CHAPTER 3
LUCY
Maybe it was the adrenaline from my nephew's happiness or the sugar rush from the hot cocoa, but for the first time in my life, I didn't second-guess why a person was talking to me.
Especially one that fucking gorgeous. I just opened my mouth and went with it.
I flirted. It was just so easy with him.
I floated home. The streets were empty except for some nighttime road construction. With every flashing light a picture of Sasha throbbed before me.
His hands.
His smile.
His smell.
Like little note cards kept in my brain to pull out when I wanted to smile. He was a hockey star, according to my nephew. Unattainable, gorgeous, probably with so many women he couldn't keep track.
“Good for him.” I snorted, but looked behind me in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn't wake up Paulie who was snoring softly in the back seat.
Sasha could get anyone he wanted, and yet, he spent an hour talking with me. No, flirting with me. And I will never think otherwise. I will never tell myself he was just bored or taking pity on me. The way his eyes bore into mine. The way he made every excuse to touch me. He was dead flirting.
I knew it would never lead anywhere. We live on opposite ends of the world, but damn did it feel good. Like warm in my center good. Like magic good. Like romance novel good.
His eyes were not kind for kindness' sake, they were hunting. That man was an animal and he wanted me as prey. That thought alone would keep me warm for the rest of my life no matter the unrealistic outcome.
I hated walking away from him, but I didn't want to ruin the fantasy with an awkward goodbye.
Because it was just that, a fantasy. He wasn't going to ask for my number or my social media handles.
He wasn't going to ask me out and marry me.
I, in no way, would want all the attention he receives.
Could never deal with the lack of privacy.
He just flirted with me, and it was amazing.
Paulie was a sack of rocks as I pulled him from the back of the car. It was 2 a.m. and all the strength I had went to not dropping him as I climbed up Sarah's steps. She met me at the front door, hair askew and a red wine stain on her pajamas.
“You saved the day, Luce.”
“He's saved my day plenty of times.” I handed him off and kissed my sister on her warm cheek.
It was hard for her to keep it together.
The signs of exhaustion creased her skin and tightened her jaw.
She was a single mother when her husband was away for work.
And while she was making it, this last two month stretch seemed to wear her thinner and thinner.
“Love you.”
“Love you more.” I walked down the steps, pulled my car out of her driveway and directly into mine across the street.
A half-eaten birthday cake adorned the kitchen counter with a small note. “Eat this so I won't. Thanks for today – Sarah.”
A skewed picture of Paulie in his hockey outfit smiled back at me on the cake.
I found the nearest fork and ate around his face until my eyes started to close.
I littered my stairs with my hat and shoes and my scarf and coat.
My dirty jeans and shirt went halfway near the laundry hamper.
I flopped down on the bed and puffed out my sheets with the weight of my body.
My bra flung somewhere as my eyes drifted off into oblivion.
By 4:00 a.m I tossed and turned.
By 5:30 a.m I had to pee.
By 6:00 a.m I was wide awake thinking about a certain unattainable hockey player.
I wanted to suck on his full lips. I wanted his calloused hands on every inch of me.
I reached for my phone and found the picture of the Sarge and Paulie. I could feel my icy heart begin to crack as the heat of his smile melted me. I scrambled to Pinterest to find photos of him. Typed in “The Sarge” and was given some GQ shots, some paparazzi photos and videos with bloody flights.
I clicked on a video of Sasha knocking out an opponent and cringed at the blood on the ice.
“Brute.” I went to close the window, but his smile kept me there. The fact that the next picture was a magazine shoot of him in a tight white T-shirt holding a tiny baby kitten didn't hurt.
“You can make me purr all you like.” I whispered into the darkness then laughed at myself for whispering when I lived in a big house all alone.
Seven a.m felt like hell and so did I. I swatted the clock, narrowly missing a glass of water and my glasses before hanging one foot from the bed.
My toes tickled the soft carpet and I remembered what I had done just a half hour before.
My pillow was soft against my face as I rubbed it back and forth in a fit of giggles.
I had masturbated to the picture of a hockey star holding a kitten. It was then I realized I needed to get laid, desperately.
“All over a picture.” I pushed out of bed and ate breakfast, showered and headed out to work. As I pulled on the front door to leave, a dining room chair sat squat in my way on the front porch. I recognized it quickly and took out my cell phone.
“Who did it this time?” I chastised my sister as I perused the permanent black magic marker scribbled over the seat.
“I can never tell. Just sand it off, will you?” Sarah was rushing around by the exasperated annoyance in her voice.
“If they don't stop doing it there won't be any chair left.” I ran my fingers over the wood. It must be Helen's handiwork. I had sanded the same chair not six-months before. The knot in the wood was familiar against my fingertips.
“I know, I know. Hey, so Paulie gave me the scoop. You gonna tell me about this guy?” I could hear the excitement in her voice and I dreaded it.
“Yeah, well I'm running late. I'll bring the chair by tomorrow.” My face flushed red at the mention of him.
“Oh, come on, Lucy! I want to hear about how he helped you off the ice.” She yelled at one of the twins between words to me.
“Very busy, bye!” I hung up on her and placed her chair in the back of my car. Just as I started the engine Sarah's door flew wide open. She stood in her bathrobe and slicker boots and waved at me as I pulled away.
“I know where you live!” Her voice trailed behind my squealing tires.
My sister and mother had been bothering me about finding a man for the last five years.
I had been holding them off the best I could.
But lately, random men have been stopping by my shop for no reason.
I've assumed they were sent by my family like some magical moment would happen and they could finally stop worrying about me. It was annoying.
The shop lights flickered on with the same buzz that had bothered me since I bought the joint.
The lingering smell of sawdust tickled at the back of my throat as I walked past the lathe, band saw and an endless supply of hardwood to be cultivated into furniture.
I unlocked my office door, started a cup of tea in the microwave and opened the showroom of Dovetailed Furniture.
The carpet had been recently shampooed and the sweet smell still tried to compete with the aroma of polished wood. It failed pathetically.
As my tea cooled, I perused the showroom.
Making sure chairs were in the perfect place and that no fingerprints muddled the shiny surfaces, I picked up garbage that was left by careless customers.
The town outside wouldn't start bustling for another hour, not that any bustling usually made it into my front door. I still needed to be ready.
I made it back to the office in time to fill my mug with grainy honey and a lemon scone I picked up from the bakery next door. My feet found their favorite spot onto the lip of an open drawer while I checked over the books and paid the electric bill before I got hit with a late fee.
Looking over the calendar, I double checked my workflow for an old rocking chair I was refinishing for my neighbor. But the time frame wasn't what caught my eye. A large red circle seemed to loom over a date a few weeks out like a hangman's noose.
My doctor's appointment.
My gynecologist was great. But I was spotting between periods and felt hardness in my lower belly. And now I was trying my best to ignore which would not be known for another few weeks. Which was easier said than done. But scones always helped.
By 9:05 a.m I was in the shop with a sore shoulder, sanding down one of my niece's handiwork and waiting for the Imperiolo family to pick up their new dining set I had to finished two days before.
The latter had dried perfectly now that we had a few days of low humidity.
I was proud of the way the leg spindles turned out and how the end chair was modified to fit the Imperiolo's son with muscular dystrophy.
I lost myself in the way the shavings flew into the ether of the room.
Drifting on the unseen fabric of the air.
Clutching to the light and shooting out prismatically in all directions.
I loved the smell and the hum of the machines.
I loved being alone with the wood and magically taking something raw and making it something it wasn't before.
The only thing I concentrated on in my shop was what I could make, nothing else.
Well, maybe today I could let the thoughts of Sasha seep in.
I just fucking loved being a carpenter, all of it. My home, my town, my job, my life. The work I poured into everything was starting to pay off and every day was good and happy. There was a sense of accomplishment that soaked into my bones like a stain that I wished would never fade.
I got lost in work. It wasn't until the wall buzzer went off that I realized it was lunch.
The arrival and departure of the Imperiolo's broke the lonely day just enough to pull me from the constant thought of one hockey player.
I had thought of him so often I almost sanded down Sarah's chair to the wood glue.