4. Sweat & Sawdust
Rose
In a shocking turn of events, it was nearly ten, and Lily still wasn’t here. I should’ve known better than to make plans to see Jason’s apartment at eleven, since Lily Time was at all times at least an hour behind everyone else’s.
But at least it gave me time to talk dress designs with Mom. After the bombshell she dropped on us last night, immersing myself in the familiar discussions—Chantilly lace versus romantic eyelet lace and sweetheart versus V-necklines—was ironically a welcome distraction. Yawning over my coffee, I scribbled notes about Mom’s preferences of silhouette and veil.
Her hand landed on my wrist, stopping my writing. “Are you sure you have time to make my dresses? I know you’re nearly done with Becca’s, but October’s so close.”
Why did I lie to her about my progress? I smiled reassuringly and put my hand on hers. “Mom, I will not let you get married wearing someone else’s dress. It’s fine. I got it.” I took my hand away, but she didn’t budge.
“Are you…okay with this?”
Hell, no. “Yeah, I can get it all done.”
“Rosie, that’s not what I meant. Are you okay with me getting remarried? You didn’t seem as excited as your sister last night.”
Lie, lie, and lie. “No, I’m fine! I want you to both be happy. It just surprised me, is all. I didn’t know y’all were even talking about it.” And lie some more to make it look like I wasn’t anti-marriage. “It’s about time he put a ring on it.”
Mom laughed, and Lily walked through the door. And for the first time, her late arrival was a win for me.
“Good morning! I brought buttermilk drops from Tastee Donuts.”
“Hell yeah,” I murmured, pulling one of the crackle-icinged, spherical donuts from its box. “I forgive you for being late. You know these are my favorite,” I said around a mouthful.
“I know!” she sang. She grabbed a mug and sat at the table with us. “Sorry I’m so late.” She launched into a story about her boyfriend and her dog, but I caught sight of the clock and stopped listening.
“It’s okay. I just told Jason I’d be there to look at his apartment this morning, so I need to leave in like thirty minutes.”
“Oh good! I’m glad you’re going to look at it! Okay.” Lily pulled out a fat notebook and opened up to a page full of notes. “Let’s get down to business. What day are you looking at in October? And where do you want to have the ceremony?”
“Hotel Maison De Ville had a spot on the twentieth, so we grabbed it yesterday.”
My mouth dropped. “Girl, you move fast!” That was exactly two months away. Between Becca and Mom, that made two wedding dresses, two flower girl dresses, and ten bridesmaid dresses. And only three-and-a-half of Becca’s bridesmaid dresses were close to being done. But I had no car and just enough money for a few months’ rent and food. And at some point, I’d have to start building my business, even though I had no idea where to start. Either that or find a real job.
I hugged myself, rubbing my shoulder tattoo. At least Jason might be solving my living situation. He was such a nice guy. Last night, after we’d been paired to walk together down the aisle, he’d even talked his mom out of making me cover up my tattoo for the wedding. I wouldn’t have minded, but she didn’t exactly ask nicely and everyone was staring.
And if I rented his apartment, it’d be the third time in three days he’d been my knight in shining flesh/suit/whatever he was wearing today. If only he would Kool-Aid Man through the wall right now and save me from this discussion about wedding vows.
He could totally pull off that costume. Then he’d really be a thirst trap.
Nope. I had Isaac, and Jason had—how did his mom put it? A “lady friend.” But it was weird how every time Misty put her arm around him or touched him, he scooted out from under her. Maybe they were in a tiff. Hopefully she wouldn’t give him trouble if I moved in.
An alarm chimed on my phone. “Sorry, lovely ladies. I have to go.” I gathered my things, dropped kisses on both their heads, and grabbed another buttermilk drop for the road.
At eleven sharp, I pulled Mom’s Camry back to the scene of my T and V. But this time, I wasn’t dressed for a crime. One extra fluff-up of my hair, which was still in good shape from last night, and one final check that my lipstick was perfect, and I was ready to make a good impression on my potential landlord. Because after the ridiculously low price he’d texted me last night, I was determined to love whatever holy shack Jason had to rent me.
Following the high-pitched machine screel of a saw to the porch, I found him cutting wood and (pity) wearing a shirt this time. I waved for his attention. He looked up and smiled, then turned off the saw and removed his ear protection and goggles.
“Hey, good morning!” He met me at the foot of the stairs, and we shared an impromptu should-we-hug routine ending in an even more awkward hug. “Sorry. I’m probably all sweaty and covered in sawdust.”
His soapy, musky scent had me weak in the knees. “Sweat and sawdust smell so good on you, I think one of my ovaries popped out an egg.” Adrenaline kicked through me with a wave of heat to my face as he threw back his head and laughed. “I mean it didn’t because I’m on the shot.” Fuck, that’s worse. I hid my face in my hands. “I—I mean you smell fine. Maybe you should talk the words now.”
His laugh petered out. “Well, I’m glad I don’t stink. Come on. Let me show you the apartment.”
I ducked my head and followed him down the sidewalk to the old rectory door, appreciating the way his jeans hugged his ass and how his muscles moved under that red T-shirt. Delicious, but I had to stop thinking of him as climbable. He had a girlfriend—er, lady friend—for God’s sake. I was seeing Isaac.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Seeing him every day would be intimidating. Unnecessarily tempting. Would it be awkward if Isaac ever came to visit? Honestly, both sides of that coin were unlikely. Jason wasn’t interested in me, and Isaac? Him visiting was as likely as Mrs. Betty getting a tattoo of the devil on her forehead.
I followed Jason inside the old rectory. He closed the door behind us and fanned his shirt out in the air conditioning, lifting the hem and wiping sweat from his face. I dragged my eyes kicking and screaming away from his sweaty stomach to the pale gray walls of the sunny room. Actually, wait—this was gorgeous. New, wide plank dark wood floors, wide windows. I loved the smell of fresh paint.
“So, this would be your living room. Everything’s freshly renovated—”
I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait. You did all this yourself?”
His eyes went dark, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah. Um, everything but the wiring and the plumbing.”
“I remember this room. It was a dark, wood-paneled cave with like…gold shag carpet.” I walked a few steps away, whirling around to take in the whole room. “Oh my God, there’s even crown molding. What’s this color on the walls? I wish I could be the person who names wall paint and nail polish.”
“Oh yeah? What would you call it?” He stooped to pick up a canvas drop cloth, shook it out from its haphazard folding, and started carefully folding it up.
“Hmm.” I crossed my arms and tapped my lip, eyeing up the room. “Diana’s Moon. What’s it really?”
He grinned. “Tender Gray, but it’s Diana’s Moon now.” He laid the drop cloth over his arm and started off down the hallway, stopping halfway down. “The kitchen’s at the end of the hall, and here’s the bedroom.” He stepped inside and flipped on the light. “The rectory was designed for two priests to live in residence, but their rooms were so small. So, I took the wall down in between to make a bigger bedroom, bigger closet. I also attached the bathroom to it to make it a master.”
As I entered the room, he went into the bathroom, tossed the drop cloth over his shoulder, and started washing his hands.
This room was much the same—spacious, fresh, and bright. I hadn’t even seen the kitchen yet, but this place would fetch him a lot more than he offered me. I couldn’t accept his charity.
My worried face appeared in the bathroom mirror beside his, and he looked up at the movement.
“You like it?”
I took a big breath, wrapping my hands around my arms. “Jason, I can’t take this apartment.”
“You don’t like it.” His smile flatlined as he pulled a hand towel off a hook and dried his hands. “That’s okay.”
I laid my hand on his arm to reassure him. “Oh God no, it’s gorgeous! Look at this penny tile, and fuck me. Is that a jetted tub?”
He laughed. “Yep. It’s a Kohler jetted tub.”
“Jason, this place is pa-la-tial compared to the closet I lived in with two other women in New York City. It’s a hundred times nicer than the fancy cookie-cutter apartment my sister wants me to look at that I couldn’t afford. I can’t take it because what you offered me for rent has to be a pity deal.”
He turned toward me. His eyes met mine, and the bathroom shrank into an intimate space. God, his shoulders were broad. I bet he could fuck me standing in the middle of a room. My face went hot, and he stepped backwards into the bedroom, the drop cloth draped from his crossed arms like a shield. Did he feel that too?
Stop, Rose’s body. You feel nothing.
“It’s not a pity deal. Promise. Like I said, you’d be renting the apartment a few months before I’m ready, so until I get my kitchen and bath built out in the main church, I’ll have to use yours. I can use the half bath in the church most of the time, but I’ll need this one for showers. Come see the kitchen before you make up your mind.”
I followed him out into the hallway, but stopped and looked longingly back down the hall. “The living room would be a perfect studio for my dressmaking. Would it be okay if I used the place as a business?”
He flipped the light on in the kitchen. “Yeah, do whatever. But there’s another room next to the living room I forgot to show you. It’s full of my junk right now, but I’ll move it out so you don’t have to lose your living room to work. I know how important it is to have a workshop. Frankly, I don’t know why every house isn’t built with a dedicated workroom. I’m building one into my house here.”
“That’s brilliant.” Hands on the back of a chair, I looked around the kitchen. It clearly hadn’t felt the magical caress of Jason’s foxy hands, but it was clean. “My mom always wanted a workroom, back when she taught sewing classes in our garage, before she went back and got her graduate degree.”
His brows lowered. “Oh yeah, isn’t she a couple’s therapist?”
I cackled, rolling my eyes. “No. She’s a sex therapist. I can tell you all about orgasms, but nobody in my family knows shit about relationships.”
His dimples divoted in a big smile, and he scratched at his beard, casting his gaze around the room as if he wasn’t sure where to look after that statement. “I haven’t had time or money to renovate in here. Stove’s old, but everything works. The refrigerator’s new, and so’s the vinyl floor and the wall paint. I’ll renovate it when I have a functioning kitchen in the main house, so at some point, you’ll have to use my kitchen,” he joked. “There’s a hookup for a washer and dryer there”— he pointed to an alcove with open accordion doors—“but I haven’t put them in yet. Bring ‘em if you have ‘em, but if not, you’re welcome to use mine in the church until I get you a set. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. I don’t care. The kitchen’s great.” I put my hands flat on the table and leaned toward him. “But if the rectory’s this beautiful, you have to show me what you’ve done in the church.” I bit my lips together. I’d pretty much invited myself into his personal space, and maybe that was weird. “I mean, you don’t have to—”
“Yeah, absolutely!” His pleased surprise made me smile. “I’d love to show you. Nobody ever comes around. Come on.” He held the kitchen door open for me and led me through the familiar brick arches in the courtyard.
Maybe I shouldn’t have invited myself into his house. That’s not a normal renter-rentee thing to do. And now we were walking side by side without talking. This silence was painful.
“My mom’s the main thing most people remember about me. She’s amazing, but geez, imagine being sixteen at Lakeside Mall with your mom, and having college kids point at her and say, ‘I had sex with that lady!’”
He completely stopped, hand on the door, and glanced down at me. He looked totally confused and more than a little alarmed. “Wait, what?”
“She teaches human sexuality at the University of New Orleans,” I blurted, laughing nervously. Why must I fill silences?
He laughed again, and I joined in as he led me into his house. At least I was making him laugh today?
“Maybe lead with that next time.”
“Noted.” I stepped all the way in, turning every which way to take in one of the most beautiful homes I’d ever been in. The old church was so much like I remembered, but also not at all. The vaulted wooden ceiling was still there, but he’d cleared the pews and laid down fresh wooden floors—a few pews sat along the far side wall as if hadn’t wanted to get rid of them but didn’t know what to do with them yet. The deep altar area, set up on two stacked platforms, held a console table with a record player. A cozy living area anchored the middle of the great room with rugs and sofas. Fresh tile and paint graced the foyer, as well as a few doors that hadn’t been there before. Above the foyer, over the choir loft, the sun shone through the stained-glass window of a dove and cast everything it touched in shades of blue and orange.
It was clean and elegant with a mostly white and wood palette, but rustic and comfortable with pops of gray-blues and bohemian-type rugs in reds and yellows. Soothing, gorgeous, and comfortable. “Wow. I’ll never live anywhere this beautiful. Did you hire a decorator, or are you just naturally good at everything?”
He smiled. “I’m naturally an obsessive learner and Pinterester. I’m thrilled you like it. I never get to show it off, and the more I sit here with my decisions, the more I second-guess myself.” He pointed toward the foyer. “I put in a fresh half bath, and I added an office for myself. Where the altar used to be will be the kitchen. One day.”
“Wow.” I turned to where he stood against the wall, his thick arms folded across his chest. He bit his lip as if worried what I would think.
“Jason, this is… so beautiful. Not that the rectory isn’t beautiful too, but this room is like therapy. It’s elevated . Like I might come knocking on your door just to sit in here and be calm.”
“Thank you! It’s nowhere near done. Come see where everything’s going to be.” He led me to the altar where he explained how the kitchen would be laid out. The dining room beside it, in the area where priests used to get ready for mass, already held a fine-ass dining table and chairs.
I ran my hand along the tabletop. “This is gorgeous. Did you make this?”
His almost-proud smile was so tentative and humble I wanted to hug him. “Yeah. Even did the upholstery. It’s amazing what people will teach you for free online.”
I pulled a chair out to peer at the seat, which was smoothly and uniformly done in the palest vintage gold velvet that I would never have thought should look this amazing with everything else. “I’m so impressed! You did such a professional job. It’s so neatly done.”
“That’s high praise coming from someone with your talent.” He walked across the room toward a fireplace with a deep hearth perfect for sitting on. The chimney was so well integrated it looked original even though I knew better.
“I put a fireplace in. It was a bitch, but I learned a lot about brickwork.” He laid his hand on the mantel. “I thought about sanding this down, but I can’t decide which way I like it.”
I stepped beside him, inspecting the unsanded piece of wood. “Oh, I like it rough.”
He huffed a soft laugh, and then I heard what I’d said.
I snorted. “For the mantel, too.”
He pointed up to the choir loft over the foyer. “I’m sleeping up there for now and building a bathroom up there. But I can’t decide if I want it to be the master bedroom, or if I’ll make it a lounge area slash guest room.”
“Where else would you put a bedroom?” I looked around. It was just one big, open room. “And you can’t be planning only one bedroom.”
“No, I’m going to have at least four, maybe five with the master.”
“Where’s that all going?”
He smiled. “Come see.” He brought me back across to the altar and down a now-open hallway to the old community room, completely empty down to an unfinished concrete floor.
“Oh wow.” My voice echoed in the two-story room. “I completely forgot this existed. We used to have our camp plays here.”
“Oh yeah? This’ll be the rest of the house. I just have to decide if I want the master back here or on the choir loft. I love sleeping up high under that window, but one day when I get married and have kids, I can’t imagine I’ll want to be that far away from them.”
As if having a girlfriend wasn’t enough, Jason was marriage-minded. I tossed him and his panty-soaking smile into my friend bin.
“My cousin’s house has the option for a master downstairs or upstairs. You could do both and keep your options open.”
He nodded. “See? You get it. That’s what I’m leaning toward, too. But I’ve designed this part of the house about a thousand ways on paper, and I still can’t figure it out.”
“It’s so exciting that you get to completely design how your house will look. I used to love drawing out blueprints for all my Barbie dolls’ houses when I was little. I’ve always been obsessed with house plans, for some reason.”
“Well good, maybe you can help me figure this shit out.” He flicked off the light in the community room and headed back into the church. “Because I can’t make up my mind.”
“Oh, I doubt I can help. I just like to play. But Jason, this is going to be so amazing when you’re done. It’s already so beautiful. Talented doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m really, so amazed at what you’ve accomplished.” I stood on the altar, looking around. Don’t say it, Rose. Don’t, say it.
“But doesn’t it freak you out to live in an old church?”
He stopped beside the record player and frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
I gestured down the middle of the church, where the aisle used to be. “So many dead bodies went up and down this aisle during funerals. And just the whole supernatural aspect of it. It doesn’t freak you out a little, that the place could be haunted? Especially sleeping up on the loft. This old place must make all kinds of noises.”
He stared at me. “Rose, I’d—I’d never thought of that until this moment.” He mussed up his curls and crossed his arms. “Well shit. I’m not gonna sleep at all tonight. Thanks a lot.”
I put my hands briefly on his crossed arms. “I’m sorry! I’m sure if it was haunted, you’d know by now. I could do a smoke cleansing for you if you want. Anyway, it can’t be worse than hearing my mom and her boyfriend go at it in the next room.”
He grinned and shook his head. “I absolutely never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”
I smiled back weakly. “It’s a questionable talent.”
His dimples locked on my hormones, and “Dirrty” was in my head again. “It’s kind of charming. So do you want to rent the apartment?”
“I really, really want to. But it’s worth so much more than you’re asking. Are you sure?” I bit my lip. If he said no, I might cry. If he said yes, I might cry.
He shrugged. “I don’t think a stranger would want to share a kitchen and bath with me, or vice versa. You’d be doing me a favor. Really.”
“Okay. If you’re sure, I’ll take it. Thank you so much!” I rushed him, throwing my arms around his middle and squeezing. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
His arms came briefly around me with a back pat, and when I pulled away, my hair caught in his beard. He stuck out his hand. “Then it’s a deal.”
“Deal.” I shook his hand. “Is there a rental agreement?”
“Not yet. We can draw something up together. That okay? I’ll pay for electricity, gas, and water. Anything breaks, it’s on me. What am I missing?”
“I’ll have people coming in and out for fittings and other appointments. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, and that workroom I mentioned has a separate door, so your clients can enter there instead of your living room.”
“It sounds perfect. And the timing couldn’t be better. My little pile of stuff is supposed to be coming from New York tomorrow morning.”
He dug in his pocket and handed me a key. “This goes to your front and back doors, and here—let me text you the code to the door outside the workroom. It has a keypad.”
“Okay.” Oh shit. I scrambled to get my phone out of my pocket before he texted, but it was too late. The song “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred blared loud for us both to hear, and my face went hot.
I murmured thanks and shut it off, meeting his twinkling eyes. He glanced down to my phone with pursed lips, trying to hold back a laugh, which he lost control of.
Curse my love of assigning songs to contacts. The moment I got in the car, I was changing that to the theme song for Friends .
“Okay, roomie,” he said. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
“The brightest!” If I didn’t die of embarrassment first.