6. Berg
Chapter six
Berg
T he workout in my home gym helps clear my mind, but when I smack the button on the garage door to cool off and spot a strange car in my driveway, I’m not impressed. I’m immediately on high alert and when I round the corner and spot someone banging on the door to my suite? Well, they’ll have to excuse me, because I’m not in the mood for this. A woman is wearing a short rain jacket and a pair of jeans that fit her so well it’s hard not to notice.
“Damn door…come on,” she says.
She hits the door with impressive force, immediately withdrawing her hand with a hiss and clutching it against her chest. “Ouch.”
Even then, she clenches her fists and I’m fully ready for her to go another round with her wooden opponent .
“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and low, wanting to avoid spooking her.
She shoots a look over her shoulder that might start at my eyes, but definitely wanders downward for a moment. And, okay, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t stroke my ego a bit. Especially after a workout.
Because I fell asleep during bedtime, I had to pull off an elite military extraction to get the hell out of my daughter’s bunk bed. I’d woken sweaty and disoriented from one of those shitty dreams again. They’re farther and fewer between lately, but they still rattle me. The scent of the hospital, the monitors beeping, Louisa’s endless newborn wails and Natalie’s painful questions about where Mommy was. I’ve made so much damn progress on healing and grieving, but one vivid dream like that and I’m transported as if by black magic to my family’s darkest days. I laid there for several minutes, staring at glowing sticky stars while my breathing slowed, running my fingers through my daughter’s hair.
Middle of the night gym sessions aren’t really my thing, but if the universe is going to deliver pretty rain soaked women to my driveway, I’d be willing to adjust my schedule. She has chaotic blonde curls protruding from her hood and fair skin that is turning pink from the cold. I may be shirtless in the winter, but I bet I could warm us both up.
“You’d have to stop staring at me if you’d like to help,” she says .
“I wasn’t–” I sigh, not needing to explain myself to this random woman.
“I’m Carolina.”
A smile plays across her lips for a moment, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to add on to that introduction, but she presses them together again.
“Carolina…”
This spitfire who is glaring me down better than my daughters can on their grumpiest days is Chris’s sister.
I clear my throat, determined to erase all images of her butt in those jeans from my mind.
February 1st. The nagging suspicion that today meant something. Chris’s sister moved in today and I’m the lovely welcoming committee, marching out into the dark to demand who she is. I feel like a jerk. A half naked jerk. I look down at the sweaty cotton tee in my hand that’s getting wetter by the minute from the rain. Putting it on right now would be super gross. I toss it into the garage behind me.
“I would love, love so much,” she clasps her hands over her chest, voice laden with sarcasm, “if you would help me open this shitty, broken door.”
“The door is not shitty,” I say, stepping closer as she moves aside. “It’s easy. You just have to push–” I jiggle the handle and shove.
“Please do not mansplain the mechanics of opening a door to me. ”
“Push on it at the right angle,” I grunt, pressing my left shoulder against the door for leverage.
“Hmm, interesting. And do we happen to know that angle so that I can go to bed sometime soon?”
“Can you be patient?”
It’s cold as fuck out here, and her sniping at me while I try to sort this out isn’t helping in the slightest.
“I’ve been patient. I knocked on your door already.”
I pause. She knocked on my fucking door at this hour?
“My kids are asleep.”
She better not have woken them up.
She shrugs. “Am I supposed to sleep in my car?”
“No. Of course not.”
She thrusts her thumb toward the light fixture over the door. “The lightbulb needs replacing, too. You should consider hiring a handyman.”
A han-- Oh, hell no.
One more good shove and the door pops open. I had no idea the wood had swelled so much. Must be all the rain. The weekend hang out I promised my kids at supper? Guess I’ll be replacing a door instead.
“I can fix it this weekend.”
“As in Saturday or Sunday? How should I get into my apartment in the meantime?”
“I’ll…”
Well, shit. I don’t know what I’ll do. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and work and right about now I’m feeling like there’s one more person who’s been plopped onto my plate. And I don’t have the appetite for it.
“I had to leave before you got home. I waited as long as I could for you. I was late for work.” She folds her arms over her chest. I might not have lived with a woman for almost seven years now, but I know what that body language means.
“Did we have an appointment?”
“Yes.” Her response is clipped. “At 4:30. My brother said he texted you.”
I reach into my pocket, opening up my phone to scroll through several unopened messages.
“Ah,” I suck air through my teeth. “Missed that.”
Carolina glares at me, hovering on the threshold of the suite, obviously not interested in offering immediate forgiveness for my oversight.
“I’m going to level with you. I completely forgot you were moving in today.” I throw my hands up. “Life, you know?”
Chris’s little sister probably doesn’t know a lot about my way of life. Of what it means to put yourself third after two children who rely on you for everything. Chris always describes Caro as young and carefree, not the most responsible, travelling around with no apparent plan. Until she showed up one night unannounced, surprising the hell out of everyone. I think I surprised myself by agreeing to have her move in when Chris brought it up.
“You’re only getting home from work now?”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m bartending at The Tipsy Mermaid. ”
“Marv’s place.”
“Yeah, he’s sweet. And punctual. And has functional doors and lighting in his business.”
I raise my eyebrows at the barb. She’s not wrong.
Her lips lift and I notice how naturally full they are, and then she tucks one of her feet behind the other and I’m pretty sure she bows. Or curtseys? Is this something she picked up in a foreign country? So Caro is a bit odd. But, aren’t we all?
I mutter a goodnight and turn back into the garage, thinking about what I’ll need to replace the door. I linger by the entrance to my place. Only when I hear her shut the door behind her do I press the garage door button, and get my butt back inside. A wall of tiredness hits me as I shuffle into my bathroom to shower before turning in. I freeze at my reflection.
My beard is still full of hair clips.
Bows. Butterflies. Glitter.
It looks like a Claire’s Accessories store puked on my face and I’m horrified.
Chris’s sister didn’t say anything. Not with words. But she smiled through half of our conversation, clearly entertained. I laugh, removing the clips one at a time and imagining what I must have looked like. Forty-year-old dad pumping iron in the middle of the night, shirtless with accessories to boot. It’ll be a miracle if Chris isn’t razzing me about this tomorrow.
I might have been a pretty crap landlord today, but tomorrow, I’ll be better. That’s all I ever try to be. A little better tomorrow. And at least Carolina had a laugh, even if it was at my expense. So Chris’s sister thinks she’s funny, eh? That’s okay. Cause I can be pretty funny too when I want to be.