Hammer Time
HAMMER TIME
CAM
The charge in the air would have impressed Nikola Tesla. Rachel’s pink satin tank top and gray skirt with a high slit up the back only made matters worse. She wasn’t just in the room—she filled it, pulled me in without even trying.
“Hot Baker, huh?” I asked, standing so close that I brushed against her knee.
“Oh, that wasn’t about you,” she said, turning up her button nose. “I was referring to that beautiful woman you work with. She called you boss, I believe.”
“Oh, yes, Shay.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “She seems kind of smitten with you.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “She tolerates me, but she’s really smitten with her wife, Charisse.”
She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Ahh.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her you were referring to her in the review. Funny how I was the one bombarded by women asking for my number when I tried to leave the bakery.”
“Damn.” She rubbed her chin. “I should’ve added a warning to the review, suggesting they only observe you in the wild. Do not approach, ladies! He will charge you with his horns if provoked.”
I laughed and then my breath hitched when her thin tank strap fell off her shoulder. Evening had descended on Scottsdale, but it felt like I was standing directly in the sun.
“I enjoyed your review,” she said, pushing her strap back up.
I sat in the bar chair opposite. “I knew you would.”
“Interesting you think I’m the hottest saleswoman.”
“Actually, that was a typo. I was referring to that beautiful lady I spoke with that day I stopped by.”
Rachel sipped her wine. “Carol?”
“That’s the one.” I tipped my index finger her way. “Yep, I kind of have a thing for her.”
“She’s married and has a son your age. Not sure that would work out long term,” she said, finishing the rest of her wine.
“Are you sure you should drink and hang wall art?”
She hopped off the bar stool and straightened her hot little skirt. “I’ll be fine. I drink and hang all the time.”
“Still, it’s a good thing I’m here to hold your ladder.”
She glanced at me, and when her cheeks flushed, I knew I was heading into the danger zone. If I were a smart man, I would’ve made up an excuse as to why I couldn’t go to dinner and gone to the gym instead to punch a boxing bag for four hours to get rid of all this pent-up frustration.
But I’m not smart.
I’m a dumbass.
“I don’t need help, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want a grumpy groomsman to help me.” She turned on her heel, her ponytail flipping up and tickling my chin.
“I’ll stand by just in case,” I said.
“Fine, you can hand me the art.”
“Where are we going?”
She bent down to retrieve a hammer and nails out of a tote bag. “First stop, the basement.”
I followed her down the stairs and tried to focus on something other than her curves. When she turned the basement lights on, I gaped at yet another stunning transformation in the house. The bones of the space were beautiful and modern. What Rachel added to it was comfort and warmth. There was a glow to this home now, and it felt like the perfect place for my mom to recover from my botched wedding and her divorce. The last time I saw the basement it was cold, dark, and lacking any sort of life. Now, it was brightly lit with new fixtures over the bar area. A cream-colored sectional framed the TV. Pillows and soft blankets created pops of color.
“This is incredible,” I said. “Wow … thank you for all you’ve done for my mom. She hasn’t been this happy in a while.”
“That’s really awesome to hear,” Rachel said, setting the hammer and nails on the bar. “I honestly can’t remember when I’ve had this much fun working with a client. Your mom is the best.”
“Don’t you need a tape measure and a level?”
She stood back from the wall and studied it. “Nope.”
The ladder was already set up against the back wall next to a stack of paintings of various sizes. I was intrigued as to how she was going to hang them.
“What can I do?” I asked.
She sorted through the pieces and laid them out in a row. “You can hand these to me when I’m ready for them.” She climbed up the ladder, her strong calves flexing, and I was so close to having an out-of-body experience. She hammered a bracket right in the middle of the wall and extended her hand without looking at me. “Hand me the biggest one, please.”
I did as she asked and tried to help hold the painting for her, but she ripped it from my grasp, popped it up on the wall, guided it onto the bracket, and straightened it.
“Still crooked,” I said, even though I was absolutely impressed by how she literally nailed it.
“It is not,” she said with a smile. “Hand me that one next, please.”
I handed her a smaller rectangular one that seemed heavier, but she lifted it and placed it on the wall with ease. We repeated this point-and-hand routine five more times until her design was set. The wall looked perfect. She hadn’t needed a level or a tape measure, and it boggled my mind. When I’m baking, I have to measure and be precise or the product won’t come out as it should. I thought the same would apply to hanging things on a wall, but Rachel only used her eye, all while teetering on the very top step of the ladder.
As she started her descent, the ladder wavered, and instinctively I rushed to hold it. Only, I didn’t let go when Rachel reached the ground and stood only inches away from me. Her chest started to rise and fall visibly. I couldn’t help but stare.
What was this woman doing to me?
She’s everything I don’t need right now. She’s hot-headed, stubborn, has an ex who hasn’t moved on, and yet she’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I close my eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
The words came out of my body like vapor. I could barely speak standing this close to her. “I … I don’t know.”
“Can I, uh, have my hammer back?”
I shook my head and undid my trance. “Yeah.” I handed it to her, and she flashed a tiny smile before packing up some of the nails she had set out on the bar. She started to collapse the ladder, but I finished it.
“I can get it,” she said. “I haul a ladder around all day at my store.”
“You’re working hard. Let me help.”
She smiled again and rubbed her neck. “Thanks.”
“Where to next?”
She gulped. “Uh, the master bedroom.”
Of course.
Thankfully, we were at my mother’s house or else my mind would have been buzzing with other activities that could take place in that room.
“Did you get a boost in sales after the review?” she asked as we made our way back upstairs.
“Shattered all sales goals for the month and then some.”
My mother waved from her office as we walked by the glass windows in the hall.
“You?” I asked.
“We had a record number of orders for that bedroom set. Sold out of the sheets in two hours.”
I laughed. “We clearly need to adjust our marketing efforts.”
Rachel pointed to a spot and I set up the ladder in front of the blank wall near the bed. “What I appreciated most about your review is that it sent my mother right over the edge.”
My hands gripped the sides of the ladder as she started the climb, and when she made no attempt to protest, I held my position. I handed her a colorful framed canvas of abstract art. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. Sorry if that caused friction between you two.”
She took the canvas and set it on the wall. “Don’t be sorry. There’s always been friction between my mother and I. Will you hand me that small one, there?”
I did as she asked. “What about your father? Is he supportive?”
She remained silent as she hung the smaller piece to the right of the larger canvas. “I don’t know him. I’m the product of a one-night stand. My mother never told my father she had gotten pregnant after their tryst, so the only thing I know about him is his name and he doesn’t even know I exist.”
The words left Rachel’s mouth with no emotion, but her forehead creased, and her eyes flared with sadness.
“Oh no, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is.” She moved past me when she came down the ladder again and moved it a little to the left.
“Have you ever thought about reaching out to him?”
“Sometimes. Okay, ready for the last one.” She took the picture from me, placed it against the wall, and straightened it.
“By the way, you’re not a product ,” I continued. “You’re a talented, beautiful woman. If your father doesn’t know you exist, he’s really missing out.”
Her lips parted, and there we were again, rooted in each other’s stare.
“Thank you,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “What’s left?”
She gathered her things again. “That’s it for now.”
My shoulders slumped. I could watch her hang art all night. “Where does the ladder go?”
“Garage,” she said.
“Is the The Prick actually going to work at your store?”
She swept stray hairs that had escaped from her ponytail and released an exasperated sigh. “Unfortunately. Thanks to my mother.”
“How can she do that?”
“She’s the owner. My grandparents left it to her when they died, and even though I’m the best salesperson and do all the work, my mother has final say in everything.”
The ladder clanged against the floor when I almost dropped it. “You can’t work with him.”
Her shoulders tensed. “It’s not my choice. She says he’ll be working there on weekends and if he screws up, he’s gone. And he will screw up or get bored, I know that much.”
I shook my head. “Why is she doing this?”
“It’s her deranged attempt to get us back together.”
My stomach twisted into a knot. “And do you? Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why put yourself through that?”
“I told you, I don’t have a choice right now.”
“There’s got to be a better option than that.”
Her nostrils flared. “Of course there are options.”
I was about to cross all kinds of lines with her and I didn’t care. She tried to take the ladder from me, but I held onto it and followed her out of the room.
“I would love to break away from my mother and start my own business,” she continued. “I’ve been saving for a couple of years, but you know as well as I do that starting a new business takes a lot of capital. Besides, I have a mortgage, car payment, student loans. I can’t afford to be job hunting right now.” She turned the light on in the garage. “Ladder goes in the corner.”
“Kicklighter,” I said, turning the light back off and following her back into the kitchen. “What if he puts his hands on you again?”
She slipped into her blazer and flipped her ponytail out of her collar. “I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because that guy’s a prick.”
“Really? That’s why you care? Because he’s a prick?”
“He’s aggressive with you, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that. You can’t work with him. We can figure something out.”
“We?” She widened her eyes. “There is no we. I can’t even get you to officially ask me out on a date.”
I swallowed. “I haven’t gotten a chance to.”
She took a step toward me.
“Here’s your chance, grumpy.” My toes curled in my shoes when she grabbed the front of my shirt pulling me to her. “Are you going to ask me out?”
It took every ounce of self-control in my body not to kiss her and yet, all I could say was: “Not yet.”
She pushed me away. “So, you are concerned enough that you don’t want me working with my ex, but you don’t want to ask me out?”
My throat tightened. I still didn’t know what to say.
“Will you at least be my plus one on Saturday?”
“Maybe.”
“You know what, forget it. I keep thinking you’re warming up, but you’re clearly not. Not sure how many times you have to reject me before I get the picture.”
“Maybe if you’d give me a minute to think before you start shouting?—”
“I’m not shouting!” She hung her head. “Fine! I’m shouting, but I wouldn’t shout if you would get out of my head.” She bolted for the door. “I’m tired of your scrambled eggs!”
“My what?” I tried to step in front of her before she got to the door, but she slipped around me. “Where are you going?”
“Home. Tell your mom I’m sorry I won’t be going to dinner.”