Chapter 2 #2
“Actually, there’s an amazing story behind these toys and that doll.” I tilt my chin at it. “Also, there are more items in my car that you can help me with.” One of his eyebrows lifts and a slight smirk flashes across his face so quick I almost miss it. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or impressed.
I set the box down in front of the door that he’s holding to prop it open and sashay, with confidence, back down the pathway to the curb where my car is parked.
I press the button to open the trunk of my Ford and it beeps before the automatic door pops open as the glass top lifts. As I turn around, I see him in my periphery, trailing behind me.
Maybe he’s not a heartless jerk after all.
As he rounds the corner and ducks under the glass partition, his neck cranes back and he says, “Wow.”
I can’t help but smile with all the donated items we received from the community.
Lots of non-perishable foods, a blender, Instapot, even an extremely expensive Breville espresso machine, tons of workout equipment, appliances and computer equipment.
Someone even donated a Playstation 5. Even more of what he can’t see are tickets from some of the local sports teams for different hockey and baseball games throughout the season for their off time.
He looks out of the side of his eyes then grabs a box and delivers it to the office, then comes back with a modest jog in his step.
The man might be grumpy, but wow, he’s a beautiful sight to look at.
He grabs the largest box, full of kitchen appliances while I grab the last, smaller box, and we head into the main entrance.
He peeks over his shoulder behind me. “Follow me,” he says, as he pushes the box that was holding the door open with his foot, allowing the door to close behind us.
I trail behind him, taking in the station as we walk through the main garage where the fire trucks are parked.
There are lockers lined around the outside and tons of equipment, I wouldn’t have the first clue of how to use, placed strategically in every space.
The protective jackets and pantsuits I’ve seen only firemen wear hang in a perfectly organized manner within each cubby.
We pass through that room into another; it’s a small but tidy storage room.
He places the box with random items down in the corner, then begins to walk toward me.
The determination in his body language is still intimidating but his gaze, the way he looks at me, it’s lacking the irritation it did before.
Now, there’s a desire licking through them and it feels like lava travels straight into my bloodstream.
He stops directly in front of me, his hands begin to wrap around my arms and my breath hitches at the touch. He grazes my forearm and gently pulls the box from my grasp, then says, “follow me,” stepping back and out of the room.
What the fuck?
Well, I read that moment totally wrong.
See this is why I have more friends on social media than I do in real life. In real life, I can’t seem to read cues, at all.
He rounds the corner out of the room and into another as I shuffle behind him. I have to triple step to keep up with his large strides.
As we walk through the doorway, we come into a living space area with a petite kitchen and small circular table on one side and a couch and TV on the other. I glance around the room, taking in the pictures on the wall and inspirational Teamwork posters, before my eyes land in the corner.
There’s a large bookshelf with books lined from end to end on the top three shelves, the bottom shelves have a mix of games and a few unopened boxes of very expensive Lego toys to build.
My body naturally gravitates that way as I crouch down and pick up one of the boxes.
One of these unopened Lego boxes is the same one my father had in his office that remained unbuilt his whole life.
It’s a Technic airport rescue vehicle. I don’t know if he held off on building it because he knew this specific one was no longer available or because he procrastinated on it.
“My dad used to love Legos. I played with these more as a kid than I did with dolls or Barbies. They were relaxing, almost therapeutic.” I smile and peek over at Mr. Grumpy Pants, who remains a freaking mute and I wonder if he can even hold a normal conversation or do more than just grunt.
I place the box back on the shelf in the same place I found it. This place might imitate a bachelor pad by way of its basic decor, but it’s spotless and immaculate otherwise.
“So, who likes Legos?” I push, because no one will stop me from talking.
He continues to unload one of the boxes, still silent, as he peers up at me, shakes his head, then finally replies, “No one really, those are just there.”
“Wade does, actually.”
A cavernous voice startles me, as I jump-turn around to see another man standing in the doorway.
His forearms are pressed on each side of the door jambs like he’s been there just watching us the whole time. His short hair is dark all the way through except the slight graying at his temples. A book hangs from one hand while a set of black rimmed glasses dangle from the other and, um…wow.
“Who’s Wade?” I ask, still a bit wide-eyed and taken aback by the gorgeous older man.
A scowl battles a look of disappointment that crosses his face, as he looks over at the mime in the kitchen. “You never even introduced yourself?”
“I didn’t think she was staying long enough to need to,” he replies without looking at either one of us, saying more words in that sentence than he has to me in total.
I should be offended, but somehow I sense that he’s just like that all the time and I shouldn’t take it personally, but I am just itching to pull him out of his crabby shell.
I return my gaze to the man in the doorway. He hangs his head down in defeat then he steps into the room, crowding the space with his oversized shoulders and way too tall stature.
“That’s Wade, aka Lego lover.” His lips turn up into a stunning smile as he holds out his hand. “I’m Major, and you must be Abby.”
I slide my hand into his, mirroring his smile. “That’s me.” I return with a little too much enthusiasm. A side effect of talking into a camera to no one for too long.
My smile softens as his hand clings to mine.
There’s pliancy to it but a strength I can feel all the way to my bones.
I stare down between our connected hands, waiting for them to light on fire with how much heat I’m feeling with his touch.
My eyes trail up to his face realizing he was staring at me the entire time, his gaze now lighting my entire soul on fire.
I pull my hand away, like I was shocked, because that’s exactly how it felt. Stepping back, I glance over to Wade. His body is stalled and his eyes are bouncing back and forth between the two of us.
I clear my throat and decide the only way to cut through the awkward tension in the room is to talk my way out of it.
I open my mouth to share all the details of the donated items when a third voice, a familiar voice, floats through the room.
“Pumpkin?”