by Roxy Mews
Chapter Twenty-One
Brandon excused himself while Felicity plated the food. He snuck into the bathroom and typed out a few notes on his phone to reference later. He wasn’t working even close to a full shift right now, and his brain was eating itself at the lack of stimulation. That had to be the reason he was so obsessed with Felicity.
She’d seemed so stunning. Even when the reporters had been grilling her, he’d noticed a hair catch in the breeze and float above her head. His hand had twitched in his pocket wanting to tuck it behind her ear. For a moment, he’d actually thought he was attracted to her, but as he took down the notes “Awards ceremonies, Versace dress, Felicity Newhouse, 2-5 years ago” he realized he was just bored. His brain had to focus on something. In under two hundred fifty square feet, there wasn’t much else.
He washed his hands in the half sink and exhaled as he looked into the tiny shaving mirror. He had to work on something. He needed a project.
When he sat down at the table he ran a few options by his current roommate. She shot every single one down.
“Why can’t I at least make you stairs?” He took a moment to chew the bacon steak and got distracted. Why did his food never taste this good? He really needed to check out this whole organic movement. What was he talking about? Oh. Yeah. “I could work outside. You’re up against a cemetery. No one would complain. I could rent some tools and have it done in an afternoon.”
“I don’t want front steps,” she told him yet again.
“Why the hell not? I think there might be something living in your hay bale.”
She put her fork down, wiped her mouth, and stood to refill her wine. She topped his off too. Brandon wondered if she always drank this much wine, or if he might be part of the reason. Either way, he wanted more wine too.
“I just don’t want steps. I don’t need them.” She drank her wine and went back to eating.
“You don’t need a wine fridge, but it makes life easier,” he pointed out. “I need a project.”
Felicity looked at him as she swirled her wine in the glass. “Why do you want to change my house so badly?”
“I just need something to do, or I am going to start talking to the headstones.” He realized he had something he could work with. “Or we could just share stories. How about you tell me about where you wore your dress?”
“Fine. Make stairs.”
Brandon was a little disappointed that she’d rather change something about her precious house than tell him one fact about her previous life, but at least he would have something to focus on.
“I’ll head into town to rent the tools tomorrow. I know there’s a building supply store nearby.”
Felicity shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I know someone, remember?”
Brandon arched a brow in question. Apparently this was something he should have already known.
She huffed. “You read my business plan. I already have a contractor. I’ve been emailing him back and forth with all the buzz. He’ll let you borrow some tools.” She finished the last bite of her dinner and poked her fork his direction. “But he needs to help you with these stairs, and they can’t be permanent. I need to be able to take them off when I tow the house. Otherwise the trailer won’t be street legal.”
“I thought you were planning on staying in town to run your tiny house business? Why do you need to have this so mobile?”
“Nothing this good is all that permanent, Brandon. I feel safer knowing my house can come with me. Wherever I need to run to.”
“Are you running toward something or away from it?”
She didn’t say anything as she cleaned the dishes, and Brandon realized that was enough of an answer in itself. She was running from something. He helped her dry the dishes and put them away where they belonged. The shelving was open, and it was very clear what went where. All he had to do was find the spot that was empty and put the dish or glass away.
Everything had its place in Felicity’s house. It was pretty ironic that she wanted a permanent place for everything but the house itself.
* * * * *
The rest of the week went by much faster with something to focus on besides Felicity. Brandon was grateful for Thomas. The builder was excited to work with him. Brandon knew Tom was dying to start on this tiny community, and with the funding still pouring in from donations, he was chomping at the bit. Every time the contractor came over, Brandon could see Tom’s eyes scanning the land for the perfect layout. Tonight, Tom came by with a radio and a popup tent.
The rain would have deterred Brandon from being productive, but either Tom was really excited to finish up the steps, or he was bound and determined to show Brandon how he could keep on his schedule.
“You know this whole charity project is already funded by the donations from people who are following the story. You don’t have to keep buttering me up to give Felicity a loan.”
Tom grinned and pulled out a cooler from his truck bed. Inside was some of the artisan beer Brandon had been eyeing yesterday at the market.
“But…you know…I’m not going to object. Although, is it smart of us to drink and use power tools?” he asked as both he and Tom popped the bottle caps off on the side of the portable work table.
“We’re going to sand tonight. If we injure ourselves with sanding blocks, we’ve got more problems than a beer or two can compound.”
Brandon sipped his beer. This was not something he wanted to throw back and miss the taste of. The storm rolling through dropped the temperature enough that he had some time to drink it outside and not have to rush in the summer sun.
“I thought you said we’d be putting on the poly today too?”
Tom tipped his bottle toward the edge of the popup tent. “Not with a storm like this. I’ll need to take these back to my shop and get that done inside if we wanted to rush through it. The humidity will kill the finish. It’ll gum up like crazy if we try and work it out here.”
“Could I come by and see the shop?”
“I thought you were a banker? Why are you so interested in my blue collar job?”
“I just need something to keep me busy while I’m stuck here.”
Tom’s grin looked like the cat who knew how to open the bird cage. “I don’t think so. I think you’re hooked. The question is…are you falling for the tiny houses, or the female living inside one?”
Brandon’s phone dinged. He looked at his notifications, and it was an email. From his boss. Saved by the bell.
“I need to take this.”
Tom put his beer next to him on the work bench and went back to sanding the steps. They already felt smooth to Brandon, but he wasn’t the professional.
Tom got a few full strokes in as he said, “I’m sure it’s really important.”
Brandon didn’t take the time to decide whether that was sarcasm or not. He was too busy reading the email and feeling his gut drop. Felicity was hiding something, but his research would have to wait.
I’m going to meet you before the next interview. I want you prepped. That house lady is really selling herself, but we need to get our name back in the mix too. Quit being so forgettable. This is a publicity stunt. You could be a bit more public.
Wonderful. Their week one interview exclusive with Deborah was tomorrow.
We’re set up to meet Deborah at noon. What time did you want us to meet you?
The reply was almost instant.
Not the house lady. Just you. I want to prepare you separately. Meet me outside the station at nine am.
Brandon confirmed the time and added it to his calendar out of habit. When he pulled up the spreadsheet, all kinds of items blared red at him. He’d missed the conference call with corporate. He’d missed the weekly profit/loss report, and labor numbers had gone directly to his assistants this week. The realization that the bank was still standing and hadn’t burned down had him thinking.
Maybe being away for a moment wasn’t all that bad.
He returned
to the tent with Tom and started sanding without saying anything. Unlike Deborah, Tom didn’t pry. He’d said what he thought and backed off. Brandon could see why his new build partner enjoyed his work enough to help him construct a minor project after he’d been on the job all day. It was relaxing.
All the stress took a backseat to the pleasure of working with his hands. He had to hand it to the man. Tom’s skill level was leaps and bounds above Brandon’s, but the carpenter never said anything about his fuckups. He instructed when he could, and polished the spots over when he couldn’t.
“Aren’t you tired after working all day?” Brandon asked when they were a solid hour and two beers into re-sanding the boards.
“I’m mostly into the project management side of the business at this point.” Tom tilted his head to the side and back as he tried to catch some stray light from the house. “Other than walking or climbing to inspect things and some demonstrating techniques to the newer guys, I’m on the computer or my phone working the logistics to get the most out of my team. Not like the old days when I did it all myself.”
Tom grabbed a cloth out of his toolbox and started to wipe down their work. Even without any poly, the wood seemed to shine.
“What happens when the tiny house village Felicity wants you to work on pans out? Will you bring your teams over here?”
Tom smiled. “Working tiny is very different from working on full size structures. Most of the men who can get the job done well in a big area aren’t able to work the same way in a small space.” He laughed. “Most of the craftsmen who I work with are sticklers for building codes. And let’s just say the tiny housers aren’t exactly rule followers most of the time.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. We’re not breaking laws. At least not any that are all that important. Building codes are made for safety of the general public. In building tiny houses, we are building towards a very specific person. The house I’d design for you wouldn’t have the same structure size as one I designed for someone else. And that’s why this is exciting. We are fitting a house to a person to use every single inch of space. It functions perfectly, and more efficiently than any other type of home. You can’t say that about the sprawling mansions everyone seems to want these days.”
Tom packed up his tools after another walk around the steps. Brandon was sad to see him go.
“And another thing. I’m sure you’ve seen folks work their tails off to try and pay for a home that they can’t afford.”
Yet another fact Brandon couldn’t deny. Higher loans to lower incomes didn’t happen as much anymore after the housing market collapse, but he did still see it on occasion.
“Homes like this, people can’t fit all that debt inside. There’s a beauty to that.” Tom slapped Brandon on the shoulder. “And there’s beauty to the hard work I’ll get to do after this month. If you ever come back and visit, let me know. I’ll buy you a round or two. Thanks to all this publicity, I get to do something I’ve wanted to do forever. I’ll have my hands in every inch of the first few houses at least. I’ll get to put my stamp on it all. Yeah. If you ever come back and visit us crazy tiny housers, I’ll have a cold one for ya.”
Tom waved as he packed up in his truck and left.
If he ever came to visit.
That was something to think about. The first couple days in this house, Brandon could think of nothing else other than being able to stand upright in his bedroom. Last night, Felicity rolled over in her sleep mumbling some more of that nonsense she seemed to do when she dreamt. But the words her subconscious made up were light and happy, and when her arm went across his chest last night, he hadn’t moved it like he had the night before.
Brandon had let her ramblings comfort him and relax him, and he had slept better than he had in years. Everything seemed to fade in the background against her jabbering. She was his very own white noise machine.
Brandon dropped the last rolled up flap and secured it to the metal post. It was still drizzling, but the wind had died down, and they weren’t supposed to get any more significant storm activity until next week. He was glad Tom was willing to wait on the polyurethane for another day. Just like the builder, Brandon wanted his hands on every step of…well, of the steps.
He thought about asking to take the stairs to Tom’s shop tonight, but they both agreed to just stretch the project until the next day, hoping the sun tomorrow would burn off the extra humidity in the air. Tom didn’t have any jobs, so they planned on checking things out around two. After the interview.
Brandon wasn’t sure what his boss needed to prep him on, but as he smelled Felicity’s cooking through the open kitchen window, he was grateful he’d have a full stomach and a great night’s sleep before he found out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Waking up from a dream about visiting a carnival with free cotton candy and endless games was not that unusual for Felicity. She loved when she could afford to drop by the carnivals. She was an all-star at the milk bottle game, and absolutely adored giving the biggest stuffed animal she could win to a little kid.
This time, in her dream, she had company. Brandon was with her. He held her hand, and he was the one that gave her the prize. She always woke up from these dreams with a smile. This was the first time she woke up with her dream man by her side.
Or under her arm, more accurately. Cringing at how far across her roommate she found herself draped, she tried to slowly remove her limbs from his torso. Lifting her head, she made sure his face was still lax and asleep. Their alarms hadn’t gone off yet. So she probably still had enough time to save them both the embarrassment.
Her brain was already buzzing about what she was going to get dropped on her today. Debbie was the only one she’d have to contend with, but her ace in the hole absolutely refused to give her the benefit of hearing the questions ahead of time. Debbie said it was Felicity’s “real” reactions that made the interviews such riveting television.
Felicity didn’t like the gleam in Debbie’s eye when she’d said that. Felicity knew she was in for some mental gymnastics if her reporter found something out about her past.
But that was all hours away. Right now, she had to finish her slow maneuver to get her body off the very tempting one next to hers. Her arm was easy. She just lifted up and over and had a bit of space as she eased her body backwards to give a lever to remove her leg. The problem was Brandon’s hand was on her thigh. High up on her thigh. His palm was warm, and she could feel the heat of his skin through her thin pants.
When she tried to move her leg downward, the whole weight of his arm was there holding her back. She’d either have to lift his hand, or slide upward. Since she needed her hands to hold her angle, she tried moving higher on his body. Up his thighs she wiggled, and his hand started slipping off. She could do this.
Under just his forearm now, she started to slide her leg out. All the concentration on a slow and gentle move, it took her a minute to realize, she was right over a male hot zone. Brandon’s eyes snapped open, and his hand clamped back down on her leg again.
He was just as groggy as she was, and they both stared at her leg trembling over his rock, hard…
Brandon flipped her leg up in the air. Normally this would have just knocked her onto her back, but with both hands under her raised torso, the momentum sent her rolling right off the bed. Her legs slammed into the wall, and her head hit the corner of the storage box next to her.
Brandon jumped up to help, and like every morning, whacked his head on the ceiling.
After a few choice curse words, he managed, “Are you okay?”
“Other than being royally embarrassed, I’m fine.”
“Why are you embarrassed?”
“I was practically on top of you.” She moaned as she untangled her limbs.
“You’ve done that every night we’ve slept here. I just didn’t move you last night.” He rubbed his head. The one on top of his sho
ulders. And ducked down enough to hurry out of the bedroom. “I’ll start the coffee.”
Felicity scrambled to catch up.
“Wait, I know I accidentally rolled toward you that first day…”
Brandon really had been paying attention to the coffee making part of their day. He had the Chemex down and water boiling before she even stubbed her toe on the chair they’d left out last night.
“Felicity, you’ve done that every night. I usually roll you off and go back to sleep. I just didn’t last night.”
She hobbled toward him. Not too close, because neither had brushed their teeth yet, and no one wanted to get that close and personal with the dragon breath of another person, no matter how impressive they felt against your thigh.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s no point in you being embarrassed.”
“Why didn’t you move me last night?”
He cleared his throat. “I must have been tired from working with Tom.”
“You drank beer and played with sand paper.”
“I just forgot to move you. And you were talking about cotton candy in your sleep, and it was adorable…”
“I don’t talk in my sleep. I just mumble.” She hoped.
“Normally, yes, but last night I got real words.” He put a filter and some grounds in the Chemex, before leaning in toward her. “And one of the words was my name. Dreaming about me, were you?”
Felicity stopped bouncing on her foot with all the nonstubbed toes and just stared at him. “No.”
“Yup. I’m your dream man. So I just have to keep my ears open, and maybe you’ll tell your dream man all your secrets.”
“That’s not funny.”
He poured the water over the grounds and set her timer to steep. “I’ve got to find some humor in it. Come on. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the one who had the massive erection, remember?”
She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Brandon, bless him, was still trying to keep things light. Unfortunately, every word he spoke sounded sexy as hell, and all Felicity could think of was running her hands through his hair to smooth down that one stray tuft that was floating just over his eyebrow.
