7. Carolina
Chapter seven
Carolina
T he second the door shuts behind me, even though it takes a little elbow grease, I burst out laughing. This whole evening was ridiculous and I must be overtired, because I’m unable to control my laughter, bending in half with my sides aching at the mental snapshot of that big, burly man covered in pink and purple hair accessories. This place better be soundproof, I think, still chuckling as I hang up my purse and dripping coat. There’s no way in hell he remembered those were in his beard, and while I know it could have said something about the adorable additions to his face, I swallowed my words and my laughter until now. God, I want to see the look on his face when he notices.
It’s actually a relief to know that he didn’t show earlier because he’s a jerk. He forgot. These things happen. If anyone knows about making mistakes, it’s me. I scarf down the meatballs standing at the bar which isn’t exactly a celebratory moving day dinner, but it’ll do. I pop the leftover meatballs in my fridge before making a beeline for the comfort of the beautiful shower. With a shower cap covering my head, I moan as wonderfully hot water beats down on my stiff shoulders. I could cry at the thought of having to do this damn shift almost every night this week. What do you call yourself if you aren’t a morning person but also aren’t a night owl? Perpetually tired? With every drink I serve I’m less and less sure this is the job for me.
I lather strawberry body wash onto my loofah, scrubbing every inch of my body to rid myself of the lingering scents of the bar. Removing the showerhead, I rinse the bubbles from my skin, easily recalling Berg’s bare chest.
Grouchy, maybe. Old?
“Not from my point of view,” I say, my words echoing off the tile.
Based on the accessories, he’s not only handsome, but clearly a total softie when it comes to his daughters. Why is this guy single again? Of all the things I expected to see on my trip home from work, a hot, bearded man cooling down after a workout laden with accessories was not it. But, he’s Chris’s friend, and my new landlord, so I need to file all those images of broad shoulders and brooding expressions under off limits. I twist the shower to cold, yelping when it’s more than I can take. A cold plunge person, I am not. Shivering, I step out, rubbing my arms vigorously with a fluffy white towel.
** *
I groan, kicking my legs as I attempt to unravel myself from the sheets. I slept terribly and I’m utterly confused why there’s so much noise outside, although only the faintest hint of sunlight is hitting my windows. My house is also freezing. Shitty door, no outdoor light, and crap insulation? Great. Thanks, Chris. There’s squeaky little voices somewhere, which must be Berg’s daughters, but there’s also the occasional thud that might be against my door. Is one of the kids knocking? Sliding out of my warm bed in only my undies and a tank, I shove my feet into my slippers, shivering as I go to the window and pull back the blinds.
“What the hell…”
Berg’s truck is still there, parked next to my car, but behind it is the tail end of another pickup entering the driveway. The tail lights switch from red to white and a god awful beeping noise fills the morning air. Berg saunters into view, heavy cargo work pants clinging to his ass, as he lifts a hand to beckon the truck up the drive. Another gust of cold air swirls around my bare legs.
“Good morning, new neighbour lady!”
I gasp, jumping a foot and pressing my hand to my chest as the most adorable little brown-haired girl bounds into my bedroom without a care in the world. She adjusts a purple stuffed animal under her arm while I tug the hem of my tank lower, scanning the pile at the foot of my bed for a sweatshirt .
“Um, hi?”
She has to be Louisa. I recall all the stories Chris has relayed to me about the vivacious little girl.
“She’s not a neighbour. She’s a tenant,” another girl corrects, sauntering in behind her.
The older sister, then. Natalie.
“Is that…my lipstick?”
The younger child presses her poorly painted lips together.
“I really like the colour,” she whispers, eyes round.
Do I even want to see the state of my bathroom?
“So, usually we knock when we want to come into people’s houses…”
“We didn’t used to knock when Chris lived here,” Louisa says.
“Risky,” I mutter under my breath, finally locating an oversized sweatshirt and some sleep shorts and pulling them on.
“Besides,” the older auburn-haired girl adds casually, “Can’t really knock if there isn’t a door.”
If there isn’t a…
“Pardon?!” I screech.
The little girls part like the red sea and I march down the hall, as much as someone can march in a tiny apartment. The air gets colder as I go, and weak sunlight is streaming across the floor of my living space. The beeping outside has ceased, but there’s the overlapping sounds of several male voices just outside. Sure enough, there isn’t even a sign of a door separating my home from the great outdoors .
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, stepping out and squinting against the first rays of uncharacteristically bright sun.
“Oh,” Berg turns around, a grin on his face as he tucks a big work boot behind the other and does his best at a curtsey. “Good morning, sunshine.”
I suppose I deserve that after last night, but the fact that I’m missing my door? Hell, no.
He’s still beaming at me, green eyes glinting. Did he and I not get the same amount of sleep last night? Because I feel like a zombie and he looks like a rugged mountain man, ready to take on a woodpile.
Berg moves his arms in a grand sweeping gesture. “Look. I found handymen!”
My teeth clamp together at the sound of my own words being repeated back to me.
Two or three young guys surround the bed of the truck, loosening straps.
“Berg, what is going on?”
For the first time I see my door, my old door, lying on its side against the house.
A slow smile spreads across his face until he’s flashing all his teeth. “Fixing.”
Oh, he is enjoying this.
“There are so many things wrong right now.”
“What? You’re getting a new door. Be happy.”
I speak slowly, enunciating my words. “You took my door off my hinges while I was asleep.”
“I’m a busy man, sunshine. You didn’t want to wait until the weekend. This is the next best time.”
He slings a heavy arm over my shoulder like we’re besties and I shrug him off, even though he’s toasty warm.
I start counting things off on my fingers. “You’re doing work on my suite without proper notice, your kids are in my bedroom–”
“Oh, you met Nat and Lou? Cute, huh?”
I melt a little at that before I remember I’m incensed.
“Cute as far as trespassers go,” I scoff.
“One door, boss,” says a young guy when he approaches us.
I tug the bottom of my sweatshirt lower, really wishing for long pants. Pants and a bra.
Berg accepts a clipboard, scribbling his signature on the bottom. “Thank you, Matt.”
“Yeah, thanks so much, Matt,” I add sarcastically. “How did you even set this up? It’s been like seven hours.”
My mental math serves as a reminder of how badly I wish I was in bed.
“I have my ways,” he says, like that somehow explains everything.
As fast as it came, the truck pulls away and then it’s only Berg and I standing between our vehicles, a new door lying next to the old one .
“Alright,” Berg says, clapping his hands once as he walks to the back of his truck.
He pulls out a toolbox and carries it over, setting it down.
“Is this going to take very long?” I ask.
He glances at his watch.
“Hope not. School drop off is coming up pretty quick here.”
He gets to work, and I should really go back inside where it’s warm and I don’t have to be near this infuriating man. But then Berg bends and hoists an entire door off the ground, back flexing beneath his long-sleeved henley and I think I’ll stay put. I’m supervising, I tell myself as my mouth goes dry. Thirsty. So thirsty. But after a while, my thighs are going numb and I realise I haven’t even peed today, so I awkwardly skirt around Berg to head in.
“Make yourself at home, girls,” I call, as I pass the occupied recliners.
They’ve settled in nicely, obviously knowing how to navigate to the cartoons on my brother’s television all on their own.
“Do you have snacks?” One of them calls.
“Nope!” I yell, shutting the bathroom door and leaning against it.
The squeaking voices of Alvin and the Chipmunks float faintly through the crack under the door.
Undressing feels weird knowing that there are a couple of strangers hanging in my living room and nothing preventing anyone from wandering into my home. Except for Berg. I get the idea that the big bearded guy with the tools would be a decent deterrent. I rush through a shower, trying to minimise the time I spend naked, then dress in jeans and a sweater that didn’t come out of the questionably clean pile.
“Nearly done,” Berg grunts, not much later.
I’m sitting on one of the barstools, finishing up the instant apple cinnamon oatmeal that I found in the cupboard. There were three packets left, but Natalie and Louisa snagged the other two. I place the bowls in the sink and wander back outside. The cool morning is comfortable now that I’m dressed. Leaning against the hood of my car with the sun shining down on my face is a reminder that spring will be here eventually. We just need to get through the last months of wet and wild west coast weather. Berg closes and opens the door several times before resting his fists on his hips. The view from back here is good. The thick, waffle knit of his shirt pulls snug across his broad shoulders, and I bet I could fit two of my feet in his work boots.
He waves me over. “Come and set your code.”
“Hmm?”
“Your new code for your door.”
“Oh! My code.”
Right, I totally heard that the first time.
“This is cool. No more fishing lure keychain.”
I cup my hand over the keypad while I enter four digits. Unimaginatively, I choose my birth month and day.
“Not sure why I’m hiding this,” I say. “Obviously, you can take the whole door off the frame if you want to come in. ”
“Look…” He clears his throat and scratches his jaw. “I might have been a little…annoyed last night.”
“Same,” I answer, folding my arms over my chest.
“I meant it when I said this is the only time I could do this.”
All I can do is nod, because Berg has dropped the smirk and swagger and I’m really seeing the man behind it.
“Well, thanks. For getting it done so quickly. It looks nice.”
He offers a curt nod before leaning inside. “Let’s go girls!”
His daughter's head out, grabbing their backpacks off the bottom step and heading to their dad’s truck. As they pass, he drops a hand on each of their shoulders, stopping them in their tracks.
“You girls aren’t getting out of here that easy.”
Natalie turns around, biting her lip. “Are we in trouble?” She glances up at her father’s face. “For coming into Carolina’s house?”
Berg’s expression is stern as he glances at me, lifting his chin as if to say, your turn.
“Oh, um, I’d really like it if you knocked next time. You know, since there’s a door now.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Berg to bite my head off. For him to tell me he can parent his own kids.
“Plus,” I add, continuing on when he stays silent, “You haven’t told me who is who.”
I know full well who they are, but I’d rather hear it from them.
“I’m Louisa and I’m six and eleven quarters. ”
Berg covers his mouth with his hand, but I can see his smile.
“Fractions aren’t really her strong suit,” he says.
I gesture to the purple stuffy. “And who is your friend?”
“Leggy the octopus. She’s one.”
The older sister rolls her eyes. “She can’t be one. You’ve had her since you were a baby.”
“She can still be one! Daddy, can Leggy be one?” She cranes her neck as she waits for her father’s reply.
“What? Yes. Sure. Leggy can be one.”
Louisa darts her tongue out at her sister with lightning speed.
“I’m Natalie. I’m eight.”
“And?”
The girls glance at each other in confusion.
“You’re eight and…”
“Oh!” Natalie perks up. “Eight and a half.”
“Perfect.” She smiles, “The half matters.”
I extend my hand to each girl. “It’s very nice to meet the both of you. I’m Carolina. You can call me Caro, if you want. Oh, and I’m twenty-five.”
“And?” asks Natalie.
“A half. Twenty-five and…” I think for a moment. “Three quarters.”
“My Daddy is forty,” Natalie says the number so emphatically that I almost laugh.
“Cool. Thanks for that.” He meets my eyes. “Never tell your kids how old you are. They’ll use it against you.”
“Noted. ”
Berg reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a packet of tissues, taking a knee and wiping the lipstick from his daughter’s mouth.
“That looked beautiful, Lou, but it’s not for school. Okay?”
Louisa squirms, pouting a bit as he wipes it off.
Even kneeling down, Berg is still massive next to her, yet his movements are incredibly gentle as he dabs away the makeup. The entire scene is adorable, and I have to wonder if he knows it. Any sane woman would swoon at the sight. I mean, if handy single-dads were their type. A responsible family man like Berg is definitely out of my league.