Chapter 15
Joe had been determined as he gave me a house tour.
The pizza, pretty much forgotten by both of us, was getting cold in my hands as Joe ran through his list of projects room by room, one by one.
As we worked through each space—the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom—he pointed everything out to me.
Stuff that he’d completed, needed to start on, or was halfway through.
With each new item, he kept giving me this look.
A look akin to wonder.
The shittier the thing he highlighted, the more wonder-filled his eyes became when all I did was nod along. Taking the holes in the walls in stride. The half-torn-out floor. The half-painted cabinets. The half-completed floor in the living room.
The place was, admittedly, a wreck of epic proportions.
The only room that was even mildly alright was the bedroom. And it was in dire need of new paint and new carpet.
I wasn’t shocked.
I’d read Joe’s list and been mentally prepared to see something along these lines.
It did make me feel alarmed to think Joe had been living here—with it like this.
With it worse than this, more accurately.
Seeing as he’d been working on it for weeks now, so it stood to reason that it had gotten better during that time.
But I knew he could handle himself.
Since the second I’d met him I’d never been more sure of anything.
Joe Milton was not the kind of man you pitied.
Which was why I so badly wanted to be the person he turned to when he needed someone.
I knew what a vulnerable thing showing me his house was. He’d told me as much when he’d reiterated that I was the only person he’d ever allowed in here. And with every one of those wondrous looks, that fact only felt more clear.
I wasn’t going to mess that up.
Though I did worry that the only reason he’d shown me his house was because I’d reacted negatively when he’d refused the first time.
“I’m mostly done with the floor in here,” Joe said, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Next, I need to repair some of the holes in the walls, handle the mold, and take care of the nail problem.” He scratched his neck, staring at where a nail was poking straight out of one of the baseboards for no fucking reason.
“I don’t understand why anyone would stick a nail in the baseboard like that. I mean…it just doesn’t make sense.”
I didn’t understand why anyone would do that either.
Not that I knew much about houses, or DIY home improvement.
The little I did know stemmed from the fixer-upper that Mary and I had bought in Belleville’s suburbs when we’d first been married.
Though…admittedly, I’d given up my home-improvement dreams fairly quickly when it became obvious I was only making things worse.
I’d hired out for the rest of the projects.
With Mary’s cushy job as a lawyer, no one batted an eye at the contractors that came in and out. They simply assumed the money came from her. I was fine with that. We’d made that choice together when we’d first moved into town.
Warily, because we hadn’t known anyone.
And then later, because I’d told her, in confidence, that it was nice for once in my life to be someone other than Jason Harker the Third.
Now that I’d been living on my own, I had to be even more careful.
It was a habit to be secretive.
I didn’t know how to open that can of worms—even though I trusted Belleville to treat me kindly. Not after I’d lived here for twenty years and never opened my mouth.
Could I even do that?
Was I capable of being open?
Could I let people in?
History said no.
But…Mary seemed to think I could.
And I’d admitted more to Joe in the car on Thanksgiving than I’d told anyone in years. Maybe…opening up could be done glacially. One melted layer of ice at a time. Maybe Joe and I were learning that together.
Another first.
My first crush on a man.
My first time attempting to be myself. My real self. No shell allowed.
“I’m very relieved you haven’t nicked yourself on the nail,” I admitted honestly. “Not that you would. Fucking panther that you are.”
“Panther?” he echoed.
“You know. Big. Powerful. Dangerous.”
Joe laughed. It was a cute laugh. All wheezy and hoarse. The tension in his frame eased as he shook his head. “Me? Dangerous?”
“You’re right,” I agreed, heart fluttering, because—god, was he pretty when he laughed. “The idea of that is ridiculous.”
The smile he gave me was so warm another layer of ice inside me melted away.
“Cold pizza?” I offered, waving the box at him. Joe’s eyes widened. The dark circles beneath them were splotchy and unforgiving. He looked sallow. Underfed. And yet…I’d never seen a more beautiful person in all my life.
“I like cold pizza,” Joe said in the cutest voice I’d ever heard.
“Good. Because that’s all I’ve got,” I hummed.
We ate in the bedroom because everywhere else was a goddamn war zone. Sitting on the single air mattress in the corner, the little space heater that whirred and whirred was surprisingly effective. It blasted at our feet as we sat side by side, munching through the food, both of us silent.
I ate one slice, as per usual, dragging it out as long as I possibly could so Joe wouldn’t notice.
He was far less chatty today than the last time I’d seen him.
He was thinking about something. His eyes were far away. Chewing, but unfocused.
I figured I’d let him be, naively assumed he wasn’t going to bring up whatever was bothering him. The last thing I expected—genuinely—was for Joe to finish his pizza slice and tell me what was on his mind.
“It’s supposed to storm,” he said, grabbing a napkin and rubbing it all over his face. “I didn’t go shopping for food.”
God it was cute when he did that.
“It is,” I agreed. I’d been hearing about it all day. This had been my last stop before I headed home to weather it out on my lonesome. “I should probably—”
“Do you think you could…” Joe cut me off. His voice was hoarse. Weak. He grit his teeth, like forcing the words out was physically painful. I froze, staring at him. My heart skipped a beat, racing, racing. “Do you think… Maybe…” he tried again. “You could…”
Oh my god.
No way.
No way, no way, no way.
Was he really going to—
“Do you think you could do me a favor?”
I made a bunch of phone calls as I drove back through town and to the city center where all the stores were.
The first of which was to Paxton Montgomery, the local grump—and handiest man in town (literally), the dude was a wizard with a hammer.
He had a lot of experience with construction of all kinds, and as much as he liked to pretend he didn’t, he had a massive heart.
There was a reason he’d swept Belleville’s Baxter Baker off his feet, after all.
“I need advice,” I told him. “House advice. About house things. About…building. And fixing things—and all that.”
Now that Joe had opened this door—the helping him door—there was no telling whether or not he’d be opening others. I needed to be prepared. Had to be prepared. Was genuinely giddy at the prospect.
I knew this—the grocery store trip—was a test in a way.
Maybe not consciously.
But it was one that I refused to fail.
I’d prove to him what an asset I could be and that would be that.
“Do you need backstory?” I offered, though I already knew the answer.
“No.” Paxton’s voice was gruff and deep. “What are you fixing? Explain in the fewest words possible.”
After I explained, Paxton was quiet. Then, as concisely as possible, he gave me advice. “Toilet’s easy,” he said last. “You can Youtube replacing the pump. Start with that.”
Joe had said that was on his list.
I liked easy.
Easy was good.
“Alright. Thanks, Paxton. I really appreciate your he—”
Paxton hung up before I finished my sentence.
I grinned wryly, then jabbed my mother’s contact when I was at a red light.
Not because I needed anything—or even to gossip—but because, since I’d been a young boy in a house full of endless empty rooms, whenever I felt uneasy all I wanted was to hear her voice.
She picked up on the second ring.
She was easier to get hold of nowadays.
“Jason,” Mom’s voice was as peppy as always. “Hi, sweet boy.”
“Hi, Momma.”
“Anything to report?” she asked. I was the only one out on the road, with the sun sliding low, low, low. My car idled, and I leaned back, eager to hear her voice. It was clear by her tone that she was dying to tell me something.
“Nope,” I popped the P with glee, my curiosity officially piqued. “You?”
“Wendell got engaged,” Mom blurted out in a rush. “And the credit belongs to me!” Her laughter was truly maniacal. It belonged to a cartoon villain, not a retired socialite in her early seventies.
“No—” I gasped, eyes widening as I sat up straight. “It’s only been a few weeks!”
“I know!” Mom burst into storytelling mode immediately, embellishing all the right moments as well as including the appropriate sound effects when necessary. She’d been a matchmaker for him. She claimed it was her calling in life.
I could only imagine it fed her ego the same way philanthropy always had.
Mother had a big heart, and she needed everyone to know about it.
Apparently, Wendell had softened as he’d started dating. He smiled now. Wendell. Who had been the grouchiest, nastiest bully I’d ever known, growing up.
Smiled.
It was difficult to picture.
The image I had of him in my head was of a snot-nosed, grubby-handed jerk.
But…I suppose I could imagine it when Mom described it. And if Wendell, of all people, could find true love maybe there was hope for the rest of us.
By the end of our phone call, I was grinning.
The tension I’d felt had eased at the reminder that people—even people who had been horrible once—could change.
Maybe that meant I could too.
I walked through the grocery store—ignoring Madison and the knowing looks she kept giving me. Slurping her coffee and wandering around behind me like her only job was questioning every purchase I made.
“TV dinners?” She hummed sarcastically, sucking on her straw. “I wonder who those are for.”