Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rhett
“You signed the wrong line,” the guy mutters, shaking his head at me like I’m an idiot. Which I am. I’m an idiot for Mary London.
I grab the clipboard and sign the actual line I was supposed to, indicating that I took possession of the pallet of flooring and nothing is damaged. The guy takes it back and walks out without another word, off to the next delivery before he can go home for the night.
A door slams down the short hallway in the back where the two unisex bathrooms are.
Mary London walks out, hair in a high ponytail, wearing trouser-cut jeans and a T-shirt with some Greek lettering on it I can’t decipher.
Her arms go in the air and she does this weird fluttery thing with her fingers.
“Put me to work!”
I try unsuccessfully to bite back a smile. The woman has tried to wear casual work clothes and she still looks like a million bucks. I point at her shoes, the only item that looks like they were made for working.
“At least your shoes already have dirt on them.”
Mary London tilts her head back and forth, no longer meeting my gaze. “These were made at the factory to look worn. They’re actually kind of pricey.”
I gape at her. “You bought brand-new shoes that were already dirty and scuffed? On purpose?”
She waves her hand and heads for the pallet of flooring. “Leave fashion to me, ’Lanta!”
I follow her over there and stop her from trying to pry a box of flooring off the pallet before she breaks a nail. Pulling a pair of wire snips from my toolbelt, I snip the hard plastic binds holding the boxes together.
“Then shouldn’t you leave the flooring to me?” I drawl.
Mary London turns to me, hands on hips. She looks so dang cute I already know I’m going to say yes to whatever she asks, even if it takes me twice as long to get this work done.
“I’d like you to teach me how to install the flooring. I can be your assistant.”
I crowd into her space, reaching up to tug on her ponytail. She growls at me, which only makes me smile more. How is it that I find most people super annoying, but everything this woman does charms me?
“Okay. But you have to wear gloves and no power tools for you.”
She pouts, but quickly drops the fake irritation to grab a box of flooring.
She nearly drops it getting it off the stack and down to the concrete.
She opens the box and pulls out the lengths of wood, arranging them where she wants them.
Each has a slightly different pattern. I leave her to the task to get my tools out.
“I’m ready! Hand me the glue!”
I shake my head and walk back to her side to see that she’s got them in a good pattern and they’re leading into the space from the front door, which is how I would have started if I did it myself. She has good instincts. Just zero construction knowledge.
“No glue. They click together. And we can put them directly on the concrete as they have a built-in underlayment.”
Mary London smiles, looking me up and down. “Talk dirty to me some more, Mr. Contractor.”
I roll my eyes, but also search my memory for another time I’ve had more fun laying flooring.
I come up empty. Giving her kneepads, I show her how to click the flooring pieces together with the mallet.
She’s a natural at it, both determined and talented in everything she does.
I end up getting more boxes open and supplying her with the lengths as she needs them.
She’s particular about what order they go in and cares about each piece, even though we have quite a bit of square footage to cover.
After an hour, she sits back and swipes a gloved hand across her forehead where some of her hair has fallen out of the ponytail and stuck to her sweaty face. Her back and knees and hands have to be killing her.
“You’re a natural, Mary London,” I say sincerely.
I thought she’d slow me down, and maybe she has a bit, but the woman is a hard worker, something I admire greatly.
She points at me with her oversized gloves. “Don’t you box me in, ’Lanta! I may seem like a society lady, but I’m so much more.”
I crouch down next to her, swiping more hair out of her face before I drop a kiss on her unglossed lips. “I like you hot and sweaty and dirty.”
Her heated grin is enough to make me forget all about doing the flooring tonight, but I have to remember that we’re kissing in the line of sight of anyone walking by on the sidewalk. They’d have to press their faces to the window to see us, but the fact is, they could.
I let her go and stand back up before I give in to the urge to press her back onto the flooring she’s laid with her own two hands and kiss the hell out of her. “Only three thousand more square feet to go.”
Mary London wails dramatically and falls backward on her denim-clad butt. “You’re a taskmaster!”
We end up working side by side for another hour before she calls it quits and heads home. I keep going, determined to get at least half the space done before I go home. I need flooring before I can do the rest of the build-out with the crew I’ve been assembling.
She’s all I think about all evening and first thing on my mind when I wake up Saturday morning.
My muscles shout at me as I roll out of bed and I have to imagine hers will too.
She always works Saturdays, so I get up early and head into the Square to get her iced mocha.
It’s waiting for her when she arrives at the boutique.
I know I won’t be able to keep my hands off her, even in public, so I make myself scarce, heading for the bar to get more work done.
Me: Good morning, June bug. I hope the coffee heals all the aches from last night.
Mary London: Good morning! I groaned your name when I woke up. I have to say, that’s not my favorite way of waking up sore.
And now I have an erection in the middle of trying to lay the rest of this flooring.
Me: Have the first of my new crew coming in today. Got a lot to get done. Want to come over for dinner tonight?
Mary London: Always.
And with that, I put the phone away and get busy building Mary London’s dream.
The guy I hired to help tile the bathrooms and the kitchen turns out to be dependable, but the other guy, the one who was supposed to be helping me build the stage and dance floor, was a no-show.
I have a feeling it will take some time to build a crew of dependable, skilled labor.
Five o’clock hits fast. I lock up the bar and head home, stomach already rumbling.
I didn’t take time to eat lunch and breakfast was ages ago.
I take out the frozen homemade lasagna my neighbor came by with last weekend.
As much as I left this town to get away from that small-town bullshit, there’s some advantages to a small town too.
The kindness of neighbors is something I’ve missed living outside a big city.
My shower is quick. As much as Mary London might say she loves my smell of sweat and sawdust, I think soap and cologne might be better scents for dinner. She’s ringing my doorbell as I’m pulling a T-shirt over my head.
She looks like a breath of perfumed cool air in a world of stale hot summers. Flowing blue skirt with a ruffled slit on the side, wedge-type heels on her feet, a white cropped blouse that highlights her gorgeous tan, and a bright smile just for me.
I reach for her and pull her into the house, spinning her around and slamming the door shut. I’m crowding her into the wall, probably acting like an animal, but I can’t seem to help myself. I have to get my hands on her.
“Well, hello to you too, honey,” she drawls, her hands coming up to lace around the back of my neck and sink into my damp hair. My hands land on her hips, gripping her tightly.
I kiss her instead of answering the greeting. Why try for words that will be all wrong anyway? Besides, we have precious little time before Rylan comes back from hanging out with his friends. Mid kiss, she inhales sharply, releasing her hand from my hair.
“What is it?” I pull back enough to examine her face. Her cheeks are flushed but there’s an edge to her eyes.
“Just my hands,” she whispers, lifting her nose like she intends to brush it off.
I circle her wrists and pull them from behind my head, flipping over her palms. There are three blisters on each of her hands, red and bubbly and angry. Lifting one hand to my mouth, I gently kiss each blister before giving the same treatment to the other.
“I’ve got some ointment that might help,” I mumble, horrified that I let her do so much she hurt herself.
“I’m fine,” she huffs. “Just some trophies from manual labor.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the front door flies open, nearly hitting us. I push Mary London out of the way and release her hands. Rylan’s face lights up when he sees Mary London. He gives her a hug and then gives me a head toss for a greeting.
“Hey, Mary London. You staying for dinner?”
“Sure am. Your dad felt bad he gave me blisters.”
Rylan glances at Mary London’s hands and then looks at me like I’ve killed a dog. For fun. “Dad. That’s not cool, bro.”
I hold my hands up. “I apologized.”
Rylan shakes his head, then puts his arm around Mary London and steers her toward the living room. “You sit down and rest. I’ll get you some ice.”
He pushes past me, still glaring at me, gets some ice, and doctors her hands.
All the while I’m shaking my head at his behavior.
Since when has my son become so sweet and thoughtful?
I leave the two of them chatting on the couch and get the lasagna in the oven.
I overhear Rylan talking to Mary London about the boys who were teasing him about not having a car.
Apparently, Mary London is a miracle worker because they’re no longer harassing him.
She merely states that all problems can be fixed by talking to one’s mama. She might not be wrong about that.
Dinner is really nice. My son gets along well with Mary London.
So well that I feel a little jealous of the attention she gives him.
Then I’m reprimanding myself in my head.
I shouldn’t be jealous of my own son. The poor kid has grown up without a mother.
He deserves all the motherly attention he can get, and I’m grateful that Mary London talks to him like he’s a person with real thoughts and opinions and feelings instead of an annoying kid.
Rylan pushes back from the table after consuming nearly half the lasagna by himself. “I hate to eat and run, but Sadie and I are going to the drive-in.”
I frown. “In what car?”
Rylan looks to Mary London, then to me. “I was hoping I could use your truck.”
I’m already opening my mouth to turn that down, but Mary London catches my eye.
She does a one-shoulder shrug, then looks at Rylan.
I swallow a sigh. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to give him a bit more independence.
He’s been keeping his grades up and doesn’t seem to be getting into trouble here, besides that stealing incident at Golden Halo.
“Sure,” I say. Rylan’s already on his feet. “But remember your manners with Sadie and be back by curfew.”
“Thanks, Dad. Bye, Mary London. Let me know if Dad tries to work you too hard again.”
With that, he leaves, whistling as he swings my keys around his finger and heads for my truck in the drive. I look at Mary London. She’s biting back a smile.
“Did my own son just threaten me?”
She shrugs again, setting her napkin on the table. “Pretty sure he did. It’s cute.”
I stand up and clear our plates. “It’s somethin’, all right.”
We work side by side to clean up from dinner and then we’re on the couch, supposedly watching a movie.
But Mary London’s got her legs over my lap, and before long, my fingers are in her hair and then our mouths come together like it was inevitable.
The movie drones on but we make out like teenagers.
The front door bangs open somewhere around ten thirty. We jump apart and my brain swirls, wondering if I’ve lost track of time and Rylan’s already back.
But it’s worse.
It’s Papaw.
And he’s drunk.