Chapter 3 Caroline #2
Tyler stands, sighs, and walks away from the doorway, toward the paint cans at the base of the spiral staircase that leads to my home.
“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” he says, picking up the four cans, two in each huge hand, and starting up the stairs.
“I have to know what a house inside a hangar looks like,” he states, like he’s actually, truly curious.
I follow behind him, grabbing the brushes, rollers, and the bills I need to sort later tonight.
“It’s homier than you would think. It’s taken a couple years for me to get it to this point, but I’m living here full time now.
Finally out of my parents’ house. They live just over the hill to the east.”
Tyler laughs and presses himself against the railing so I can get by to unlock the huge, black, iron door. “What’s funny?”
“I guess that everything is so perfect here. It’s like this place is unaffected by everything.
It’s hard not to get caught up in the mirage of safety, that’s all.
Your town, Bronze Bay, is the exception, not the rule.
You talk about your parents’ house over the hill, and everyone rides bikes and no one gets shot at, and I’m wondering what planet I’m living on.
” He shakes his head. “I guess that must be the whole point. Why I’m here instead of back there.
” He didn’t say “instead of home,” and I wonder what that means.
He inadvertently answered my questions about the war and city life.
“Are you trying to be offensive because, like I said, I don’t need your help.
” I push open the door and motion for him to enter first. He does, leaning over to drop the cans by the front door.
He keeps his head up as he takes in the huge room before him.
Shaking his head, he says, “Didn’t mean to sound offensive, it’s a big change, that’s all.
For me.” His gaze widens as he takes in my pride and joy.
People looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was building this apartment, in an airplane hangar, at the airport. They don’t understand me. Not one bit.
The floors are salvaged hardwood from an enormous shed and stable that was destroyed by a hurricane a few years ago.
I hauled most of it in here by myself after taking months to sort through it.
The walls have been painstakingly lined with brick to make it more secure, and the exposed pipework curves around the ceiling like a maze.
“This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says, walking in further to look out of one of the huge back windows.
It’s one of my favorite features. It has a view of the runway, and I can see planes take off and land in the distance.
There’s green as far as the eye can see, and a sliver of beach off the coast side.
The view holds everything I love in a snapshot. Leave it to an outsider to get it.
“I love it,” I admit. “I plan to stay here forever, so I wanted it to be perfect.”
His eyebrows raise and lower in surprise. “I can’t say I blame you, and that’s pretty shocking.”
I look at him sideways. He’s wearing his sweat-soaked shirt. “How is it shocking?”
He shakes his head, as if he’s daydreaming.
“No, I didn’t mean it’s shocking you’d want to live here forever.
It’s shocking that I can understand why.
I’ve been everywhere, you know? All over the world, and there’s never been a place I’ve wanted to be for longer than a little while.
This place is really beautiful,” Tyler says. “I can’t wait to skydive over it.”
Reality crash. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
He shrugs. “We’ll build an airport somewhere else in Bronze Bay then. Figured you’d want the income, though.” He nods to the stack of bills I haven’t put down. I should have known he’d know the debt our business carries. The government knows everything these days.
My face heats under his gaze, and I’m too mad to say anything at all, and that fact infuriates me even further.
“Call me Tahoe, by the way. All my friends do.” Right now I want to call him a string of ugly swear words.
He slides a pocketknife out of his shorts pocket and stoops to open a can of white paint, the view and my parent’s house all but forgotten.
I have a drop cloth and everything ready to go.
“You’re painting all of the brick white? ”
“I’m not your friend, so I will call you Tyler, and yes. Start at the top, close to the pipes.”
He pays me no mind and just starts painting. I watch him for a solid fifteen minutes to make sure he’s doing a sufficient job and then retreat to my bathroom to change into a pair of board shorts and a tank top. I throw my hair in a messy bun and try to calm my rage.
Why am I so angry?
Because Tyler is right. We do need the money, and my thought process has led me to realize I need to be nice to this man even if his presence makes me madder than a poked rattler.
“I don’t need your help with any of this. I just want to make that clear. You’ve been driving me nuts, and I figure this might relieve some of the…annoyance,” I say when I return, mostly so he knows I’m back in his vicinity.
He grunts. “Everyone could use a hand. Even the people who refuse it time and time again.”
“Are you talking about yourself or me?” I say, picking up a clean brush and dipping it into the bright white. “I’ll work on trim.”
Tyler nods. “I’m talking about anyone who the statement can apply to. I’m really not big into talking,” he says, flicking his gaze down to meet mine.
A shiver racks my whole body, and I laugh nervously. “Okay. Are you some kind of robot? How do you live without speaking to other humans?”
He sighs. “All the humans I’m surrounded with don’t ask me questions…like that,” he explains. “It’s easy that way. Less complicated. You seem like an uncomplicated person, and you also seem like you could use a hand.”
Carefully and slowly, on my knees, I brush the baseboards until the standard cream color turns white.
I’m not sure if being uncomplicated is a compliment or an insult, and I think it was a purposeful tactic used to confuse me even further.
“Maybe if you talked more, you wouldn’t be here,” I say, trying to engage in a different direction.
It’s rude to dodge questions, but he didn’t ask any questions. Not flat out, anyway.
“It might be a good thing I’m here,” he replies almost before the statement leaves my mouth.
“I talk all the time, and my life is easy,” I argue.
He grins, it’s sharp and full of an emotion I can’t put my finger on. “I think you just proved my point, darling. That said, it seems your life isn’t well-rounded either. You don’t have a boyfriend, or he’d be here rolling paint, and you have a hard time making decisions.”
My brush drops into the paint tray. “Excuse me? I make thoughtful decisions. You’re just a brute and a bully.” I have to remind myself how this man got inside my house to begin with.
“Ah, so no boyfriend. Gotcha. What happened? Was it him, or was he just not that into you?” He grins.
“I didn’t invite you in to let you insult me,” I snarl. “You annoyed your way in here. The least you can do is act like a civil gentleman!”
He drops his roller so the end hits the floor and faces me.
“I didn’t come here to be interviewed,” Tyler replies, and his eyes narrow as he lets his gaze slide from the top of my head down to my feet, leaving a trail of fire on my skin.
“And I’m not civilized.” Tyler licks his lips, then shakes his head.
“Not anything even close to a gentleman, either.” He leans his head to one side and then the other, like he’s stretching after a workout.
I’m left breathless, in a state so unfamiliar, my body feels like a traitorous enemy.
“Why did you come here?” I raise one brow, challenging him to do something he doesn’t want to do. Talk. And because I’m breathless, wondering how in the world this man can affect me so swiftly when no other man in the past has, and surely they’ve tried, right?
He pauses, stares me down once again, and then turns away and starts painting again.
I clear my throat and sigh to the roof. “Boyfriends take time. Time is precious to me. I’d rather be doing other things.
Like flying planes or working on engines or helping my parents.
It’s my choice to be single, and quite honestly I enjoy doing house projects on my own,” I say, slinging one hand on my hip. “Key words: on my own.”
He nods, his face thoughtful, and dips the roller again. A drop of white paint lands on his burly, tattooed forearm. I watch it slide a few centimeters as he works the roller up and down.
“I came here because it’s fun to…annoy you, and believe it or not, I don’t have very many friends here,” he replies, smiling. That brings my gaze to his face.
Pressing my lips together, I remark, “You don’t say?
Most people respond better to kindness than intimidation.
Just for your information.” I offer him something to drink, and he declines.
I offer him to sit down on the sofa and take a breather, and he declines.
I give up on trying to talk to him or trying to get anything more from him than an arm with a paint roller in it.
After I finish painting the baseboard against the longest wall, I start making dinner.
“Are you hungry?” I call across the room.
It’s an open floor plan. One huge room with everything except my bed and bathroom, which is behind a half wall in the far corner.
My damn Southern hospitality kicks in as I envision my mother telling me to be a good host.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Tyler replies, appearing from the side. “Please, that is. If you’re cooking, I would love to eat.” His smile widens, then he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth.
Before he sees me blush, I look away. “So you’re nice when I leave you alone for a while?
Noted. I was going to make a grilled chicken salad,” I explain, opening the fridge and then the freezer just to see what supplies I have.
“Is that okay?” I pull the ingredients out before he has time to respond.
“Not so much leaving me alone, more about talking about things I’m agreeable to.”
“Food is okay to talk about, but anything personal is off-limits?” I ask.
“Where I come from, it’s rude to be in male company without a buffer.
I don’t even know you, other than you want to take my airport from me.
I feel like you should offer me something of substance.
” I light the pilot on my oven and pull out two plates from above the sink.
Tyler’s gaze pierces through me. “Or you can stand there and stare at me like a creep,” I add on, opening the drawer for the silverware I’ll need.
I feel him then, his body heat against my back. Tyler smells like dried sweat and a faint hint of sweetness mixed with paint. I swallow hard.
“I told you I’m not a gentleman, Caroline. I don’t play by the rules. For me, there are no rules, just what I want and what you’re willing to give me.”
I spin to face him, and I lose my breath. He looms large, his massive chest at eye level, his crystal blue eyes challenging me—taunting me. “You can’t have my airport,” I say.
Tyler throws his head back and laughs, his muscular neck widening and rippling as I watch in awe. “What do you want to know?” he asks when he finally stops laughing.
Folding my arms across my chest, I ask, “Are you making fun of me?”
He shakes his head. “No. Not at all.” Backing away from me, he releases me from his masculine spell. How confusing, how embarrassing.
“Tell me the basics. Where are you from, your family, you know? Typical things friends discuss.”
“You said you weren’t my friend.” Tyler tilts his head to the side, hitting me with a smarmy grin.
My stomach flips, and my heart rattles against my chest. He saves me from responding by humming briefly.
“I am the product of the Navy. My dad served, and we moved all over the world while I was growing up. The longest time I’ve ever been somewhere was when I lived in San Diego, after I became a SEAL.
The Teams gave me my first true home. The brotherhood provided me with the only siblings I’ll ever have.
My dad is retired now, and he and my mom live in Northern California.
” Tyler pauses. “I visit them every once in a while, but they know my life. They respect my decision, so they’re less needy than other families.
” He leans against the counter with one large hand, his fingers tracing the edge of the white marble.
I swallow, surprised by his honesty. “You weren’t lying about traveling everywhere, were you?”
He laughs, shakes his head, and then leans his back against the spot where his hand just was.
“No girlfriend then? You’d be rolling paint at her house if you had one.”
Biting his lip, he blinks slowly. “Well played,” he replies.
“I saw how the military broke families. I’ve avoided as many relationships as I possibly could because of that firsthand knowledge.
” His face changes then. Almost like the guard he keeps in place wilted a touch by telling me something personal.
I can tell he wasn’t lying before, he doesn’t talk about this kind of stuff.
“I like to keep things simple now.” He drums his fingers on the stone behind him.
After an awkward pause, he tells me a story about how as a young child he rode a subway alone to school when he was in Japan.
I marvel at his tale. With my interest, he continues to tell me tales of his amazing life.
His bravery transcends that which most would label brave.
His stories are surreal given my limited experience with traveling.
He can tell I’m eating up every word because he keeps talking, keeps my mind spinning.
Sometimes he uses his arms when he talks, and he reminds me of Thor or some WWE wrestler because he looks so big in here—like maybe a horse or a bear found its way into a house by accident.
I serve the salads on large plates and set them on the table. He watches me move, and I’m a little less self-conscious as time passes. I still hate him and what he stands for, but I guess he’s not the most horrible of company. Especially when he’s telling me cool stories.
“Grab a couple napkins from the holder behind you, Tahoe, and give me a month to decide,” I say almost on an impulse, trying my best to keep a grin off my face.
He nods, turns, grabs the napkins, and smiles, his face aimed at the floor, all the way to the table.