19. Capri
19
CAPRI
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I kick the heavy metal in front of me, begging it to work.
I’ve got a load of sopping wet clothes in the washer without a single way to dry them.
This must be life giving me what I wished for—independence.
It looks like good old-fashioned clothespin hanging is in my near future. After spending the last hour googling problem-solving tips, I’ve come up empty-handed.
However, one reviewer suggested I use a Shop-Vac to suction the lint from the vent, or whatever the hell that big silver tubing is called. At this point, it’s my last resort before calling a handyman.
Looks like I’m heading to the hardware store for a vacuum I’ll likely have to teach myself to use before I can actually use it to help fix my problem.
This is the one part about being a single adult that I find the most challenging. I’d like to think I’m a fairly independent woman, but when life throws wrenches at my perfectly maintained plans, I turn into an anxious mess.
But since I made a promise to myself, I’m going to do what I can to fix this baby on my own.
With the help of YouTube.
I’ll try to find the vacuum first before asking for help. Can’t be that hard.
My eyes scan the aisles, looking for the…machinery…right? I don’t know. Is a Shop-Vac considered a machine?
Drills…no.
Table saw…no.
Miter saw…no.
So many saws. Nothing looks remotely close to a vacuum.
I’m about to say screw it and flag down an employee for help before someone startles me. A gruff sound startles me, I should say.
“Need a hand?”
I don’t need to turn around to put a face to that voice. A sound that resembles the equivalent of silk and whisky. It goes down smooth but feels rough enough to make me restless.
“Maybe,” I scoff, turning to smile at him. “Although, that would kind of defeat the purpose of me wanting to venture here on my own. But I’m willing to accept defeat.”
Jones chuckles, and my eyes drink in the sight of him.
I notice he dresses much differently in the States than in Capri. Abroad, he’s always in light linen, the epitome of comfort.
But here, in Timber Heights, he’s all work boots, worn jeans, and T-shirts. This blue one, in particular, with ‘Seaside Marine’ on the corner pocket.
I knew Jones was handy, but right now, he personifies masculinity. He looks like a man who can tackle a task blind and do it without fault.
Big, strong hands. Talented hands I can recall very vividly performing well.
But I won’t. Independent me and all that.
“What’re you lookin’ for?” he asks, searching for something in my hands.
I refer to my phone, confirming for the fiftieth time I’m looking for the right thing. I am. “A Shop-Vac. It’s some type of vacuum,” I tell him.
Jones smirks. “I know.” Then, he takes off, likely in search of his own tools and machinery.
“Right,” I say, turning to continue my search. “I can’t find it anywhere.” I scan the aisles once more, getting more annoyed by the minute.
I need a roadmap for this place. Some type of Disney location guide.
I wish I could capture this moment because I hardly make it down the next aisle before Jones rounds it, lugging a huge box over his shoulder.
“Are you kidding me? You found it?” I say in disbelief.
“Stick with me, kid,” he jokes. This funny side makes me miss him so fucking much. I always think back to the night before I left Capri and his bed and the hours we spent laughing over the stupidest things.
At the time, nothing about them was stupid.
It was perfect.
“Maybe I should,” I say, and Jones raises his brows, waiting for me to explain myself. “We’re friends, remember? I should stick with my friend…right, Captain?”
“I won’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”
I chuckle and motion for Jones to follow me to the checkout counter.
“So, what’s this for anyway?” Jones asks, sitting it on the conveyor belt.
I pay the cashier and wait for my receipt while Jones stands patiently beside me like he has nowhere else to be. “Wait, did you need to get something?” I ask, realizing he must have been here for a reason.
He waves me off. “All good. Tell me why you’re here.”
“Wish I knew. Well, I do know, but I’m not sure if this will actually fix the problem.” Jones carries the box for me to my car. “Something’s wrong with my dryer, so I’m hoping this solves it.”
“Is it not working?” he asks.
“It works, but it’s not drying anything. I had to run it five times yesterday just to dry one load.”
“Sounds like the vent needs to be cleaned out,” Jones says matter-of-factly.
“That’s exactly what I read.” I smile. “Hence, the Shop-Vac.” I nod at the vacuum Jones loads into my car and inwardly thank him for the confirmation I needed.
“Sounds like you’re on the right track then.” He smiles and pats the top of my car.
“Yeah, I hope so. Thanks for the help.” Before he has a chance to respond, I turn and situate myself in the driver’s seat.
I barely have the car on before the passenger door opens, Jones’ massive frame filling the space beside me. I still, debating how to react.
My head swings in his direction, and my eyes look at him with suspicion. I start to speak, but I’m cut off by Jones.
“Trying to get rid of me already?” he asks.
“What are you doing?” I stop suddenly, inwardly trying to convince myself I’m not secretly loving him in my car.
“Helping you,” he says. “Can’t have you stuck doing it on your own. Let me help.”
I don’t know why I feel taken aback. Jones does exactly as he wants.
“You’re in my car,” I remind him. Or maybe I remind myself.
He secures his seatbelt and pushes his thick brown locks off his face, turning to me with a smile. “That’s a great observation. And in ten minutes, I’ll be at your house. Helping you with your dryer.”
With a sarcastic smirk, he pats my thigh playfully. “Get to it, sweetheart. You’ve got clothes to be dried.”
I can’t fight him over it. Not when his thighs look like fucking tree trunks, all tanned and covered in dark hair.
Hell, I’m lusting after his hairy legs.
So, I drive. With Jones playing passenger princess in my front seat.
Now, to keep my eyes on the road.