly staring at plans for a room that’s already complete until the sound of his heavy breathing makes me want to pinch his mouth and nose shut. Scott’s been a part of this company for more than a decade and I credit much of our success to having a solid guy like him around. That doesn’t mean I require his opinion on everything.
“I don’t tease her to get her attention.” This isn’t junior high school.
He doesn’t answer right away in case I want to say more on the topic. I don’t. Besides, there’s no mixing business and pleasure. What happened outside, and this conversation, are sufficient reminders that I need to work harder at locking down the semi I get every time I see her. Princess in work boots with sweat dripping from her brow couldn’t be ignored by the most tenacious man. And I’d like to think I’m right there with the strongest.
“If you were a little nicer to her, things would be easier.”
I recognise the angle he’s playing, and nothing makes me angrier than when my staff doesn’t listen to me—except when friends don’t listen. This is betrayal on a whole other level.
“Kelsey is still off-limits.” He wants me to end the war with Izzy so he can move things forward with her. If I can bury my lust for Princess, then he can do the same for Kelsey. Hell, it should be easy. It’s not like he has to look across the fence at her every day like I do.
“Well, big guy, I’ll consider your request,” the optional meaning of the word is over-emphasised, “when they’re about work. You can’t tell me how to live my personal life. And while we’re on the subject, you might consider getting one of your own.”
I have a personal life with the guys on Saturdays, I visit Pops as often as I can, and I hang out with Tommy every other weekend and some evenings too. My calendar is full.
Speaking of which, I’ve got shit to accomplish, so it’s a good thing Scott is leaving.
He signals with a quick tilt of his head that I should come outside with him. I stomp through the house and stand halfway in and halfway out of the door, perched on the temporary stairs that will disappear once the deck is built. From this vantage point, I can see clear across the fence into Princess’ yard. She’s taken off her long sleeve shirt and is wearing a light blue ribbed tank top, almost exactly like my fantasy of her the night she slept in the sleeping bag. Her skin is flush with the exertions of the day. Her cheeks are rosy and a sheen of sweat coats her face, neck, and chest.
Scott and I stand side-by-side in the shadows, silently watching as she hops off the not-to-code rail-less deck, making her perky breasts bounce gently, then heads for the hose that’s wound on a spool against the exterior wall. The rusty grind of the tap spinning is followed by the patter of water hitting weeping stones on the ground beneath. She pulls the hose away from the wall as the water flows more forcefully. Princess lets the stream slide through her wiggling fingers, waiting for the warm, stale water that was trapped in the hose to pass, then raises it to her lips and takes long swallows of the crystal-clear fluid gushing from the end.
She bends forward so the water cascades over her chin to drip between her feet rather than across her chest. My jaw ticks at the unwanted attraction it evokes. She closes her eyes and smiles between gulps. She’s beautiful, and if she wasn’t who she is, I’d be appreciating water break from a much closer vantage point. I’d also have made sure that a small fridge was hooked up in the garage so that she didn’t have to drink from the garden hose.
Princess lowers the hose from her mouth and cups her hand to gather some of the cool liquid. She splashes it across the nape of her neck, mingling the clean water with her sweat, sending rivulets down her chest that plunge between her breasts. The chilly water on her hot skin makes her shiver and she lets out a noise part way between an eeek and an oooh. The notes don’t hit my ears. They smack me in the balls and spread out from there, making my extremities vibrate. It’s the same feeling I get when a new tattoo is being etched into my skin—pain and pleasure.
My body’s reaction to her noise and the beading of her nipples are signs I’ve been watching long enough. Time to lock it down. I step towards the house when Scott grabs my elbow, trying to keep me in place. He says nothing, but blinks at me like I should stay, like I’ll have some big revelation if I hang around.
I shrug him off and he lets go much more easily than I expect, sending my hand slamming into the door frame and outing our hiding spot. We glance over the fence to confirm that we’re busted. Princess’ eyes lock on us and she doesn’t waste a second reacting. She presses her thumb across the head of the hose, building up water pressure and sending a frigid beam of water screaming over the fence at us.
That’s not the only thing screaming. Her voice carries inside to where I’ve escaped, leaving Scott to fend for himself on the far side of the soon to be mud pit of a yard. I hope he slips in the muck.
“You fucking creeps! This is how you teach a kid to behave?”
I’d lose my shit if Tommy got wrapped up in this game of nosy neighbour. I’m a good influence on him. Far better than what he gets in his own neighbourhood.
Speaking of Tommy, what’s he doing? He should be back by now. The last time he went to the store, he came back with the owner of a house I built. That kid will knock on anyone’s door if he thinks there’s a conversation to be had. I wish I had more time to spend with him. I may not be talkative, but I am a good listener, and that’s exactly what Tommy craves.
I can’t see Scott or Princess through the soaked glass on the door, but I notice that water no longer sprays past. Scott must be out of range and she’s either waiting for him to move close again or she’s satisfied that her point was made.
I didn’t need her warning to receive the message loud and clear. The hard-on I’m sporting right now is enough to point to danger. I will never look over that fence again.
Not until I’m staring into a yard that belongs to me.
IT’S MOVING DAY. I’VE tossed my two-of-everything kitchen items into a box and shifte
d them next door, along with my duffle bag of clothing. I’ll be disconnecting the washer and dryer and moving those as well, then hooking up brand-new, nicer models for whoever buys the place. Scott is on his way here with the moving harnesses to help take the few heavy items from one side of the duplex to the other. Easiest moving day ever. Then again, moving is always simple with me since I own next to nothing.
I’ve been doing this for so long that I got rid of the need for most belongings. I own work clothes and clothes that look strikingly similar to work clothes. None of which need a hanger or a fancy dresser; my two nightstands are space enough.
I check my email while waiting for Scott, and it isn’t long before there’s the rumble of a truck out front. I step outside into the searing sun. My eyes take a second to adjust to the light, and when they do, I notice it’s not Scott’s truck. It’s Asher’s.
Asher hops out of the cab and walks to Izzy’s car door, opening it for her and offering her his hand, which she accepts with a warm smile. She drops one high-heeled foot on to the running board, pointing out that she understands their utility, before setting her second foot firmly on the ground.
All I see are creamy legs stretching out from the bottom of a light pink skirt. The heels she’s wearing make her calf muscles perky, showing off her slim legs that are likely well-earned from hard work rather than the luck of good genes. Princess doesn’t seem like the type to take anything for free, even if it comes directly from her family.
That house is the perfect example. She could have cashed in that money pit for nearly a million dollars. Instead, she’s sinking probably half of that into patching it up.
Izzy swings her purse over her shoulder and drapes the matching jacket to her skirt across her arm, then clasps Asher’s hand as they amble to her front door.
“They’re cute together.” Scott’s voice startles me.
