Chapter 25
Sand Away Messes
Holly
Ilock my computer screen and push away from my desk.
My chair rolls across the floor toward the door.
When it stops I hop out of my seat and stretch my muscles, which protest my slouched form over the past three hours.
I sit ergonomically correct in public, but nobody needs to know I have poor posture at home.
It’s another minor rebellion against my upbringing, especially against my mother and her relentless nagging to sit up straight.
The small act of defiance has unfortunately stuck, and my chiropractor can thank my parents for his frequent paychecks.
I open the door but hesitate before walking into the hallway. I’ve become comfortable walking the few steps down the hallway from my office to the garage. But the courage to walk those twenty steps seems insurmountable to gather today.
I blame it on our date last night.
After a simple hug in the hallway I went to bed and dreamed about pupusas. I didn’t know I could smell things in dreams. But last night I swear I could smell the fried cheese and seasoned meat wafting from the dreamy plate of food in front of me.
Then my husband took me to get a chocolate Frosty. He knows my weakness. The chocolatey goodness reminded me of the night my feelings changed, the night we escaped the movie premier and Knotweed, as Mateo calls he-who-shall-not-be-named.
Finally, the handsome man had the audacity to want to talk about feelings. Not just opinions on food and favorite colors, but deep emotions. The kind you only share with people you really care about.
Alex doesn’t know how hard it is not to fall for his best friend, and I’m cursing the day I told him I wouldn’t fall for Mateo.
Because what I feel is definitely going to mess things up between him and his bestie after the divorce—the divorce I’m coming to realize I don’t want. But Mateo deserves to marry a woman he loves. Someone who deserves to be pampered and treated to delicious pupusa dates.
I bend over and touch my toes. I shake my hands and mentally shake off my negative thoughts about myself.
I straighten, flip my hair over my head and shake it out.
Yup, I want to see my husband.
The smell of sawdust pulls me toward the garage. It’s a scent I associate with Mateo, and I love it, but I probably won’t tell him that. I turn the corner and slip on a pair of sandals before opening the garage door. I pass our cars and slide open the tarp wall, slipping in before closing it again.
A few steps forward and I stop to lean against the wall. My eyes trace Mateo’s outline and study his work. With power tools at play, I’m afraid to make a sound and mess up his process.
Mateo leans over the wooden table, goggles on, and a dust mask strapped to his face.
I think he’s using a sander—at least, that’s what it looks like as he glides the tool across the wood.
Dust flies in the air, and there’s a thick layer of it coating Mateo’s arms. The front of his curls are saturated with the sawdust, and his headphones have a tangible layer on them.
He’s in a blue t-shirt today, his muscles flexing beneath the fitted fabric as he moves the sander.
In my time in Hollywood, I’ve seen so many gym-acquired muscles but Mateo’s muscles are different.
His build seems more natural, less hard lines and more understated strength.
He’s “I need to be strong in my daily life” built.
I like it, even though I shouldn’t.
Alex’s voice pops into my head, reminding me to not get attached to his best friend. Emotions make things messy.
I ignore the voice, just as I’ve ignored my older brother all the other times. That’s what sisters do, right?
Mateo gets to the end of the large slab of wood and switches off the sander. He stretches, very similarly to how I stretched when I got up from my desk.
It’s uncanny how we occasionally and unintentionally copy each other’s movements since being married. I’ve found myself folding my arms to mimic Mateo’s posture more often than not recently.
That’s another bad sign.
Mateo turns and jumps when he sees me. His hand flies to his heart.
I stifle my giggle at his shocked expression, but let it loose when he starts to laugh.
Mateo grins as he takes off his headphones, lowers his dust mask, and leans back against his workbench.
He folds his arms, pulling his t-shirt tight across his shoulders.
The move automatically increases his hotness.
The whole dusty buff carpenter look he’s rocking should be illegal.
“Did you come to scare me? Or did you need something?”
I shrug, unfold my arms and take a few steps toward him, edging around his project. “Yep. Just wanted to get a head start on pranking my husband. I needed a break from my computer screen, so I thought I better come scare you.”
He smirks, meeting me halfway around what looks like a table, stopping a foot from me. “Do you want to learn how to use a sander?”
My eyebrows raise as I scan a covered-in-dust Mateo. “Um…”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, it’s messy. You don’t have to get your clothes dirty.”
I look down at my designer sweats, suddenly wishing I was in my old raggedy t-shirt and shorts I wear to bed. I’d be more willing to get dust on those. I chew on my lip. “These are my favorite pair of designer sweats.”
Mateo holds up his hands in innocence, sarcasm lacing his words. “Definitely can’t get dust on those.”
I glare at him.
He steps back because I’m sure I look absolutely intimidating. He gives me a once over, and the look in his eyes after inspecting my outfit sends a wave of warmth over me. “Since when is there such a thing as designer sweats?”
My farm boy is showing his roots. I can’t help but laugh. “Since always. Everything I wear is designer."
Mateo rubs the side of his beard, dust falling from his scruff. “We might have to change that. Especially if you’re going to come help me when you need a technology break.”
This idea should not be this appealing for someone who doesn’t like to get dirty.
Dust all over me?
No thanks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I agreed to that. Also, it’s messy.” I reach up and stick my fingers in his hair, just a small twitch of my fingertips creating a deluge of dust.
Mateo leans down so I have easier access as I continue to run my fingers through his hair. “Good thing we’re all a bit of a mess,” he mutters.
I scoff. “You’re not a mess. You have your life together.”
He pulls his head away and raises his eyebrows, making his goggles wiggle. “Yep. That’s why I was single at twenty-six, hadn’t had a girlfriend since university, and had free time to get married to you. Because I totally had my life together.”
I push against his chest. “That’s not what I meant. You have an awesome job you love and you know what you want to do with your life.”
He lifts his chin. “So do you.”
The words hang between us and I have to look away. The tension feels heavy and my mind pings between wanting to move closer to Mateo and the impulse to push him away. I feel like a shook-up bottle of soda, ready to burst with feelings I’ve held in.
Finally, a few words make their way out of my dry throat. “I’m not sure what I want to do anymore.”
Silence reigns and my anxiety rises. I rock back and forth on my feet until I can’t resist looking at Mateo any longer. His goggles are clear enough that I can see his warm brown eyes. They beckon me toward him, urging me to fall into him and his strong arms.
Why does being around Mateo feel like I’m drinking a cup of hot cocoa on a chill fall evening while wrapped in a fuzzy blanket? I shouldn’t be this comfortable around him. Mateo is in the brother’s-best-friend friend zone.
He needs to stay there. He deserves more and someone better. Someone without baggage and issues.
Mateo breaks my gaze and steps to his workbench. He digs around until he grabs something and turns to me. In his hands are a pair of protective glasses, the clear, huge goggle kind, and a spare mask.
My hand reaches out of its own accord, grabbing the goggles by their strap. Do I really want to get covered in sawdust?
He moved to California to marry me. I can get a little dusty.
I slide them onto my face, the edges dig uncomfortably against my skin. Then I slip the mask over my mouth and nose. It’s a good thing I don’t have any video meetings this afternoon. Who knows how long the goggle and mask lines will last for.
I look up at Mateo, who reaches up, adjusting the way the goggles sit on my face, relieving some of the uncomfortable pressure. His gentle touch sends a shiver up my spine.
“Teach me the ways of the wood, farm boy.”
Mateo’s as giddy as a kid in a candy shop. He rubs his hands together gleefully. Somehow that makes him even more attractive. All of this good lookingness needs to stop because no one should look that attractive in these fashion-crime goggles.
“As you wish.” His voice is deeper than normal, and I wish we were doing something else right now. Like kissing.
I content myself with the sensation of a myriad of butterflies fluttering in my belly. I’m beginning to understand the swoon factor of the Dread Pirate Roberts even more now.
Mateo guides me to the other side of the wood slat he’s working on. I’m pretty sure it’s a table. He grabs a piece of sandpaper and intently explains why sanding is important. Something about how it needs to be sanded before applying stain so it colors evenly.
Honestly, it’s all over my head. My brain has immediately given up on the lesson and is cataloging everything about this moment and Mateo’s happy expression. Nobody said I was a star student.
Mateo turns on the sander and hands it to me. I push it against the wood.
Nothing happens.
I move it up and down like Mateo did, but the same thing happens. Absolutely nothing. A warm hand covers mine, putting more pressure on the machine as we follow the wood’s grain.
Mateo stands behind me, my shoulder nestling into his chest as we fall into the rhythm of sanding. The scent of wood surrounds me on all sides.
After a minute, Mateo turns off the sander. I exhale loudly and feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle. Sparklers ignite in my chest.
I step away. This was a bad idea. The desire to linger in Mateo’s arms is overpowering, the feeling of his laughter too much for me to handle without diving into my deeper feelings.
Luckily, Mateo steps to my side. “Do you want to keep going?”
“No thanks.” I brush off the dust on my sleeves and strip off my goggles, and unstrap my mask, placing the items back on his workbench. I avoid his gaze as I rid myself of more dust. “You make it look easy. Now I know why you have all those arm muscles. Pressing down on that thing is a workout.”
“Ah, so you like my muscles?” I look up and catch sight of his wiggling eyebrows, which make his goggles bob up and down.
I press my lips together. Encouraging his goofiness is a bad idea. It feels too much like flirting.
I shake my head. “That’s not what I said. I said you have muscles.”
He strips off his protective gear, throwing it at his workbench. “And you like them.” He steps forward, purposefully flexing his biceps as he invades my space by an inch.
My heart tries to leap out of my chest, and I force it back down. My cheeks feel hot, and the butterflies haven’t calmed. I take a step back. “What are you making?”
I let out a small breath as he takes a step away. “I’ve made a few custom orders. I have two nightstands ready for pick up, and a side table for a living room in the works.”
I run my hand over the smooth slab of wood, my fingertips picking up a dusting of wood shavings. “This looks a bit bigger than a side table or night stand.”
Mateo taps his fingers on the wood, catching my eye. “Well, I noticed you don’t have a dining table. I thought I could make you one.”
My jaw drops. “You’re making me a dining room table?”
He shrugs, a small smile on his face. “Yeah. I figured the little breakfast nook table and the counter bar stools won’t cut it if we’re going to have family come visit.”
My eyebrows arch. “What family?”
He laughs. “Alex and Reina, or if my family comes to visit.”
A jolt of shock runs through me and I straighten. “Why would your family come visit?”
He shrugs. “Nadia texted me telling me she wants to go to Disneyland again. I figured they could come stay in the guest rooms. I can take them to the park and the beach. Nadia specifically requested to go to the beach. She’s tired of going to the cold ones in Oregon.”
“But. . . why would they want to come visit us?”
Mateo shakes his head as if confused. Same buddy, same.
“Because it would be fun and they like us. Speaking of my family, my mami's birthday is in two weeks. Could you take a few days off so we can go visit them for a long weekend? My dad is planning a big party for her.”
I’m still stuck on the fact his family likes us. I mean, of course they love Mateo, but I just kind of thought they tolerated me. Then again, I’ve never had family who has wanted or needed to travel to visit.
Wait. I blink. Mateo asked me a question.
Can I take a weekend off in two weeks?
I picture the calendar on my desk, but it’s coming up fuzzy. I shrug and clasp my hands in front of me. “I’ll check my calendar, but I can definitely try.”
“Great! She’d really appreciate it. Cruz will be back for the weekend from college, and Mami is excited about the prospect of having all of her kids together on the farm for a weekend. It’ll be crazy.”
A big birthday party surrounded by the people you love and care about. I’ve never had one of those. My voice comes out as whisper. “That sounds like fun.”
Mateo smiles, his eyes looking distant as if picturing the small family reunion. “I’m excited.”
I take a step back, ready to escape from the temptation that is my husband.
Mateo stops me in my tracks with his next words. “Tomorrow you have another event. What do you need me to do while we’re there?”
“Just pretend to be my devoted husband,” I say as I head toward the garage door into the house.
“As you wish,” he says before I pass the tarp.
I pull it closed and bolt back into the house.
The problem is, my heart wants to stop pretending.