by C. A. Harms
As I gather my tools and the leftover material I glance down at the paper as I tear away the carbon copy and lay it on her counter. Hope Larsen was written in big bubbling letters, and the signature was just the same.
I exit the small house with a smile, fully intending to run into Hope again. One way or another I would make it happen, and I’m sure that time, and the time after that would be no different than the now.
I shouldn't like her attitude and sass as much as I do. In fact, it should frighten me because she was a little vicious when provoked. Most guys would be running away with their tail tucked between their legs looking for something with a lot less of a challenge. Not me, I enjoyed working hard for something, it made the end result so much sweeter. Especially when I got what I wanted. I liked to win.
Hope intrigued me with her standoff attitude, her need to appear cold and distant. I could forget her, move on to someone that wouldn’t make me work for it, but what would the fun be in that? I also quite enjoyed the banter between the two of us, and whether she was willingly to admit it, I think she did, too.
Chapter 4
Hope
I enter my parents’ house carrying a bucket of strawberries. It was a yearly tradition my mother and I shared. Strawberry jam. It wasn’t really for the benefit of anyone else outside my father, my mother, and I. We all had a liking to strawberry anything, and jam on a piece of toast was like heaven. It didn’t even have to be the morning, we ate it any time of day.
Today, though, it was a welcome distraction as my mind needed something to think about other than that unsettled feeling I’ve had for the last few days. I’ve felt off everyday since that irritating man left my house. I tried to deny it was related to the rush of excitement he’d made me feel, but it was pointless. The arrogant cocky electrician that’s been haunting my thoughts has been there every single morning and every single night since the day he challenged me in my very own living room. He was an ass, and possibly the biggest jerk I’d ever met.
For days I tried to figure out why I let it get to me. I wanted to know how a man like him could’ve gotten beneath my skin so easily, and when reality dawned on me, I felt nauseous.
“You really are a fiery one, aren’t you?” Walker nudged my shoulder, taunting me. “Trying to be all hard and unaffected but I see your hesitance, Hope, I see it.”
I shoved against him, feeling the fury inside me spike.
“I’m breaking you down, slowly, but I can see you falling apart.”
“Shut up,” I say moving around him, trying to make it closer to the basket. “You play like a girl.”
His deep chuckle ignites and he uses his chest to move me further away from the basket.
“Now I think we both know you don’t consider me a girl, sweetheart.”
Reality hit me and it hit me hard. Travis was just like him, like Walker. They both liked to infuriate me. They enjoyed the fire inside of me that I fought so hard to hide.
Travis enjoyed seeing me react. To him that was a sure sign I felt something, whether it be anger or lust it gave him something to build on.
Though Walker was kind and generous, he was a certified tormentor too, at least when it came to me. He would tease me and taunt me for hours just to get me all worked up. He’d never let the opportunity to harass me pass. In fact, he watched for it closely. He loved getting a rise out of me.
Mr. Donovan, or Travis as his card read, found a way to get beneath my armor. A shield I had built up to protect myself from ever getting close to another again. He penetrated that bubble I live in, even if it was only for a few minutes.
I think that's what I found so frustrating.
I tried to deny to myself that for a moment, I felt a rush of excitement from our banter. He gave me back just as much as he got, and never once did he falter. The whole thing made the guilt I feel daily even worse. The fact that I felt anything at all was hard to accept. But it was true, and I couldn’t deny that there was a definite spark that day. An excitement deep inside that made my heart race, that rapid flutter, that quickened pulse. For a moment he’d managed to make me forget my guilt, my sadness. Somehow, Travis triggered that place inside to resurface that I had buried long ago.
For a short period of time, I felt like the old me. The version before the shooting that people seemed to love so much. The sassy, give-it-your-all girl. The one that was confident and real, not solemn and weak.
Travis had done that, brought back that part of me. He managed with only a toss of a few words to make me feel alive again. He’d penetrated that shell, that surface I’d built up around me.
“What’s got you so deep in thought?”
The sound of my mother’s voice made me jump in surprise, but I didn’t turn to face her. Instead I continue to add the strawberries into the sink.
“Nothing, just washing these.” I know if she saw my face it would be game over. I swear my mother has a built-in lie detector, and all she had to do was see my eyes to determine. “Did you bring in more?”
Yes, I was attempting to distract her.
I could feel her step up beside me. I could sense she was staring at me. It was as if her penetrating gaze was reaching right inside my mind and plucking out the truth. My heart began to race, knowing full well she was doing that thing she does. That you can’t fool me interrogation that would have me caving any second.
Don't look at her, don’t look. I chanted this over and over in my head.
I would have been triumphant in my attempt, but the movement in my peripheral vision triggered me to look to my left, and instantly my eyes lock with hers.
“You can’t fool your momma.” She whispers the words, but it’s her narrowed eyes that got me.
As if my dad sensed I needed to be rescued, he entered the kitchen and I quickly turn around to face him. I had to escape the beady eyes of Hanna Larsen. “Dad, hi.” I push off the counter, leaving behind my mother and the strawberries that were only half rinsed. “How was your day?”
I don’t miss the way his eyebrows raise in question as he accepts the hug I offer. I think it was the hug that made it too much, because when I pull back he just stares at me without a word. Then ever so slowly, he lifts his hand and holds his palm to my forehead.
Rolling my eyes I push away his hand. “I’m not sick, you goof.”
“Well, if you aren’t sick then that can only mean one thing.”
It was my turn to give him a questioning stare.
“You missed the appointment again, didn’t you?”
“No,” I assured him, “the guy showed up and did his job.” He also heavily flirted and caught me checking out his ass twice. I leave that piece of information out. “He did take twice as long as he initially said he would, but I assure you, it is all done. I can now do laundry in my own house.”
“Hank is a bit on the slow side, but he is thorough.”
I give my dad a curious look. “Hank?”
“Yeah,” he says, “he was the guy doing the job.”
“His name was Travis.”
“The owner?” I look back over my shoulder and nod. “He’s been working over at those new apartment complexes off Midland. I’m surprised he took the time away to do a small job like ours.”
“It was most likely related to the fact that our daughter stood them up various times.” I turn back around facing my father now as the two of them continue to go back and forth as if I’m not even there.
“She gets that from you, ya know.” My mother always says I’m more like my father. “Stubborn and hard headed.”
“Forgetfulness,” my dad corrects her, “she says she forgot, and I can assure you I forget nothing.”
“What about last night when you forgot to put on your pants before you marched outside to start the truck?” I’m trapped in crazy town as my parents continue on with their shenanigans. “You put on your boots, even took the time to lace them up, and had I not told you, you most likely would have gone to town that way, too.”
“I was testing you.”
I laugh, causing them both to look at me.
“What?”
“Your laughter is something I love to hear.” My mother leans in to hug me. “I’ve missed it.”
My throat tightens with emotion as I allow her to hold me close. Happiness was something I had denied myself, fearful of feeling anything good in my life. The fairness of it just felt wrong, like I wasn’t worthy.
The following morning I woke still thinking of the interaction between Travis and I. I spent the entire day sitting in my kitchen, tucked back in the tiny look nook I use as the most pathetic excuse for a home office. For hours I try to focus on the words spoken by various doctors, still unable to concentrate.
Now don’t go getting all mad at me, princess, you’re the one openly checking out my backside. I should feel violated.
His words filled the space between the doctors and continuously become blurred together.
Give him a call, princess, and tell him all about how you’re sexually harassing his employee.
I smile as I remember the smirk on his face when he spoke those words. He was so cocky, yet so very appealing.
Giving up on work after hours of meaningless transcribing mixed in with a few sporadic rays of hope had me a little mixed up inside. Instead of going straight to my car, I wandered aimlessly looking through the windows of the stores that line the street. Flower arrangements both fake and real adorn one window, side by side with other home decor. After a few more minutes of lingering, I did something I hadn’t ever done since I moved into my home.
I bought myself a house warming gift. A bright arrangement of dried flowers in the most beautiful vase, to grace my island. I could almost imagine it sitting there, separating the two rooms, making my small space feel a little less dim.
Chapter 5
Travis
"Uncle Travis!” The excited chants of all three of my nephews ricochet off the walls as I enter their house. Lance and Graham each wrap their little arms around my legs, sliding down to place their butts on the tops of my feet. Within seconds their legs are linked around me as well, and I now have two human boots. Tate, the older of the three at a whopping seven years old, holds out his hand to fist bump me as he walks by. He was growing entirely too fast, and I miss the moments when he would squeal and race through the house like his younger brothers.
“Okay, boys.” I look up to see Missy, my sister-in-law, entering the living room with two bowls of popcorn. “Let Uncle Travis walk without the two of you attached to him like a couple of leeches.”
Once she set the bowls down on the coffee table, she walked toward me and leaned over to offer me a kiss on my cheek.
“You smell good.” She stands a little straighter and looks at me with curiosity. “What are you all dressed up for?”
Before I can answer, Tripp enters the room in a pair of sweats and no shirt. “Boys,” he hollers out, “get off Trav before I give your popcorn to the neighbor boys.”
“They’re all right.” I move across the room hearing each boy giggle when I take a step. Of course I overly exaggerated each step I took just to give them a little more height before lowering them to the floor once again. “Two four year olds is the best type of leg workout.”
“Why are you all pretty boy tonight?” Tripp gave me a quizzical stare. “You smell like a chump, too.”
“Your wife thinks I smell good.”
Tripp looks over at his wife before looking back at me. “She’s just being nice because she knows having a sexy brother like me gives you a complex.” I chuckle at his words. “Everyone knows I got the looks and you got well,” he pauses, scanning over me, “we don’t know what you got yet.”
Leaning in a little closer so the boys can’t hear, I whisper so only he could hear my words. “What I got blessed with is hidden in my boxers. We all know your grub worm can’t compare.”
“Really though, what are you up to?”
“Meeting the guys for a few drinks at Clovers.” Lance and Graham finally remove themselves from my legs and are now interested in the movie playing on the TV. “Wanna go?”
I already knew he’d decline because Tripp is a family man. He’d rather spend all his free time in the company of his kids and wife, and I couldn't blame him. Had I been blessed with a family as beautiful as his, I would never want to leave either. Especially going to some bar. That was too close to the childhood we left, even though my brother nor I were alcoholics.
I’d have a drink or two, but it was never any more than that.
“Any lucky lady meeting ya there?”
I smirk as I look at Missy before rotating my glance back to my brother. “You hear that?” I love taunting my brother. “Lucky lady is right here. Your wife thinks I’m hot.”
“My wife thinks you’re a charity case, and she feels sorry for you.”
Tripp had no reason to worry, Missy was a loyal woman. She always has been. She worships my brother.
“No lady yet, Miss, but maybe one day I’ll find myself one as beautiful as you.”
“Won’t happen,” Tripp announces. “There’s no woman as beautiful as my Missy girl.”
Cue the little floating hearts around Missy’s head as she looks adoringly at my brother. Fuck if that look wasn’t something I craved from a female. Call me a pussy, but I don’t give a shit. I want a woman to look at me like I hung the moon and the fucking stars. I want to be a woman’s everything and not just her for now.
“Okay, you two are making me nauseous.” I push up off the couch and pretend to gag. “A guy can only take so much of this mushy shi-,” I pause before finishing the word as I stare at my nephews, “stuff, before they puke.”
“Good, I’m ready for some alone time with my lady.” I hear Missy squeal as Tripp reaches out and hooks her around the waist. She lands in his lap and within seconds his face is buried in her neck.
The boys weren’t affected by their parents’ affection, they were used to it. I’ll admit that it warms my heart knowing they’ll grow up knowing what true love looks like, feels like, and should be like. Tripp showered his family with the kind of love that molded you into a respectable, level headed adult.
“Later, Trav,” Tripp’s muffled voice follows me out the door. “Be safe, brother.”
“Always am.”
After a ten minute drive across town, I pulled into the parking lot of Clover’s. The place was packed, loud music was playing from the outside speakers under the covered porch off the back of the building. Laughter and loud booming voices echoed over the parking lot as I walk toward the entrance, the gravel crunching beneath my boots.
The moment I pull open the door, I spot the guys huddled in the corner. Moving toward them, they spot me immediately and hold their beers up in salute. “The boss man has arrived.”
Hank motions to the bartender and within minutes, I have a beer in hand, and the conversations begin to flow. For a few hours I let go of the stress of my day. I let go of the yearning inside me to have the type of life my brother has, and I cut loose with the guys I could safely say are also a part of my family.
“The light keeps flickering,” I pause as the cafe door comes open, holding my hand out to catch it before it closes once again. “I turn down the light, and within seconds it’s flickering and flashing. So I turned it off.”
“Ma.” She would keep talking if I didn't interrupt her. My mother was a little long winded. "Did you put the dimmer bulbs I got you in the sockets?”
“What are dimmer bulbs?”
I step out onto the curb and hang my head. I’ve told her a number of times that the recess lighting I ran in her kitchen were on dimmer switches. Yet every time a bulb blows, she replaces it with those damn incandescent lights, and then when she attempts to dim them, they put on a flicker show.
“Just keep’em off, Ma, and I’ll be there this afternoon to change them for you.”
I’m walking along, listening to my mother ramble on about her s
on and how he has to go making everything difficult. Things like ‘my lighting was perfectly fine before, why did he have to go getting all fancy’. I’m smiling because she is rambling on like she is actually talking to someone else other than the son she’s complaining about.
I pull my keys from my pocket fully intending to get in my Tahoe and drive across town just so I could fix her lights when I freeze.
Across the street, standing just outside the coffee shop, was a woman that I’ll admit has occupied my thoughts a time or a dozen over the last week. Gorgeous blonde hair flowing in the light breeze, only this time it was pulled up in one of those tie things girls use. She was alone, leaning back against the decorative railing that separated the shop and the nail salon next door. There was no smile on her face, just a blank stare as she sipped her coffee.
“Travis Tate Donovan.” Yes, my nephew was named after me.
“Yeah, Ma.” Apparently she’d been waiting for me to answer some question she asked. The problem was I hadn’t heard a word she’d said since I looked up and found Hope.
“I asked when you’d be here,” I could hear pans and such banging around as she moved about her kitchen. “I have Bridge tonight and this afternoon I was heading over to Tripp’s to help Missy with the cupcakes for Tate’s classroom party.”
“I have a key,” I tell her, my eyes still locked on the pretty lady across the street. “I can come on over when I get a free minute and switch them out for ya. When you get home tonight you’ll be set.”
Again she rambles, but I can’t take my eyes off Hope as she moves away from the railing and begins walking down the road. My pulse quickens as I think she may get away without a chance for me to talk to her again. Most men would have run away without a second thought, but let me just say, I’m not most men.
