by Lila Monroe
“If the zombie apocalypse ever comes, promise not to arm me with a saw,” I groan as I pick the tool up, feeling like a, well, tool. My face flushes hotter in embarrassment.
“That should probably be a segment on the show, right?” Flint says, helping me up and grinning. “‘Flint McKay’s Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse.’ Sounds kind of badass, don’t you think?”
“Oh man, forget home renovation. We’ve found our new paranormal superstar.” I still feel awkward standing in front of the camera, being recorded like this. But I can’t help laughing a little, and Flint joins me.
“You more of a baseball bat person?” he asks. “You know, for knocking in undead heads?”
“Probably more of a ‘get in a fast car and drive away, looking for a good isolated motel with WiFi’ kind of person,” I say, giving a guilty shrug. “I’m city tough. If you need someone to get you a table at Mr. Chow’s during the dinner rush, call on me.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with those skills,” he says, putting the saw away. “There’s something nice about city girls. They’ve got a quick way of thinking and talking. I like that.” He grins, the dazzle factor blinding me. “After all, those years in New York weren’t a total loss.”
“Never lose the rustic charm,” I say, trying to keep my cool with the way he’s looking at me. It’s purely friendly, of course, but still intoxicating. “It’s what’s going to sell the whole show.”
“Sell.” He makes a face. “I hate to think of selling myself. I can’t help it.”
“That’s probably the smart way to think in reality TV,” I say, finally shutting down the camcorder. I breathe a long sigh of relief. “The ones who really go off the rails are the ones who start seeing their whole lives through the camera lens. That’s when it gets creepy.”
“That’s not going to happen to me,” he says, decisive.
“I won’t let it. I promise,” I say. I stack the plywood to give myself something to do, then dust my hands, making a face at the dirt on them. That makes him laugh.
“All right. I’m putting myself in your very clean, capable hands, Ms. Young,” he says. Okay, Laurel. Don’t blush, don’t get lusty-eyed. He doesn’t mean that way, after all. “Do you want to try something simpler?”
“Like what?” I ask. He considers for a minute.
“Maybe nailing two pieces of wood together?” he asks, grinning. I lightly smack his arm, and he laughs again. God, that is a wonderful sound. It’s like rich, manly velvet.
Before we can get around to the instructional nailing (not that kind, not that kind), Flint’s cell phone rings. He grabs it. “McKay. Hey, Josh, what’s going on?” He takes a few steps, nodding as he listens. “You want it today after all? All right, give me half an hour to get everything loaded. I’ll see you there.” He hangs up and makes a face. “I hate to do this, but I’ve got to run out. Two chairs and a sofa I redid, the guy wants them today. He said tomorrow, but I guess he got back into town early.”
“It’s fine,” I say, packing up my camera. I would’ve liked to shoot the rest of the day, just to give the deadline more room to breathe, but you do what you can with what you have. “I need to go back to the inn and plan the budgets anyway.”
“That sounds like a wild time,” he says. There’s the deadpan voice I’ve been missing all afternoon.
“Truly, excel spreadsheets and I know how to get down and dirty. I’ve also got to arrange your flight out to LA for the pitch.”
“Oh. Right,” he says, sounding a little uncomfortable. “I forgot there was a trip element to this whole trip thing.”
“Come on, you lived in New York. LA’s not much different.”
“Apart from the traffic, the smog, and the assholes. Relax,” he says, holding up his hands. “There are plenty of assholes in New York. I know the drill. I’m in. We’ll pitch like our lives depend on it.”
Which they do, in a way.
“Fantastic. You won’t regret this. I swear.” I hold out my hand. “See you tomorrow, then? We can maybe film a little at the hardware store. Show you in your natural habitat.” I grin.
“Sounds good. Tomorrow,” he says, shaking on it. His hand is rough, callused but warm. Mine feels small and fragile in his grip. It’s not the worst feeling in the world. Our eye contact lingers, and I fend off another round of intense blushing until he finally lets my hand go. Did that long handshake mean something? Or was his mind just elsewhere?
Don’t be stupid, Laurel. Time to nip this in the bud. Clearing my throat, I make a decision that I hope is for the best. “Look, Flint. I’m really glad we’ll be working together, and I look forward to continuing our professional relationship, but I just want to say that whatever happened last night—”
“Don’t even worry about it,” he says, cutting me off. “That was really, uh, out of character for me. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was—”
“Me either,” I blurt. “I mean, clearly if we’re going to be working together…”
He nods. “Right. We should probably just forget it ever happened.”
“Right,” I agree. “Onward and upward. See you tomorrow bright and early.” I tuck the camera under my arm and we stand there awkwardly for a moment.
“I guess I should head out,” Flint says, leading us out of the workshop. I try to ignore the pang I feel as I follow him across the yard, back toward the house.
7
“Would you like me to sort your chakras while you wait for your eggs?” the waitress asks me the next day. I blink at her, just starting to feel the effects of my first coffee. “Like, not to make you feel awkward, but your crown and your third eye are so close together.” I’m back at the local diner where I had that first date (meeting, Laurel, it was a meeting) with Flint—and now that I’m sober I really notice the cute checkered tablecloths, the antique bric-a-brac decorating the walls, the sugar bowls shaped like hens. It’s adorable, but my waitress definitely ups the quirk factor.
“I…thank you?” I say, not sure about the chakra thing.
The girl’s young, with long, honey blond hair and woven hemp bracelets around her wrists. Turquoise stones hang from her ears. Her nametag reads JESSA, and below in marker, she’s written NAMASTE. “I can feel that your energy is in need of healing,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I can try a little Reiki on you, but I’m afraid it might be too punishing for your aura right now.”
“Eh, I’m okay. Can I just get a refill on my coffee?” I ask, putting down my empty cup. She places her hand above my head, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.
“You’re a traveler wending her way through life. It’s my privilege to offer sustenance on your journey.” She floats away to get the coffee. I’m not sure how PC her moccasins are, but I’m not going to give her a hard time about it.
The door opens behind me, bell tinkling as a customer enters. Callie walks over, rolling the twins in their tandem stroller. I wave at Lily, who’s got her whole fist in her mouth. She waves back, gleefully. Callum shakes a ring of plastic keys with huge enthusiasm.
“Sorry I’m late, Cal spit up and I had to give him the fastest change known to man. Clark Kent has nothing on me.” Callie slides in, and Jessa brings us our coffee. Callie raises her eyebrows. “Hey, I didn’t know you were on shift today,” she says, reaching up and hugging Jessa. The hippie girl kisses her cheek.
“You two know each other?” I ask, surprised. Jessa and Callie don’t seem the type to run in the same circles. Maybe Jessa helped her with a homebirth?
“We’re sisters,” Callie says, shrugging. “Jessa was our parents’ later life miracle baby.”
“I think it’s so beautiful that I was chosen to bridge the final gap in our family, one they didn’t even know was there,” Jessa says, smiling dreamily. “It’s also beautiful to think of middle aged people, whose desires are suppressed by society, still engaged in passionate coupling.”
“Not so great when the people in question are your parents,” Callie says, m
aking a grossed out face. “Jess, can I have a short stack please?”
“With my blessing.” Jessa’s serene expression gets excited when she spies her niece and nephew. “Hello little numbkins!” Jessa gets on her knees and makes smoochie faces before leaving to get the order started.
“So. How’d it go yesterday? Is my brother Hollywood ready?” Callie leans forward, all excitement.
“Well, we’ve got to finish up the sizzle reel.” I force myself not to check my watch. Time is money, Flint. Where are you? “Then we hop a plane back to LaLa land, do the pitch in person. The executives fawn over the rugged man of the east, we sign our contracts, and the deal is pretty much done.” I’m making that all sound a lot easier and more guaranteed than it is, but screw it. I need to believe it’s that simple. There are no back up plans. I’ve Rory Gilmore’d it to the max and applied only to the top three Ivies in the country. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“Sizzle reel. Los Angeles. Damn, I wish I could do all the legwork for Flint and go out there myself.” She throws her head back and laughs, the kind of frazzled laughter you sometimes hear from overtired moms. I realize she has a few Cheerios in her hair, and try to think of a way to tactfully bring that up.
The door opens again, and Flint’s body fills the doorway. It takes all my available willpower to keep from drooling onto my placemat. He’s got on a fitted denim shirt today, one that hugs his sculpted torso in all the right places, with the top few buttons undone. How does this man make even denim sexy?
“Ready?” he says to me. Has he got an actual Thermos of coffee in his hand? He doesn’t even look tired, the bastard.
“Ready. I’ll get the eggs to go,” I say, rising, but Flint waves me down.
“I’ll handle it. Jessa gets a little flighty sometimes.” He walks over, and his little sister immediately flings her arms around him. I smile. Normally, big guys like Flint—from my limited experience, of course—tend to be a bit awkward around women. It’s that sort of he-man, big muscles, ‘man things, you wouldn’t understand’ type thing. But Flint seems to really love his sisters. He swings Jessa up in an easy hug while she giggles, then chats casually as he waits by the counter.
“Flint’s a good one,” Callie says, smiling fondly at her brother.
“A little gruff at first, but you get used to it,” I say. Callie laughs.
“He was never a big talker.” She sighs. “I think this show is the best thing that could happen for him. He’s been brooding for a while now.”
“What’s he got to brood about?” I ask. “The hardware business?”
“Pretty much,” she says, but I sense her evasion in the way she glances from side to side, avoiding eye contact. Before I can ask more, Flint reappears with a paper sack.
“I have to warn you, I’m pretty sure she lied to the cook and got him to give you an all-vegan breakfast.” He stares at the sack like it’s going to bite him. “If I were you, I’d get a bagel to go.”
We get in his truck and drive out to the store. Rolling the window down, I can’t help but stick my head out a little. The wind blows my hair, bringing the perfect scent of fresh cut grass and autumn smoke in to meet me.
“You and Chance might be distantly related,” Flint calls, laughing. I’m glad our talk yesterday didn’t make things weird between us. We seem to be back to that comfortable vibe from the first night we met, and I hope it stays that way.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say, pulling myself back inside. “Almost makes me not want to go back to LA.”
“If you decide to stick around, I can set you up with a job at the store. You’ve got hands on experience now,” he says. Is it just me, or does he look me over very quickly before turning his eyes back to the road? Probably just wishful thinking on my part.
I’d better knock it off.
We pull up to the store, a big, beautiful wooden structure. The whole place resonates with old-fashioned charm. As we get out, I fire up the camcorder and train it on Flint’s face. He groans and rolls his eyes.
“Am I going to have to get used to this?” He stares into the lens as I focus.
“If you want to be plastered on billboards all over the Sunset strip, winking manfully at the Japanese tourists, yeah. Cameras are something you’re going to have to grow accustomed to.” I dodge back and forth in front of him. That makes him smile, but it disappears fast.
“You think this’ll help, right?” He jerks his head to the storefront behind us. “Keep this place from going under?”
“I think it’s one of the best chances you have,” I say, being completely honest. “These days, everyone needs new twists on publicity and marketing. Having a large chain isn’t enough. You need to use your assets, the special things that your competitors don’t have.”
“I’ve got tools. Hand saws, screwdrivers, hammers, bolts, nails. Everyone’s got those,” he says, leading me inside. I film the very exciting display of his back muscles as he walks. Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave. I stop, a little overcome by my own voyeurism. I’ve got to stop hanging around Hollywood people. The creepiness is rubbing off.
We go inside the store. There are a few shoppers milling around, but the place is mostly empty. A dark-skinned woman rings someone up at the register. When she’s done she turns, sees Flint, and breaks into a wide smile. She heads out onto the floor and right over to us.
“There he is. Thought you were up camping with Fido in the great beyond,” she says, laughing heartily as Flint gives her a bear hug.
“His name’s Chance, Jeanine. Chance.” He mock-shakes her, which makes her laugh even harder. “And no, the hiking plans got canceled.” He nods to me; I wave from behind my camcorder. “This is Laurel Young. She’s a producer from Los Angeles—”
He doesn’t even get to finish his thought. Jeanine’s already primping at her hair and sidling in front of my camera, flashing that huge smile. Very casual, oh yeah, very cool. “Looking for the next big thing?” she asks innocently, striking a pose, leg popped and arm in the air. I can’t help giggling.
“Got any special talents?” Honestly, this is perfect. Mountain man surrounded by a cast of quirky characters? Dynamite for the sizzle reel. I should’ve gotten some footage of Jessa back at the diner.
“I was the head flag girl sophomore year,” Jeanine says, biting her lip as she thinks. “Also, I can do a mean electric slide.” She demonstrates for the camera, sliding along the floor. It’s actually pretty good.
“You’re too gorgeous for Hollywood,” Flint says, playfully wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “As for me, they think a do it yourself show’ll bring great business.”
“Maybe you could shoot it here,” Jeanine says, gesturing around grandly. She’s doing the full Vanna White, posing in front of the merchandise, which is hilarious. “Very glam.” We all start laughing, and a young man comes towards us from around the corner. He cheers when he sees Flint.
“Callie called, told us about your big TV show,” the guy says. He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap, and grabs Flint’s hand in a man shake, the kind of thing where they look like they’re about to arm wrestle. “You gonna be able to give us a raise, or what? Don’t be cheap, man. Lookin’ this good takes money and time.” The guy gestures to himself, mock-serious.
“And that face is all you end up with, Danny?” Flint says, playfully swinging at the guy. They do some more affectionate guy-fighting, then Danny claps Flint on the shoulder. He’s beaming.
“This man’s gonna be a star,” he says to the camera, pointing at Flint, who makes some gruff noise of dismissal. He looks back at the camera, still a little hesitant. But with Danny’s enthusiasm, it’s a wonderful contrast.
Eventually, we make our way out of everyone’s hugging and excited cheering, and wander back into the store. “They really love you,” I tell him. I’ve never seen employees adore their boss that much. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen someone who owns a chain of businesses be so cool with his staff.
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“Eh, I’ve known them a long time.” He pulls out a tray of cap screws; I feel like he’s trying especially hard not to look at the camera.
“Does it make you feel weird? Talking about people loving you?” I ask. The normal part of me wants to put the camera away when he’s uncomfortable. The producer part focuses in.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice is sharp, and he glares at me for a second. Instantly, the angry look vanishes. “Jesus, I’m sorry. It’s just…seeing them all so excited. It makes me more nervous. Does that make sense?” He finally looks back into the lens. No, he looks past it, at me. “I can’t let them down.”
“You won’t,” I say. “You can’t possibly be so bad on camera that you’ll embarrass them.” I laugh a little, but he doesn’t join in.
“Can I tell you something privately?” He points at the camcorder, a little wary, like it’s going to take a bite out of him. I shut it off.
“What is it?” I ask. Flint looks over at Jeanine, laughing with a customer. He grimaces.
“I got an offer from Smith & Warren Hardware.” He says the name like it’s poison in his mouth. Even I know who they are. They make Home Depot look like a dumpy little outlet store.
“That’s impressive,” I say, eyes widening.
“The payout was good. They want to take the stores, incorporate them into their chain.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “But I know what that means. They’ll cut corners wherever they can to drive profits—and that means filling my shelves with cheaper merchandise, letting go some of my staff, and cutting down on hours and benefits. But Jeanine’s mother’s in a nursing home. I make sure my people have insurance that covers their families, too, but there’s no guarantee she’ll get that with Smith & Warren. Even if they let her keep her job.” He closes his eyes, the defensive thing guys do when they don’t want you to see their pain. When they have to be strong.
“You take really good care of your people,” I murmur.
“That’s what everyone’s supposed to do,” Flint says, like it’s the most natural idea in the world. Natural for him, maybe, but not for me. I work in Hollywood, for starters, land of throwing the weak under the bus. And my parents were both accountants, very logical and orderly. They had to quantify things like how much they loved you. ‘I love you more than central air conditioning’ was one of the really nice things they used to say to me. And they’d mean it, too. Which was doubly weird.
