Chapter 9
9
C arlisle laid in her hammock, a different book in her hands from the last time she’d been out here. She’d finished that one at two a.m. last night and immediately picked up the next. Sleep hadn’t been an option.
Not while Simon might hear her. She lied to herself and said surely the neighbors on the other side of her had never heard her.
She was going through books like water—none of them the self-help she probably needed. She and Christian had both been huge readers as kids. She'd loved escaping into a different world, but now the books she read were marked by the number of hours she wasn’t living a real life.
She read even knowing that she needed to get off her ass and actually do something. The house needed repairs—not that she had any money for that, but she’d bought the tools and supplies a while ago. Here she was though, not fixing the hole the last owners had left in the back bedroom. Not digging out the three cracked tiles in the shower enclosure and replacing them.
There was more to do for the business. The prototype was done. They had approved it and she and Jane had placed their order. Her breath had caught, and Carlisle had the biggest wave of panic when they pushed the button together. She had no idea if she’d managed to hide it from her friend or if Jane saw it.
They’d ordered so many. Calculating out what they could sell and comparing that to how many they could afford to buy before they got some of the cash from selling the first ones.
That thought pulled her out of the story and back into what was likely one of the last gorgeous days of summer. Carlisle couldn’t see the blue skies or feel the soft heated breeze for her rising anxiety.
What if they didn't sell?
They would sell! She told herself they had to. In fact, maybe that was the upside of her neighbor already knowing at least something about who she was. Jane had been reading up and said if you wanted to market something, you sold it with a story.
Carlisle had the best story, Jane insisted. Carlisle hated the story . She was dreading the interviews that Jane suggested would move Carlisle’s Kit. In fact, Carlisle thought, maybe the better story was, “I'm so traumatized, I couldn’t work for four months. It’s better if you just never go through what I went through. Here's the thing that will prevent that.”
She was worried that her reading now wasn't simple escapism or running away. It was holding the memories and the petrifying dreams at bay. It was trying to make herself disappear into someone else’s story.
Still, she dove back into the book, not happy in the real world for long. The hammock swung and she might have fallen asleep.
When she looked up again, Simon had a ladder up against the side of his house. She must have slept, or else she’d been so far gone she’d missed the man right in front of her. It was a good view at least.
Simon was good escapism for her, too. A crush, a few fantasies, something to think about besides the dark water pushing in on her, rising higher while she was trapped and sinking fast.
It looked like he was painting the trim around the windows. She frowned at the thought. Fancy car like that, she would think he could hire somebody. But he was DIY-ing most of it just like her.
Simon wiped at the sweat on his forehead but stayed steady on the ladder propped against the siding. He painted only a few feet along the sill then climbed down and stepped back as if admiring the work. Carlisle raised one eyebrow and wanted to call out, “I think you missed a spot!”
When he climbed back up and leaned over to paint again, she realized that he was using a small brush and a small pot of paint. This section was an entirely different color. What the hell was he doing? Was she going to live next to some wildly ridiculous house painted with the rejects from the home store?
Once he’d painted a foot and half of the second color along the sill, Simon turned around, carefully balancing on the ladder. “Which one do you think?”
So he did know she was there.
Oh, he was testing colors and he wasn’t going to leave it that way. Carlisle also saw now that he was doing it on the side of the house that faced her property, her hammock, not the front where everyone would see.
“Are you leaving the rest of the house as is?” She'd seen him out pressure washing the place two days ago. Now he was on to the trim.
They hadn't talked in the last handful of days. She told herself she didn’t miss it. How could she? She barely knew him. Because dinner was served on his patio, suggesting they eat together again had felt like inviting herself over. So Carlisle hadn't done it.
“Yeah, I think I have to. I’m not ready to dive in and paint the whole place yet. ”
Interesting thought. She would have expected him to hire a crew and have the whole house go from the older white siding to something shiny, new, and upscale to match the car in one day. But that clearly wasn’t happening.
She asked him what Emma Kate had asked her back when she did her house. “Do you think you will paint it a different color in the future? Like, when you get the time?” She almost added and the money . Though she thought again about that little sports car. He didn’t seem to need the money. He was a consultant. She’d seen him leaving in a really nice suit the other day.
So why was he balancing on his obviously brand new ladder on the uneven ground at the side of the house, painting the window sills himself?
“I might change it.”
“Well, what color would you like it then? Because both of those are good, but you should pick the ones that work with the future color.”
“Good thought!” he called out, arm wrapped around the rung as an anchor.
Extricating himself, he climbed down, stepped back a few feet, and placed his hands on his hips. He wore long shorts and a T shirt—both covered in the stains of his previous DIY work. Turning around, he grinned at her. “By the way, I discovered the DIY person that I follow?”
He said it with a question mark at the end, so Carlisle folded her book closed, leaving her finger in place. Inside the hammock, she propped herself up on her elbows to get a good look at him, because he was going to announce . . . something .
“It's your cousin.”
“Oh! You watch Emma Kate. She's fantastic.”
“Yeah, she is. But I'm standing by my earlier assumption that you're related to everyone in this town, and apparently even everyone on the internet.”
“Emma Kate is my only family member on the internet.” She was smug about it but, crap ! She had to roll that back. “Actually, my brother probably made a couple of the apps that you use.”
Moving his head forward, Simon stared at her. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes. He's a multimillionaire and you probably use at least one or two of his apps.”
Simon shook his head and went back to his work. Closing both of the paint cans he must have decided to leave the paint decision for another day. But he wasn’t done. He set the cans aside and hauled out several shutters from his back deck.
Carlisle decided that ogling him wasn’t neighborly and started reading again. She managed to turn a few pages but mostly she watched over the top of the book as his muscles flexed, lifting the awkward piece into place.
She would have offered to help, but what would she do? And he seemed to have it figured out. The old ones were down, and the new ones were slightly bigger than the two bright rectangles left from the sun fading around the old ones. Smart move . Carlisle wondered if Emma Kate had done a video on hanging shutters.
He got the first one up, climbed down and inspected his work before grabbing the second one. He headed back up the ladder, the work more than a little awkward. He was climbing slowly with the piece held out to not bang into the siding. She couldn't quite tell how heavy it was.
But, with only one hand on the ladder, he flexed his arm as he started to settle it into place. She couldn't help herself and called out, “It's not square!”
Slowly, he turned around and looked back at her, so she pointed out, “It's a little off. The top needs to go to the left, but just a few inches.”
Turning back to the house, still standing pretty high up on the ladder, leaning forward, holding the shutter up and shifting it to her right. “Like this? ”
“No.” She laughed. “The other left.”
He swung it wide moving it the other direction. Only as he did it, she watched the ladder start to tip as if the ground had just given away under one side. Or maybe he leaned too far.
She was already bolting upright, book forgotten as his attempt to twist and right the ladder only caused more trouble. The whole thing flipped over backward, and Simon went with it.