Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Dallas
The awkward moment seems to disintegrate as Josette snaps out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. Offering me a slightly nervous smile, she steps back and waves me in. Now, I’m the one pausing, wondering if this was such a good idea, after all.
I mean, she really needs to get that row of cabinets fixed, and I want to help her. But it’s impossible not to notice her high level of anxiety as she waits for me to cross the threshold. When I don’t move, she wrinkles her brow like she’s confused.
“Sorry,” I say in a low voice before stepping inside.
There’s no reason to spike her anxiety any higher by changing my mind and going back to my own apartment. I’m here now. I’ll fix the cabinets, then let her make the next move if she wants to explore this…friendship. Or whatever it is.
“Here,” I say when I catch her staring at the sweating glasses of tea in my hands.
She takes the one I hold toward her and eyes it a bit suspiciously. “I’ve never had sweet tea before.”
She turns and starts walking, and I follow her into the kitchen as I say, “Really?”
She swings around to face me again with a tentative smile. “Really.”
I take a long sip from my own glass with a satisfied hum. “My parents are from Texas, so this was a staple in my house growing up. The key is to only use the ‘Luzianne’ brand of teabags.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she says, then takes a tentative sip.
I watch her expression as she swallows, smacks her lips, then takes another drink. Then she meets my eyes and nods.
“The sweetness is a bit shocking, at first, but it’s good. I like it.”
My lips curl up before splitting apart into a wide smile. Josette’s gaze drops to my mouth, then her throat works as if she’s swallowing against a lump in her throat. As if to reinforce the thought, she clears her throat and drops her gaze to the floor before taking another sip of tea. Her cheeks brighten with color, and my smile shrinks into something softer. Warmer. Her blush suits her, making her even prettier than before.
Clearing my own throat, I take a drink from my glass before setting it on the counter beside me and saying, “Okay, I’m ready to get started. Do you happen to have a step stool or a small ladder?”
“Sure,” she says, then walks to the small closet in the living room that mirrors my own.
Pulling out a two-step stool, she brings it to me. I thank her as she hands it over, and my fingers accidentally brush over hers. A shiver runs up my arm at the contact, and Josette must feel it, too, because she snatches her hand away like I’ve burned her. I mumble an apology before turning around and setting the stool down near the sagging cabinets.
After getting a closer look at the damage, I realize this is going to be an even easier fix than I thought. Pulling a tube of polyurethane-based construction adhesive from the pocket on my toolbelt, I apply a generous amount along the length of the nailing strip. Recapping the tube and setting it on the counter, I push the row of cabinets up and back until the top edge sits against the nailing strip like it’s supposed to. Grabbing my drill and three screws from my belt, I zip them in one-by-one to hold the cabinets flush against the nailing strip so the adhesive can do its job.
As I stretch to my left to screw in the last one, I glance down at Josette. Her eyes are fixed on my arm muscles. She must sense my gaze, because her own darts up to meet mine for a fraction of a second before dropping immediately to the floor. And that pretty blush is back in full force.
Turning back to my work so she won’t see my expression, I grin like a fool. Oh, yeah. She likes what she sees.
So do I, Josette. So. Do. I.
Turning back to double-check my work, I ask, “So, what do you do for fun around here?”
She doesn’t answer right away and, satisfied the cabinets are secured firmly, I climb down from the stool and turn to face her. She’s got a kind of deer-in-the-headlights look on her face like she’s trying to read meaning into my question. Does she think I’m asking her out?
I mean, I’m not not asking her out.
But the idea is obviously making her freak out, a little, so I cock my head, smile, and say, “You said you know every place in Grenville, right? I was just wondering what people like to do for fun.”
She visibly relaxes, and the muscles in my neck loosen a bit, as well. She takes a sip of her sweet tea, her expression contemplative. Then she shrugs.
“I usually just hang out with my sister and our friends,” she says.
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah,” she says, her expression brightening as she nods. “Her name is Calliope, but everyone calls her Callie.”
“Calliope,” I say thoughtfully. “I like it. Almost as much as I like Josette .”
Okay, now I’m blatantly flirting. And I’m rewarded with one of those pretty pink blushes.
“Is that who you had your pajama girls’ night with last night?” I ask .
She nods, then immediately changes the subject. “Speaking of last night, how was O’Malley’s?”
Okay. At least she’s not kicking me out. Yet.
“It was great. It was the first time I met my new boss face to face, and we seemed to click really well. He brought his brother with him, and he was cool, too.”
Josette goes completely still, her eyes wide as she stares at me. Then she looks from me, to the cabinets I just fixed, and back to me again. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she clears her throat.
“What?” I ask, confused by her behavior.
“Your new boss wouldn’t happen to be Linc Manning, would he?” she asks, shaking her head slightly.
My head jerks back in surprise. “Yeah, it is. Do you know him?”
A laugh huffs out of her as she shakes her head again. “Royal is my sister’s boyfriend.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. She said he was at O’Malley’s with Linc last night, but I assumed it was just a coincidence that you were meeting your new boss there.”
“Wow. Small world.”
She nods, and a long-ish, slightly awkward pause falls between us. I search for something else to say, something that will keep me here for a while longer because even though I’ve finished the repair, I’m not ready to leave.
“Do you want some help putting everything away?” I ask when nothing else comes to mind.
“No, that’s okay,” she says. “But thank you so much for fixing it for me. It looks great. ”
“Are you sure?” I ask, a thread of panic slicing through my chest. “I can help put away the stuff on the top shelves.”
Her eyes brighten, and her lips twitch as she obviously fights a smile. “Are you calling me short?”
There’s nothing about her expression or body language that would infer she’s offended, so I simply smirk and say, “I prefer the term ‘vertically challenged.’”
She barks out a laugh, then nods. “Vertically challenged. I like it.”
“Please let me help,” I say after another brief pause. “I don’t have anything else to do today, and I’d feel terrible if you fell off the stool reaching for a shelf when I could’ve easily reached it for you.”
She rolls her eyes like my reasoning is ridiculous, then blows out a long breath. “Fine. But we might as well put all those muscles to work. There’s a box of real dishes in my closet.”
Her cheeks fill with color when she mentions my muscles, but she doesn’t look away or try to hide it. Progress! Josette sets what’s left of her iced tea on the counter and spins around, waving at me to follow. She leads me into her bedroom, and I take a quick peek around while she still has her back to me.
The bed is made, and everything looks neat and tidy apart from a small pile of clothes on the floor. It only takes me a second to recognize the items as the ones she was wearing when I popped over earlier.
To borrow sugar.
How lame could a guy be? I didn’t lie. I was out of sugar. But I only decided I needed sweet tea after searching my kitchen for anything I could use as an excuse to knock on Josette’s door. And when I realized I didn’t have any of the sweet stuff, the idea to make a pitcher of iced tea was born.
I refocus on Josette when she opens the door to her closet. She steps back and meets my eyes, then points to a large cardboard box beneath the clothes hanging inside.
“That one,” she says. “And be careful. It’s heavy. And fragile.”
She says the word “fragile” with three syllables, pronouncing it frah-jee-lee, and I chuckle.
“Must be Italian,” I say as I step forward, and a laugh bursts out of her accompanied by the most adorable snort.
I look over my shoulder to see her slap a palm over her mouth and nose, her eyes watering as she tries to hold in another laugh. I grin at her for a couple of beats, then turn back to pick up the box. It is heavy, but nothing I can’t manage. Bending at the knees, I pick it up and back away from the closet before turning around. Josette nods and spins, leading the way back into the kitchen.
That’s one A Christmas Story reference for the win. And I think I’ve found something we have in common. Quoting movies in everyday life situations. I do that all the time, and if she does, too, it’ll give us something to talk and laugh about.
Talking and laughing is good. And if I can get her to snort again…
I smile widely at the thought. That just may be my new mission in life. To make Josette snort-laugh .
Setting the box on the counter, I open it up and convince Josette to just point where she wants everything and let me do the actual work. We chat as I move back and forth, and she seems more at ease now. I try to make her laugh, and while she does chuckle a few times, I’ve yet to get another one of those cute little snorts.
As I put the last of the plates away where she wants them, I turn to her and say, “The dishes are done, man.”
The quote is from an older movie, and may be a little obscure, but Josette’s face lights up as she barks out a laugh. Settling down, she nods.
“ Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead. Good one.”
Warmth spreads through me as I smile back at her. Not only did she catch the reference, but it made her laugh. Made her relax. I feel like I just won the lottery.
“What are you doing for dinner?” I ask, and her smile falters a bit, but I keep going. “I don’t feel like cooking, and I want to try one of the restaurants in town. I’d love it if you’d join me.”
Josette’s face pales, and I instantly regret my words. I pushed too hard, too fast. But then her spine stiffens, and the color rushes back into her cheeks as she nods.
“Sure. I’d love to.”
I want to whoop and pump my fist in the air, but I manage to restrain myself. Shooting her a wide grin, I nod.
“Great. Is six o’clock okay?”
“It’s perfect,” she says.
“I’ll see you then,” I say, making my way toward the front door. “And you pick the place. ”
“Wait,” she says, her voice panicked. I spin around to face her, and she’s shifting her weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know what kind of food you like.”
I shoot her a soft smile. “Don’t worry. I like everything.”
And this dinner is about the company. Not the food.
“I’ll see you at six, Josette.”
“Bye, Dallas.”