12. Derrick
12
DERRICK
Izzy spins away from the computer, shoving her glasses into her hair as she goes.
“You know”—she drawls, crossing her legs, which makes her skirt inch higher up her thigh—“it was my understanding that you spent most of your time out in the field, yet since I started, you’ve been sitting at that desk day in and day out.”
“I … well…”
She bites her lip, but her grin is too big to hide. “It’s like you don’t trust me to handle this job. It’s been almost two weeks. Have I not proven myself competent yet?”
She certainly has. She might even be better than Jessica—not that I’d ever tell either one of them that.
“I’ve got things to handle here right now,” I lie, brushing my fingers over my lips. “It has nothing to do with you. ”
“Mhm,” she hums, that dangerous smile still large. She spins the chair again in a circle and stops when she’s facing me. “We should go on a field trip.”
“A field trip?” Confusion drips from my words.
“Yeah, to one of your projects. Let me put on a hard hat and some work boots and get dirty.” She winks, the gesture pure sass.
I’d like to get her dirty in a different way. Maybe by shoving her over the desk and yanking up her skirt. I’d slide her underwear to the side, see if she was wet and?—
My stomach drops. What the fuck are you doing thinking about her like that?
It’s a terrible idea, but I still find myself saying, “You really want to see a jobsite?”
“Absolutely.” She nods, her smile less calculating and more genuine. “I’d love to know what all these phone calls and emails result in.”
Doing my best to shove my previous thoughts away, I shut off my computer and stand. “All right, come on.”
Her eyes go round like saucers. “Really? It was that easy?”
“Don’t make me change my mind,” I growl, heading for the door. “I’ll meet you at the truck. I’m going for coffee.”
When I return five minutes later, she’s in the truck with Wonton sitting on the center console, his tongue hanging out.
I hop in, passing her a matcha.
“Thank you.” She accepts the cup and takes a generous sip. “Perfection, as always. I can’t believe I didn’t know your storefront was here. Every time I’ve visited, I’ve spent at least a few hours working at that coffee shop.”
I put the truck in reverse and lift a shoulder. “It’s not like I have a big sign out front. ”
“Yeah.” She eyes the front of the building as I pull away. “About that… I think you should add one.”
I don’t need to even think before I respond. “No.”
An exaggerated puff of air escapes her. “Why not?”
“I get plenty of business without it. Word of mouth is all I need.”
“You’re so…” She struggles to find words as she sets her cup in the holder between us.
“Old?” I suggest, my chest pinching in frustration.
Frowning, she picks at the frayed edge of her shorts.
I jerk my gaze away, focusing back on the road, and take a cleansing breath in.
“I was going to say set in your ways, but if that’s how you want to frame it, then I guess… yeah.”
I have no response. Either way, I suppose she’s right. We’re silent for the rest of the drive, the atmosphere awkward thanks to me.
I pull up outside what used to be a bank a few towns over. My team has been refurbishing the place with the goal of turning it into a party venue.
Handing Izzy a spare hard hat from the back seat, I say, “Wonton can’t go in. I’ll leave the truck running.”
She nods, then presses a kiss to the top of her dog’s head. I’ve never met another person who loves their dog the way Izzy loves hers.
Massive stone columns flank the double set of doors of the main entrance. They’re heavy and old, but intricately carved. Originally, our customer requested we remove them, but I convinced him to let them stay, encouraging him to preserve some of the history here. I can’t help but smile every time I see them. While much of what I do requires me to update older structures, I love to maintain original work if it’s sound and can be worked into the design.
Izzy follows me inside, head swiveling, taking it all in. All that’s left here are a few finishing touches, but sometimes those small details take the longest.
“This place is gorgeous,” she says, her voice echoing off the blank walls and tall ceiling. “Wow.” She spins in front of me. “This is spectacular, Derrick. Truly.”
Her praise shouldn’t mean any more to me than the average person’s, but fuck if it doesn’t mean everything .
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
Above, on a set of scaffolding, Larry says, “Hey, boss. How’s it going?”
Izzy’s eyes shine. “Boss man,” she mouths.
“Good,” I call back. “Looks like you guys will be wrapping up soon.”
“That’s the hope. Haven’t seen you around much lately.”
With a sigh, I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “Been busy.”
Larry smirks, his attention shifting to Izzy, who’s walked away from me to take in the back area where we’ve kept a wall of safe-deposit boxes.
“I can tell.”
Glowering up at him, I walk away, gritting my teeth and ignoring the way he chuckles.
As I approach, Izzy turns, her face lit up. “Do you have before pictures? I’d love to see how it started.”
“Sure, back at the store.”
The way her eyes are glowing when she looks at me shouldn’t make me feel this way. Like she’s the whole world and I haven’t been living until now. It’s wrong . I had a wife, and I loved her very much. I still love her, even after all these years. To make matters worse, Izzy is young . Twenty-seven. Layla’s age. She has her whole life ahead of her, and I—well, I don’t have one foot in the grave, but it feels wrong to rob her of the things she should experience if she were involved with someone her own age.
Clearing my throat, I step away and let her take the rest of the place in. Though by the way her eyes keep darting back to me, it’s clear she’s confused by my sudden distance.
How can I explain that I’m simultaneously drawn to her like a moth to a flame and terrified of the fire?
We don’t hang around for long, and the moment we’re back in the car and Izzy has removed the hard hat and smoothed down her hair, she says, “Can I see more?”
I know it shouldn’t matter, but my heart expands with pride at her excitement. At the knowledge that she wants to see more, that she so obviously cares about something I’m passionate about. It’s been a long time since someone truly cared about my interests the way she does. She genuinely wants to be a part of this.
Several hours later, several projects later, we return to the shop to work for another hour before heading home.
Izzy put her hair up a while ago, but now she lets it down. I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through the dark wavy strands that fall halfway down her back to see if it’s as soft as it looks.
“That was so much fun.” She drops into her chair, making it spin slightly. “I understand why you love this.” Clutching the edge of her desk, she rights her chair and straightens, then wiggles her mouse to wake up her computer. “Taking something and tearing it down to the bare studs only to create something new? Incredible.” She lets out a wistful sigh. “Do you have any projects starting soon? Would you let me film one from start to finish for my channel?”
I cock my head and take her in: the slightly mussed hair, the bright eyes, the pink cheeks. “Projects can take months.”
“I-I know,” she stutters.
“Do you plan to be in town that long?”
Ducking, she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I… yeah, I think so. If I get to be too much, though, let me know. I’ll look for an apartment.”
“An apartment?” I raise a brow. “That is long-term thinking.” I hesitate before saying it, but ultimately decide to blurt it out. “You’re not going back to LA, are you?”
For a moment, she watches me, trepidation taking over her excitement. Then she gives a slow, subtle shake of her head. “I don’t plan on it. I don’t know when I first realized it, but I’m so much happier here. The idea of going back feels… suffocating.” She bites her lip and slowly meets my eye like a tentative, wounded animal.
My gut clenches at the uncertainty swimming in those green depths. Does she think I’m going to kick her out of my house? Tell her it’s a horrible idea?
“You should do what makes you happy.”
Her responding smile is small, nervous. “I’m still not sure what that means for me, but regardless of all the drama ”—she sticks her tongue out in disgust—“it was the wake-up call I needed. I’ve always loved what I do, and I don’t want to stop, but it’s time for me to pivot.”
“Well”—I lean my chair back, going for a casualness I don’t feel—“you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you need. ”
“I appreciate it.” The smile she gives me this time seems happier, more genuine.
When she turns back to the computer, she even sits taller, like she’s been carrying a weight around. Like my simple offer of support has lightened that load.
Like maybe I’ve given her a renewed sense of purpose.