by Stacy Borel
Blake
SCRUBBING MY HAND DOWN MY FACE, it was the end of a long workday. My fingers felt the bristles of the start of my beard, and it reminded me I needed to shave. Facial hair should have been the last thing on my mind. Last night had been a colossal fucking mess. Never had I had anything go haywire so quickly than it had with Molly.
When I’d gone over there, I hadn’t anticipated staying to eat dinner. I hadn’t planned on watching her drink two glasses of wine and attempt to change out a showerhead. And never in my wildest dreams could I have expected to have had her pinned against a wall dry humping her and fighting like hell to not come in my pants like I was a fucking thirteen-year-old boy.
She’s driving me mad.
Molly was the type of woman who settled down with a stuffy suit and had two-point-five kids. She was beautiful, and charismatic, and charming. I’d wreck her if I tried to pull again what I did last night. I knew she was attracted to me. It wasn’t hard to miss. She avoided looking me in the eye, and she’d compulsively tuck her hair behind her ears. Her batting her long dark lashes and biting her lip were a dead giveaway too when she tried to come up with a witty sarcastic comeback to my insults. I could practically smell the attraction on her.
There was no denying I wanted her. The women around this town were typically the same type. Mousy brown hair, clothes from the thrift shop or a teen store two towns over, and usually covered in tattoos or piercings. They were what I’d call ‘earthy.’ I picked and chose who I allowed into my bed. I avoided stage five clingers, and none of them were looking for a commitment. The girl from the coffee shop was the type I’d never bring home to fuck. She was exactly the type who’d want more from me. I had nothing to give. Just an itch that needed to be scratched every once in a while.
Naturally someone like Molly caught my eye. The tourism in this town brought in attractive women, but I never bothered. Her buying that damn house across the street that she stupidly thought she could fix was her first big mistake. Her second was choosing Port Townsend as a home when she could have gone anywhere else. Third was noticing me. And now my dumbass was committed to making sure the roof she was under didn’t cave in, and she was safe and content. I should have never involved myself with her. I knew better to leave well enough alone.
I was supposed to go over there this evening to start sanding her cabinets, but thought it might be best to give it a day. After the way I left last night, I didn’t know how angry she might be, or if she even wanted me around. Hell, for all I knew she called my competition in to do the work for me. Which would be stupid because I wasn’t making a penny off this job. I’d consider it pro bono work. Molly had no clue I was bringing in some supplies left over from other job sites she was essentially getting for free. She thought I was giving her a discounted price. The woman really hadn’t done much research.
It was laughably cute that she thought her little videos were going to help her with this house. The most she was going to get out of it was how to do even brush strokes when painting. Last night was a perfect example of it. Changing out a showerhead had to be one of the easiest things she could have done on her own aside from screwing in face plates on her outlets. They weren’t that easy to mess up. But I should have known better than to let her do it when I knew damn well she was tipsy.
Don’t even get me started on how much I loathed alcohol. I wouldn’t condemn someone from partaking in a few drinks, but you’d never catch me with a bottle in my hand. That phone call I got was from the county sheriff. It had popped up on my screen a time or two. When I walked out, I called them back only to find out they’d arrested my dad on a DUI charge. He was going sixty-five in a forty-five, then failed to pass the sobriety test. When they made him blow into a breathalyzer, he was three times over the legal limit. I wasn’t going to bail him out. He could sit in there.
My dad was never going to get better. Now known as Port Townsend’s town drunk, he would need a rehab facility to get him better. I couldn’t do it. I stopped picking him up from the bars over ten years ago. I was usually his one phone call from whatever jail he was sitting in. That’s what I call barking up the wrong tree. He was a pathetic person, with a pathetic life, and I didn’t even know him anymore. The home he and my mother had built had gone to shit. I stopped going there several years ago when I’d gone to get him to sign something for the company. He hadn’t mowed the lawn and it was waist high, garbage bags were piled up in the garage, and the smell that was permeating all the way outside was all I could take. I refused to see anything else he had destroyed.
Looking at the clock, it was definitely time to go. Karen had left two hours ago, and I was the last one here. Going out to my car, I climbed in and headed home. The days were getting longer and the light in the sky was hanging around a little later every day. Normally I loved summers here, but today I wished it were a typical winter evening where it was dark, and I didn’t have to worry about adorable neighbors seeing me pulling in from work.
When I got there, I looked across the street and saw Molly’s car in the driveway, and her kitchen light was on, but there was nothing else. Part of me was pulling me to walk across the street to be a man and apologize for taking advantage of her. The other part said get your ass in the house and leave her alone.
I went in the house.
Plopping down in my recliner, I flipped on the TV and tried to focus on whatever was on the screen. It was damn impossible. Growling, I stood up and decided a shower would help clear my head. Too bad I wasn’t a drinker, because I’d be looking for one right about now.
When I got out and I was drying myself off, I heard a familiar sound. It was one my brain recognized, but it took a moment for me to place what it was. And as soon as I did, I said, “Oh, fuck.” I threw on my pants and headed across the street.
Molly
I was doing my best to not look out my window every five minutes to see if Blake’s car was home. I was failing. I had no idea if he was going to come over or not, but when six o’clock rolled around, I think it was safe to say he wasn’t going to. Disappointment rolled through me, and it pissed me off. I think I had been waiting to confront what happened yesterday head-on, especially after having the entire day to think about it. Now I got to sit and stew for another day.
My morning consisted of three cups of coffee, which made me pace the living room. I hadn’t been able to write a single word. After thinking maybe I needed a change of scenery, I had gone to the coffee shop, only to walk in and walk out. Lauren was behind the counter, and it was another reminder of Blake. I came home to sit in my bathtub and listen to music. That didn’t relax me either. Sandra called me around noon to see how things were going.
“Great. Just great. Lots of words.”
“If that’s the case, why are your sentences so clipped with me?”
She had a point.
“I don’t think I’m getting much sleep.”
Lack of sleep seemed like a logical thing to blame it on. She told me to chill, that I was already ahead of schedule with the demands of my publishers, and I could take a short break to recollect myself. When she asked about Blake, I dodged as much as possible. I could tell she was suspicious, but I wasn’t going to tell her anything about last night. I didn’t want her version of what happened. And she’d break down moment by moment, analyzing something that needed to be forgotten about.
When I’d hung up with her, I decided a drive was exactly what I needed. I used to do this when I lived in Boston too. I found some of the neatest places this way and today proved no different. Not but twenty miles from my house was a property full of trolls and gargoyles. Not like a few here and there like you’d see at Steven King’s house. This place had sprawling landscape that carved trolls and totem polls stood tall. While some were out in the open, others were part of the buildings. If I’d seen this as a child, it would have been my new favorite place to see. It was someone’s personal property. But it was fun nonetheless.
I couldn’t spen
d my afternoon driving, nor did I want to. I headed home and on the way I figured I might as well give the showerhead another go. I re-watched the how-to video and tried tackling it again with fresh eyes. I installed it step-by-step and realized I’d missed an important part, which was why the whole end of it came off in the first place. Once I was done, I set the wrench down and tentatively twisted the knob to turn on the water. My eyes winced, and I waited for disaster to strike. When it didn’t and water came out of the little holes it was supposed to, I jumped in the air and gave a loud ‘whoop.’
I sure as shit did that by myself. Bite me, Blake.
I smiled and went to reward myself with chocolate. Seemed so silly that one accomplishment made me feel like I could knock down walls and build them back up again. And maybe I could. Maybe Blake didn’t need to do anything else over here. The cabinets being one of them. After deciding how to them sand down, I looked at my kitchen and said, ‘yes, I can do this.’
I waited a whole thirty minutes after I’d seen my asshole neighbor’s car pull into the driveway before I determined he was going to avoid me. I shrugged.
“You don’t need him. He made a mistake. You made a mistake. It’s what it is,” I spoke out loud to myself.
My God, I needed a cat or something. At least talking to an animal wouldn’t make me seem crazy. Either way, I was doing this. I glanced at his tools he’d left in the backyard and the ones lying by the backdoor. I suppose he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these to do some of the work, right? I’d go to the hardware store tomorrow to buy a few things, and maybe see what kind of rental equipment they had.
Pulling up another tutorial, I watched intently how to remove cabinet faces and how a sander worked. It didn’t seem too challenging. After digging around I found the right size screwdriver to get the doors off the hinges and I laid them out in front of each one. I didn’t know if it mattered that I match the same door off of what cabinet it came from, so I made sure I didn’t get them mixed up. After plugging in the sander, I looked at the paper that was currently on it. It looked fairly new. The video said to sand in small back and forth motions and to not stay in one spot too long. Blake’s safety glasses were on the counter, so I slid those on, and I was ready to roll.
Flipping it on, it pushed back in my hand a little. The paper spun around a rotating wrap and I nervously brought it down onto the wood. It tugged itself forward, and I realized I had to grip the handle harder or it would go flying out of my hands. The sandpaper had only been on the wood for two seconds at most when I lifted it to see what it was doing underneath. Sure enough the coloring of the cabinet was coming off, and fresh wood grain was peeking through. My grin was huge.
Mimicking the same action, I kept it on a little longer and started moving again. Dust was flying everywhere, and I wished I had a face mask to keep it from getting in my mouth. I might have been inhaling it, but I didn’t care. This was the most awesome thing ever. I felt like Wonder Woman with power tools. I was over halfway done sanding the first door when I saw my cell phone light up. I swear I only looked at the screen for a millisecond when I glanced down at the sander and saw it had taken too much. I shut the tool off and used my hand to wipe away some of the dust.
“Shit!” The wood was a little uneven now.
I bent down with my head on the floor to check how bad it really was, and that’s when I saw my sanding job had created a wave like effect in the wood. Oh, double shit. I don’t think it was like that when I started. Maybe it won’t look so bad when it’s painted? I had no choice but to keep going. Maybe I could try and run the sander over the top of the bumps and make them even after I got the rest of it off.
I had just flipped the machine back on when it suddenly died. I looked down at it and flicked the red on-off button but nothing happened. That’s when I looked up and saw Blake standing there, shirtless, wet hair, and holding the power cord.
“What fuck are you doing?” His tone was serious.
“Erm…” I swallowed. Why did this man always show up half-dressed? “Sanding.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I can see that. I can also see you’re two seconds away from sanding a hole through your floor.”
I looked down at what he was talking about. No way, that was a bit dramatic. “I am not.”
“Really? Move the machine and see how far down that went.”
I did, even though I would have preferred to go against his request. And okay… it was a bit more than in other spots, but that didn’t mean I was doing it wrong. Right? I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine.”
There was a dark cloud looming over him and he clenched his teeth. “Molly, I swear, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to operate machinery without assistance from someone who has experience?”
I scoffed. “Whatever, Blake. You weren’t here, so I’m doing it.”
“This isn’t your job.”
“It is now,” I shot back.
He dropped the cord and took a menacing step toward me. “What the hell does that mean?”
I casually brushed off some dust on my arm. “It means I’m going to do this by myself.”
He took a deep breath in through his nose as he tried to compose himself. He smiled, but not in a nice way. “Yeah? You think you can do every single one of these on top of exact measurements for the countertops and laying them straight? ’Cause one mistake, and you get no do-overs. That’s a pretty damn expensive misstep to have if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I was getting sick and tired of his holier than thou approach to me. He truly thought I was incapable of doing any of this on my own, and I was dead set on proving him wrong. I didn’t like being told I couldn’t do something.
“I guess that’s a chance I’m willing to take,” I stated bluntly.
His foot poked out and he toed a pile of sawdust. “Stubborn, pain in my ass woman. If you weren’t covered in this crap, I’d throw you over my knee and spank you.”
I’d been ready to fire back at him, except that wasn’t what I was expecting to come out of his mouth. Did he just say he’d spank me? A thrill went through my chest.
“And who’s going to clean this mess up?”
I bunched my brows together. “Me. Who else?”
He chuckled. “Do you even see yourself right now? Look around your house. There’s dust traveling from one end to the other. It’s going to take you weeks to get this all up.”
“Again with the dramatics, Blake.”
“Molly, that’s not dramatics. Look at your air vents. You didn’t bother to cover them before you began. And this is something you do outside.”
I glanced around. Okay, he may have had a point. Every surface I could see had some form of dust on it, and I was covered from head to toe. I wasn’t backing down, though. I wanted this argument to be one I’d stuff in my pocket as a win. I stuck my chin out in defiance. “However long it takes to clean, I’ll do it.”
Blake growled and palmed his hair. “Why do you always have to come back with something? No matter what I say, even when you know I’m right. You have to argue with me every step of the way.”
I shut my mouth. Again, he may have been right, but he was the type to always prove someone wrong, even if it meant making the other person look or feel like an ass. Something that wasn’t okay in my book.
“Whether you’re right or wrong, Blake, you could use grace and humility when speaking to people. You don’t want them to rare up and fight back, approach them in a manner that grants kindness back.”
He watched me. I could see my words sinking in. “Spoken like a true writer.”
“Ugh!” I groaned. “Would you just leave?”
“No,” he stated firmly. “I’m not leaving, and I’m certainly not with my power tools at your fingertips.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I never said you were. Molly, I’m being sarcastic. I’m a sarcastic person. It’s kinda how I get through life, okay? The world is too serious. It’s not that I’m alw
ays trying to be a dick, it’s just something I do. If I’ve hurt your feelings.” He pondered for a moment whether he wanted to say it or not, but then did. “I’m sorry.”
Two very powerful words I didn’t think if they came from him would mean anything. I let them sink in, and I felt my shoulders sag. I knew what he meant, and I wasn’t trying to get an apology out of him. I was tired, and it had been a long day of being a tightly wound ball.
“I accept your apology.”
I sat up on my knees and tried to wipe myself off. My poor hair needed to be shaken out.
“I’m not saying let’s start this over, but how about this? Why don’t you let me take you out and you can see for yourself that I’m not always a bad guy?”
My hand was midair, and I stopped to look at him. “Like on a date?”
He smiled because those were his words he’d been saying to me. “Yeah, sure, kind of like a date.”
I was dumbfounded. I got a sneaking suspicion this wasn’t something Blake ever really did. Formalities as all, I think he was approached by women and if the attraction was mutual, he simply took them out. Standing awkwardly, he shifted on his feet. His toned tan skin rippled under the tension waiting for my answer.
“Okay.” I was still in shock.
He tipped his head once. “Now can I trust you to not turn this thing on again for the next forty-eight hours or so and not put a hole in your floor?”
My cheeks got hot and I felt kind of sheepish. “My hands are off.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ll be here at five in the morning. Be dressed to get dirty.”
“Okay. Wait, five a.m.? Blake, why so early?”
He smiled. “You’ll see. You want to be hands-on, well, here’s your chance.”
Oh my gosh, that was early. Who goes on a date before the sun is even up? “You better have coffee ready.”
