“How’d that happen?” He grabs an apple and starts devouring it. Kid eats for five.
“Jen nicked me with a scoring knife.”
Wes winces. “Hope you didn’t go to rough on her. She is the client.”
“What do you mean you hope I didn’t go to rough on her?” Wes hands me the glass I’m reaching for, and I pour myself a few fingers of whiskey.
“You know.” He shrugs. “You get all anal when people don’t follow the safety rules. I get it.” He quickly waves his hands in mock surrender before I can respond. “We’re using dangerous equipment, and you want to make sure no one gets hurt. But you’re kinda scary when people do something stupid that can lead to an accident.”
Wes’s comment hits me like a ton of bricks. I can only stare at him, wondering why I’d taken a gentler approach with Jen, which, as Wes points out, I never do. I don’t have an answer, not one I’m willing to vocalize, anyway. “Don’t say anal,” is the only response I think of.
“Fine. Touchy. So, is she scared of you now? I’m going to have to work with her all summer, so I hope you didn’t make that impossible.”
“No, she’s not scared of me,” I scoff. “She was scared she hurt me. I was afraid she might start crying.”
“So that’s the key?” Wes teases. “Pretend to cry and you’ll go easy.”
“I didn’t go easy,” I say, which is true in a manner of speaking. The look on her face when I didn’t kiss her was evidence of that.
“But you went easy enough that she doesn’t hate you, right? If she hates you, that would make the job site miserable.”
I think back to the way Jen looked when I left. Hate? No, she doesn’t hate me. But I don’t think I’m her favorite person right now, either. Even though I’m trying not to admit it, there’s a pull between us, and I know if I feel it, she does, too. By not kissing her, I’m pretty sure I hurt her more than if I had gone anal on her and screamed about her being careless, and even though pulling away would probably put distance between us the way I want to, it makes me feel like shit.
“Dad?” Wes prompts. “Seriously, is she mad at you or will she be cool?”
“She’ll be cool,” I say absently, and I don’t know why but the moment I say it I know it’s true. Whatever Jen’s feelings toward me, I know she won’t let that get in the way of pursuing what she wants or working with Wes.
I take a sip of my drink, feeling the warmth of the whiskey spreading inside my chest, and instantly I feel calmer. I’m not in the habit of letting drink soothe my nerves, but today it definitely helps.
“Besides, I’m taking her shopping for materials next weekend, so even if she thinks I was too rough on her today, I’m sure she’ll get over it after picking out finishes.”
“You’re taking her shopping?”
“Yeah.” I take another sip of my drink and notice Wes staring at me like I’ve sprouted horns or something. There’s nothing more unnerving than when your kid looks at you like you’re crazy. “What?”
“You never take clients shopping.” He throws the remnants of his apple away.
“I…” That’s true. Shit. “They usually have a designer who picks everything for them. Jen doesn’t.”
“Uh-huh.” Wes studies me.
“My license gets her into the wholesale showroom so she can get things cheaper, so yeah.”
“I thought clients just need your license, not an escort.” He leans against the counter. Why do I feel like my son is grilling me?
“I’m just doing her a favor. It’s no big deal.” I shake my head.
“Why does she get the special favors?”
“Because she’s a friend of a friend. What’s with the interrogation? Am I not allowed to help someone out?”
“Okay, sorry.” Wes backs off. “You’re just spending more time on one job than you usually do. I'm curious. Plus, it makes me wonder what else will be different once I get on site.”
“Nothing will be different,” I assure him. “I’m just helping to get everything up and running so it’s all set when you get there. It’s a small job, so the demo and the shopping aren’t a big hit to my schedule, and it means a lot to Chris that we do this right. Jen is a friend of his girlfriend’s.” I know I’m justifying, but even as I say it, it makes sense. Jen is a friend of a friend, and the work is small enough for me to do in a few days to help get Wes set up. There’s nothing special about Jen or this job, as far as Wes is concerned, anyway. As far as I’m concerned, well, I’m still trying to convince myself of that.
I’m freaked out that Jen makes me feel things I haven’t felt since Katie. I’m freaked out that I’m so attracted to her. I’m freaked out that I almost kissed her. All of that should have me running as far from her as I can get, not coming up with reasons to see her again.
Wes is right. I could set Jen an appointment and walk away, pawn her off on someone else to talk finishes with, and things would still be ready to go when Wes takes over. But I offered to do it myself, and even knowing that I’ll be tempting fate by spending time with her, I’m going to follow through, because the thought of not seeing her again is starting to freak me out almost as bad as seeing her.
***
I pull up to Jen’s house at ten, wondering for the millionth time why I didn't suggest meeting at the showroom. The car ride is just one more opportunity for conversation, which will undoubtedly lead to more physical and emotional torture.
I ring the bell and wait, and wait, trying not to overhear the shouting coming from inside. But that’s next to impossible. Finally, the door swings open, and Jen emerges, looking both flustered and sexy in her jeans and a flowy blouse.
“Sorry,” she apologizes. “Sawyer’s in a mood and forgot her manners. I didn’t realize she left you standing out here.” She closes the door and makes a beeline for my truck.
“It’s no problem,” I say, opening the door for her.
“It’s embarrassing is what it is,” Jen says as I close the door and walk to the driver’s side. When I get in, she’s still talking. “Although it’s probably for the best you didn’t see her today. You’d seriously doubt my parenting skills, and I can’t say I’d blame you. Does your son do this stuff?”
I pause, not sure how to answer. “Get in a bad mood? Sure, who doesn’t?” I pull out of the drive and start toward the showroom.
“It just feels like it’s happening all the time.”
“When Wes was younger, he would act out, but I got him into football to channel some of that energy, and since then, his attitude has been great.”
“I love football for teaching discipline, being responsible to a team, letting out some anger.” Jen sighs.
Something about that sigh says there’s more to the story, but aside from being afraid to ask, I don’t get the sense she wants me to. “I think so,” I agree. “And it definitely had that effect on Wes. Is Sawyer angry a lot?”
“I’m the one that gets angry in our house.” She winks. “Sawyer gets distant. Which means between her and my students, you’re practically the only source of real conversation I’ve had in several weeks.”
She’s changing the subject, but that’s fine with me. I’m not ready to talk about our kids.
“You have real conversation with second graders?” I ask.
Jen’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’d be surprised.” She smirks. “But it’s almost the end of the school year, and every brain in the building, including mine, is running on empty. Speaking of, how’s that cut? Did you get it checked out at the doctor?”
“No. It’s fine, though,” I say before she can protest. “Healing nicely and doesn’t hurt. It really wasn’t that bad.”
“It was a dirty knife that could have given you an infection. Why do men always act like they can shake anything off? I mean, obviously you’re strong and all physically.” She gestures at my torso. “But even big strong guys can get sick or injured. I don’t want it on my conscience that you drop dead from not getting a tetan
us shot or something.”
“I told you I’m current on my shots, and besides, we cleaned it out just fine when it happened.”
“I still think you should have gone to the doctor.”
“And if it had gotten worse, I would have, but it’s fine.”
“Let me see,” she demands.
“What, now?”
“Yes, now. I won’t be able to relax until I know for sure you’re okay.”
I roll my eyes but lift up the corner of my shirt anyway, and I feel Jen’s gaze searching for evidence that I’m lying. She hasn’t touched me at all, but my skin starts to tingle under her inspection. Suddenly, I feel her fingers tracing over the now-sealed cut, and in that moment, something shifts. I don’t feel her concern anymore. I feel tension. Heat. Only part of my side is visible, but I can feel her eyes roaming over it, her fingers starting to wander, and desire floods to my cock. I drop my shirt.
“See? All better,” I grumble.
Jen pulls her hand back and drops it in her lap. I briefly regret being harsh, but my feelings about her are complicated enough without adding an erection to the equation.
We arrive at the design warehouse, and the moment we step inside, Jen’s eyes bulge and her mouth falls open. “Oh. My. Gosh. There’s so much here. And I love all of it. I’ll have to do a dozen more houses.”
Before I can protest, she grabs my hand and makes a beeline for the giant slabs of stone, forcing me to jog to keep up with her. She stops in front of a mostly black slab with veins of gray, brown, and a touch of amber running through it. I stand next to her, trying to picture the earthy tones in the kitchen—they would work nicely—and am surprised to realize we’re still holding hands, our fingers interlocked so comfortably it’s like they were meant to fit together.
My heartbeat increases, and I’m briefly overcome with anxiety. I haven’t held hands with anyone since Katie, and I’d forgotten how intimate it is to feel a woman’s soft hand inside my own, as if we’re one. It’s almost more intimate than sex, which is why I’ve had sex since Katie died but never held hands with anyone. As we stand silently together, hand in hand, I vividly remember what it’s like to lose part of myself, to have that intimate connection taken away, and I do not want to feel that again. I know I need to put some space between us, and as I’m trying to work out how to withdraw my hand without offending her, she finds something else to look at and drags me to another slab.
This one is black with white veins running through it, and since she drops my hand to touch the stone, I don’t have to worry about how she’d feel if I’d been the one to let go. I shove my hands in my pockets for the rest of the time we’re in the store to avoid any further awkwardness.
Jen flits from display to display, oohing and ahhing over everything. Every. Single. Thing. I admit there have been times when I found her enthusiasm intriguing, but even I’m losing steam, and I’m in my element. I have to reel it in or we’ll be here all day, so I give her an ultimatum: pick three backsplash designs and I pick the counter that goes with them, or pick three counter designs and I pick the corresponding backsplash. Then we’ll get samples and put them in the house to see how they look. She looks so forlorn I almost cave and let her pick whatever she wants just to see her smile, but fortunately I have enough command over my senses to hold firm, and we’re able to leave forty-five minutes later, samples in hand.
“Can we drop these by the house right now?” she asks. “I want to see what they look like in the afternoon light. Then maybe I’ll go back in the morning and see what they look like then. Or do you think I should look at them at night, too? I can come back later tonight if I need to.”
“Jen, we haven’t even put any lighting in yet. You won’t be able to see what they look like tonight. But I’ll drive over there now so you can see them today. I doubt you’ll be able to sleep unless you see them first.” I sigh.
“True.” She giggles. “I am a little impatient.”
“A little? I think you would’ve slept in that store if I hadn’t put a time limit on it.”
“I can’t help it!” She throws her hands up, and the movement makes me notice the enthused glimmer in her eye. Damn, she’s cute. “There are so many possibilities, and I can see them all. Plus, I don’t want to make the wrong choice.”
“You won’t,” I assure her. “You have a good eye for this stuff.”
“Really?” She tucks a strand of silky black hair behind her ear, and now that it’s caught my eye, I have the brief desire to touch it myself. I need to get out of this car.
“Yeah.” I cough. “Whatever you pick will be great.”
We pull up to the house and carry the samples inside, spreading them out in the kitchen. I lean back against the wall and let Jen walk around, checking out how things look from every angle. She picked the first two slabs she gravitated toward, both of which are predominately black but with different color veins, and a third that’s more cream with brown veins and some reddish flecks of stone that almost look like glass.
She points to the sample that’s black with white veins streaking through it. “I like this one because it’s sort of like marble, but in reverse. But I like this one,” she points to the sample that’s black and brown and cream, “because it seems sort of rustic, and this is Colorado. But I’m thinking both of these might be too dark.”
“It all depends on what you pair them with,” I tell her. “The black-and-white countertop with white cabinets and a white or light gray backsplash wouldn’t be too dark, and then you could go dark on the floor to anchor it. This one,” I point to the other sample, “has subtle veins of light gray running through it. You could do the cabinets in a light gray with medium-tone floors to anchor it and a dark backsplash that breaks up the lighter cabinets. And the third sample would go well with most wood tones, but then we’d need to stain the cabinets instead of painting them.”
Jen nods along as I talk, obviously trying to envision what I’m saying. “What would you do?” She pins me with her inquisitive stare.
“No. No way. I’m not picking this for you.” I hold my hands up in surrender.
“I’m not saying I’ll do what you suggest. I just want to know your thoughts.”
“Nope. This is your project. I’m just the labor. Besides, I’ve seen your idea book, and I know how obsessed you are with the possibilities. I’m not taking that away from you.”
“Okay.” She holds my gaze, and I get the strangest sense she isn’t looking at me so much as into me, as if she understands that I trust her. It’s unsettling and intimate all at once, and I hope like hell she can’t hear my heartbeat because in that moment I’m aware it’s just the two of us again. I hold my body as still as I can against the wall, waiting to see what she does.
“I’m not going to decide right now,” she declares, turning back toward where the samples are displayed. “I need to think on it a bit. Maybe get some paint swatches.”
“Good idea.” I exhale, relieved and disappointed that the moment is over.
I drive Jen back to her house, nodding goodbye when she slides out of the car because I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I watch the graceful sway of her hips as she walks away. From here on out, I will only see her in passing when I stop by the project site, and I can’t help wondering why that leaves me feeling a little empty when it had been my goal all along.
The next morning as I’m sipping my coffee, I get a text with a bunch of color swatches.
Jen: What do you think?
Me: I think I told you to make your own decision.
Jen: I did. I’m just giving you the opportunity to comment.
Me: Would you even listen to any comment I make if you’ve already made a decision?
Jen: No. But you're being paid to make sure things go well, so I feel obligated to give you the opportunity to object.
I chuckle.
Me: Not second guessing?
Jen: Never.
Me: Then why ask?
Jen:
Just being polite.
I chuckle again.
“What’s so funny?” Wes asks as he strolls into the kitchen.
“Nothing. Just something on my phone.”
“Okay.” He looks at me skeptically but doesn’t press, thank God. There’s nothing overly funny about Jen’s text, unless you consider the person doing the texting. But there’s no way I can explain that to Wes without getting into territory I can barely explain to myself. I type a quick text back then shove my phone in my pocket, hoping Wes didn't see the goofy smile on my face.
Chapter 9
Jen
Lisa pulls up to the house right on time, and because it’s been so long since I’ve seen her, I’m excited about the house, and I’m just an energized person by nature, I practically tackle her with a hug when she makes it inside.
“Wow! What was that for?” She laughs.
“I’m just so excited to be graced with your presence. It’s about time your boyfriend let you out of his sight.” I’m joking, of course, mostly. I’m beyond excited for Lisa to have found her soulmate, even if that has robbed me of countless dinners and workouts and movie nights with my best friend.
Lisa holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers, wearing a smile so big it looks like it might actually hurt.
“No!” I grab her hand to get a closer look at the sparkling diamond on her finger, a rectangular stone set in a dainty, art-deco design. “It’s so perfect for you,." Lisa, despite being several years younger than me, is the oldest soul I know, except maybe for her boy…fiancé Chris, and the classic look definitely suits her. “When?”
“A few nights ago.” She beams. “We were sitting on the deck watching the stars, and he said one of the reasons he bought the house was because it was so quiet and so dark that it felt like the stars were his alone, but now he hates the idea of having them to himself because he wants to share everything in his life with me.”
“That’s…” I take in her face, how she radiates joy, and rephrase what I was about to say. “That’s beautiful.” I smile.
Totally Inevitable Intent Page 7
