Inappropriate

by Keeland, Vi

  “So what’s new?” I asked as I set the fireplace back down in the dollhouse.

  “Nothing. And that’s exactly how I like it at my age. Every time I get something new, it’s a pill, a pain, or prostate exam I don’t enjoy.” He looked over at me and set down his tool and the wood he’d been sanding. Under his woodworking table were two stools. He pulled one out and slid it over to me before taking a seat on the other.

  “Have a seat. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “How do you know something’s bothering me?”

  Pops lifted his chin and pointed to my pants. “Your hands are shoved in your pockets. Always a dead giveaway with you. Remember the time you cut off your sister’s ponytail while she was sleeping because she left your bike outside and it got stolen?”

  I laughed. It never ceased to amaze me how far back he could remember, even in stage one of dementia, yet sometimes he forgot the simplest things right after he heard them.

  “I remember. Someone found the bike the next day and returned it, but Mom didn’t let me ride it again for months.”

  “You had your hands in your pockets that day. Probably because you also had her damn ponytail shoved in there. You have done it every time you were worried about something since.”

  I wasn’t so sure he was right, yet I made a conscious choice to remove my hands from my pockets before I sat down.

  I sighed. “Am I a selfish person?”

  Pops frowned. “You mean because you hold the reins at work and boss around your sisters?”

  That hadn’t been what I was referring to, but thanks, Pops. I shook my head. “I met a woman.”

  Pops nodded. “The looker? Charlize?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Good choice. She seems like a woman who won’t put up with your shit.” Pops wagged a finger at me. “That’s the key to a happy marriage. Marry a woman who scares you a little, one who makes you think what the hell is she doing with a jackass like me? Then spend the rest of your life trying to live up to what you think she deserves.”

  Pops had a lot of wisdom, and I knew he was right, but I wasn’t asking the question I really wanted answered. So I took a deep breath and spit out what was really bothering me.

  “It’s new. But I really like her…and…she wants kids.”

  Pops held my eyes as so many unspoken words passed between us. He didn’t need any more of an explanation about why that was an issue for me.

  His face saddened, but he nodded. “So you think you’re selfish for not wanting kids.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re not selfish, son. You just don’t know how to deny someone you love anything. That’s an admirable quality in a man. Your situation is different than a man who doesn’t want children because he likes his lifestyle. I could see how that might seem somewhat selfish, though it’s still a person’s choice. It’s their life. But you…it’s not about that. I’d guess that down deep you even want to have children, that your reasons are more of a protective nature—for a future child, and maybe even a little for yourself.”

  I felt a heavy weight on my chest and looked down. “I don’t know about that, Pops.”

  When I looked back up, he caught my gaze. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then trust me when I say you’re not selfish. That’s not what this is about.” Pops sighed. “Have you spoken to your lady about your reasons?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, that’s where you need to start. If nothing else, at least she’ll understand your position better.”

  “It’s not something that’s easy to explain.”

  “Of course not. But I think you need to tell your story. It’s been a long time coming. And even if you two can’t work out your differences, it’s important for you to come clean with her…and yourself.”

  ***

  Ireland blew me off again on Monday. By Tuesday morning, I was feeling restless and snapping at my staff. Even Millie was keeping her distance. But then my desk phone rang in the early afternoon, and the caller ID flashed the name Ireland Richardson.

  My heart was pumping before I even lifted the receiver. “I got my zoning variance!”

  I smiled at the sound of her voice. I’d forgotten her hearing was this morning. “That’s great news. I’m glad it worked out.”

  “It didn’t work out. You made it work out. Thank you so much, Grant. I owe you one.”

  My normal response would’ve been Why don’t you bring your sexy ass up here to my office, and I’ll cash that chip in after I lock my door, but things still felt off. So instead I said, “You’re welcome. But it was really no trouble at all.”

  “I think I might have even found a new contractor to finish the bathroom. He said if I could get someone in to sheetrock by midweek, he could tile the shower and floors. Then the plumber would just need to come back to set the sink and toilet and I’d at least have one working bathroom. If I can get that and a bedroom done, I could move in when my lease is up and get the kitchen and other rooms done slowly.”

  “Do you have a drywaller lined up?”

  She sighed. “No. But I’m going to start searching as soon as we hang up.”

  “You just need the bathroom done this week?”

  “Yeah. So hopefully it won’t be too hard to find someone.”

  I remembered all the house construction Pops and I had done over the years. They were actually some of the best memories of my life. We’d spend the day bullshitting and laughing, and things would somehow get done. Which gave me an idea...

  “You don’t have to call around. I have someone for you.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “Oh my God. I wish I could climb through the phone and kiss your face right now.”

  I grinned. “Save that thought. Because that’s how you’ll be paying the contractor who’s going to do your work.”

  “Did you just tell me I have to make out with the contractor?”

  I chuckled. “I most certainly did.”

  “Now I’m lost. Who is this contractor?”

  “Me.”

  Chapter 26

  * * *

  Ireland

  God, I like that toolbelt.

  I leaned against the doorframe, watching Grant work in the front yard. He had a piece of sheetrock set up on two sawhorses and was running a saw over it to fit into an area of the bathroom he’d just measured. He had on a pair of jeans, work boots, a T-shirt, and a ratty old toolbelt. And he looked ridiculously hot. I mean, I loved him in a well-fitted suit, and I loved him with a pair of board shorts on his boat, but this… This made me want to get sweaty and dirty.

  “Keep looking at me like that, and nothing is going to get finished.”

  His head had been down, and I hadn’t even been aware that he knew I was watching. I sipped water from a plastic bottle. “Pay attention to the saw in your hand. I wouldn’t want you to cut off anything important.”

  Grant lifted the cut sheetrock upright, pulled the goggles from his head, and hung them on the end of one of the sawhorses. He carried it up the steps and stopped in front of me, in the tight space of the doorway, to plant a chaste kiss on my mouth. “Let’s get finished. Every time I pass the frame where the kitchen counter will be, all I can think about is how it’s the perfect height to fuck you.”

  Despite my confusion about our future, I seriously had it bad for this man. One kiss and the mention of sex, and I could feel my nipples harden and a tingle between my legs. I had to clear my throat to not show how affected I was. “Better get back to work. Or I won’t pay you later.”

  His eyes darkened. “Try not to pay me later, sweetheart.”

  While Grant went back to the bathroom, I sat down on the steps of the porch. I wanted things to truly be as light and easy as they’d felt for the last few minutes. I’d avoided Grant since my discovery that he didn’t want children. I’d given a lot of thought to breaking things o
ff with him. I already had strong feelings, and spending more time together would likely just make it worse when the time came. But that was logical, and the heart doesn’t do logic. So for now, for the short term anyway, I’d decided to stay in the moment.

  I wasn’t ready to give up Grant, and I wasn’t ready to accept that I might not have a family someday. Basically, I’d decided avoidance was my current tactic. I also needed to understand why Grant was so adamant about not having children, and if there might be some compromise on that someday.

  On that thought, I went back to the bathroom to be in the moment with my sexy construction worker. Grant was screwing in the drywall he’d cut.

  “What can I do?” I asked from the doorway.

  “If you’re good at measuring, you can take that tape measure over there and figure out the dimensions of the last piece we need to cut.”

  I smiled. “I can do that.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “You’ve measured before, right?”

  “Of course.” I actually hadn’t, unless you counted slipping the tailor’s measuring tape around my waist when I was on a kick to lose an inch. But how hard could it be?

  After I measured and typed the dimensions into my phone, I waited for Grant to finish. He lifted his chin to the area that still needed drywall. “Want me to double check what you came up with?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Do you think I’m incompetent because I’m a woman?”

  Grant raised his hands in surrender. “Nope. I’m sure you did fine. It’s just that we only have one piece of sheetrock left, so if we screw it up, we’ll have to make another run to the store.”

  “I didn’t screw it up.” I really, really hope I didn’t anyway…

  Back outside at the saw, I enjoyed the way Grant’s muscles bulged as he held the sheetrock in place. “How often do you work out?”

  Grant looked up at me. “Five days a week. More if I’m frustrated and need to burn off some steam. Needless to say, it was seven days a week for a while there after I ran into you at that coffee shop.”

  I tilted my head. “So now I don’t frustrate you?”

  He smirked. “Didn’t say that. But now I have a much better way of working that frustration out—on you.”

  He finished cutting, and I followed him to the bathroom to put up the last piece. Only when he raised the sheetrock to the wall, it was a few inches too small. My eyes bulged. “You cut that wrong.”

  Grant’s brows shot up. “Me? Pretty sure it’s your measurement that’s off.”

  I squinted. “It is not.” Uh-oh…

  Grant looked up at the ceiling and mumbled something, then took a deep breath and exhaled. “Care to put a little wager on who’s right?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He looked down at the kneepads he’d been wearing all day. “My cut matches your measurements, and you’ll be wearing these.”

  Oh. Well, it wasn’t like it was a hardship if I lost. I reached out to shake on the deal. “Fine. But if I win, you’re going to take off all your clothes, except the toolbelt, when you’re on your knees.”

  Grant reached around me to grab the tape measure and lowered his face to mine for a kiss. “You like the toolbelt? I’ll wear it every fucking day.”

  I smiled. “Pretty sure people at the office would think you’d lost it.”

  Grant measured the open space on the wall and showed me the width. “Thirty-two and three quarters, do you agree?”

  I leaned in and checked. “Yup. Thirty two and three quarters.”

  He pointed to my phone. “Read me the dimensions you called out.”

  I held my breath as I swiped my cell alive. I hated to be wrong, but the way Grant was all bossy in his construction worker outfit really worked for me, and I secretly hoped I was this time. Dropping to my knees sounded pretty good right about now. I looked at my phone and smiled broadly as I turned it around to show him what I’d typed in.

  Grant’s face wrinkled. “You do know that says twenty-two and three-quarters, right?”

  “I know.” My smile widened.

  “That means you lost the bet.”

  I bit my bottom lip and dropped to my knees. “I know. You can keep the knee pads on…and the toolbelt.”

  ***

  An hour later, Grant was a lot more relaxed as we walked around Home Depot. Since we were here anyway, I wanted to show him the two tiles I was considering for the bathroom. But the aisle was closed off while they used a forklift to take a pallet down from the top shelf, so Grant said he’d go get a cart in the meantime. When they opened the aisle, a construction worker struck up a conversation with me.

  “Trying to decide between the two? Go with natural stone, rather than the ceramic.”

  “Oh really? Why?”

  “Ceramic chips easily. Stone doesn’t. And if you like that one in your left hand, they make it in a tumbled version, too. Stone doesn’t chip easily, and tumbled stone you can’t even tell when it does chip.”

  “Oh, that’s great to know. Thanks.”

  He smiled. “No problem.”

  “Are you a tile contractor?”

  “Nah. Not by trade. I’m a drywaller.”

  Grant walked up the aisle, pushing one of those tall carts you put big items on. He stopped next to me and eyed the guy like a suspect.

  “I was actually looking for a drywaller. Never thought of trolling the aisles at Home Depot to find one.”

  The guy dug his wallet from his back pocket and slipped out a business card. Offering it to me, he smiled. “If you need help again, give me a call.”

  I took the card. “I will. And thanks for the education on tile.”

  When the guy walked away, I looked at Grant. “I found a drywaller.”

  He plucked the card from my hand. “Who wants in your pants. I’ll file this for you.” Grant crumpled up the card.

  “Oh my God. You’re jealous?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m territorial.”

  “That’s the same thing.”

  “Whatever. Show me the tile.”

  I grinned and sing-songed, “Gra-ant’s jeal-lous.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

  I pushed up on my tippy toes and brushed my lips with his. “You’d be bored with easy.”

  After looking at the tumbled-stone tile, I still couldn’t decide. Grant loaded a box of each onto the cart and told me he’d lay them out on the floor when we got home so I could decide, then return the one I didn’t pick. Outside, he had to leave his trunk open and tie the big piece of sheetrock in place so it didn’t fall out. It was a pretty funny sight—Grant’s expensive Mercedes with a piece of rope keeping construction materials inside.

  “Something tells me this is the first time this car has ever had sheetrock in it.”

  “I hire people because I’m busy, not because I’m incapable of doing it myself.”

  “I know. And the fact that you made time for me means a lot.”

  Grant looked back and forth between my eyes and nodded. “Come on. Let’s get this stuff back, and this time, we’ll use my measurements.”

  Chapter 27

  * * *

  Ireland

  A week later, Grant and I seemed to have settled back into the comfort we had before Mia’s brunch. We ate lunch in his office most days and took turns staying at each other’s places. But we still hadn’t had any more conversation about having kids someday. We’d just moved on.

  I’d mentally made a decision that I wasn’t ready to make a decision about whether having children meant more to me than having Grant. I guess I just hoped things would work themselves out. Maybe I’d discover Grant wasn’t Mr. Forever, or he’d soften on his position. Either way, it kept me from having to make the decision to walk away—which I definitely wasn’t ready for at the moment.

  On Saturday morning, I woke up from the rocking. It was the first time I’d slept on Grant’s boat and felt more than a light
sway. Patting the bed next to me, I found cold sheets instead of a warm body. So I pulled on the dress shirt Grant had worn to work yesterday and went searching for its owner. I found him outside on the back deck.

  The wind blew, sweeping up the bottom of the shirt, and I caught it just as it was about to flash my ass. “It’s so windy.”

  Grant nodded. “Storm’s brewing.”

  The sun looked like it was trying to come out, but the sky was so cloudy, it just turned everything an ominous dark gray color.

  Grant held out his hand and guided me to sit in front of him, between his open legs.

  “Do you stay down here during a storm?”

  “Sometimes. Depends on how bad it is. We don’t really get too many days where there are whitecaps in the inlet.”

  “How long have you been awake?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hours.”

  I turned my head and looked up at him. “What time is it?”

  “About six.”

  “And you’ve been up for a few hours?”

  Grant nodded. “Had trouble sleeping.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Just some work stuff on my mind.”

  We sat quietly watching the sky for a little while.

  Then Grant spoke again. “I’m full of shit.”

  My forehead wrinkled. “About what?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not work that’s bothering me.”

  I sat up and turned around to face him. When I’d walked out, I hadn’t really taken a good look at him, but now I could see his face was etched with tension. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  He looked down for a long time. When he looked up, his eyes were watery. “Today is Leilani’s birthday.”

  I was confused. “The boat?”

  Grant shook his head. He looked over my shoulder at the sky and swallowed before his eyes met mine again. “My daughter.”