Chapter 7 Hairy Fucking Larry #2
“Jenny needs a few things fixed at the bakery,” I grunted.
He nodded thoughtfully. “I planned to get over there tomorrow.”
“I got it,” I grit out.
He coughed but it sounded like a laugh. “Measurements are inside along with her chosen paint colour.” A knowing smirk teased his lips. “Good luck. She deserves to be happy.”
At least we agreed on that. I nodded my thanks, collected the supplies, and headed back to Jenny.
She didn’t say anything when I set the supplies down on the floor.
At three o’clock, she locked the door and headed back into the kitchen.
Quietly feisty.
That, I remembered and hoped to see more of it.
And soon.
With the door closed, I spread out and got back to work.
“Deacon?” Her pale face appeared through the kitchen doorway. “Can you check the stairs for me? I don’t want to go outside to get upstairs right now.”
Check the stairs?
“Do you usually go outside to go home?”
She shrugged. “It’s easier.”
“Sure.” It didn’t make sense, but I didn’t want to question her and I sure as hell wasn’t going to say no.
I followed her back through the kitchen to the locked door. “What am I checking for?”
“Uh, just checking,” she mumbled, swinging the door open and seeming to freeze in place.
I gripped her waist, thrilling at the feel of her between my hands, and moved her to the side. Stepping forward, I looked up the staircase to the door leading to her apartment.
“I don’t see any—fuck!” I exclaimed and jumped back. Dancing from one foot to the other, a violent shudder raced down my frame.
“What?” She yelped, freezing in place while her blue eyes bounced back and forth like ping-pong balls. “What is it?”
I pointed down at the floor, my eyes bugging out as they met hers. “It’s a hairy fucking Larry!” I shouted.
Fucking centipedes.
I kept one eye on the beast.
So many fucking legs.
Her lips twitched as she peered around me. “A hairy Larry?”
They were the creepiest of creepy crawlies; I hated those fucking things. “Those things are not right,” I stated.
She giggled, the sound falling over me like a summer rain.
Covering her mouth with her hand, she tittered, “You hated those things.”
“Still do,” I admitted. “Why could they possibly need that many legs?”
A shudder ripped through my body, jerking me around like a marionette.
“It’s okay,” she laughed out loud, her eyes bright. “I can handle this.”
I held up my hand and squared my shoulders. “Nope, no way. I got this.”
“Do you want rubber gloves?” she teased. “A hazmat suit?”
I growled and tossed her a fake glare. “I wouldn’t mind a bucket and a broom.”
She snorted, her face growing pinker with laughter as she ran to grab them and handed them over.
I edged inside the tiny vestibule. “Don’t lock me in here,” I warned.
She pressed her hand to her heart, her eyes crinkling. “I would never.”
I nudged the beast with the broom, jumping back as it rushed me. “Fuck, these fuckers are really fucking fast,” I griped.
Spinning around, I tried again. “Fuck me,” I breathed as it crawled up onto the broom. I tapped the broom on the bucket, and he fell in. “I got him.”
“Good job!” she clapped her hands.
“Move, move, move!” I cried. “The fucker is climbing the sides!” Rushing past her to the front door, I yelled, “Open the door!”
Almost doubling over with laughter, she picked her way through my mess, managed to unlock the door. and opened it wide.
I ran to the curb and tipped the bucket with a final, full-body, shudder. “Freeze you fucker.”
“Wow, you, uh, really showed him,” she said as I walked back in.
She stood, arms wrapped around her waist protectively, but her eyes danced with laughter.
Tipping my chin down to look into her gorgeous face, I smirked. “The staircase is now secured.”
She smiled and ducked her chin. “Thank you.”
Without another word, she made her way upstairs.
I refocussed on my tasks, my heart lighter than it had been in well over a decade. And if I did an occasional visual sweep of the floors, there was no one to know but me.
I’d finished the baseboards and reframed the window when I heard the soft clatter of dishes hitting the counter.
Turning around, I found Jenny perched on a stool on the other side of the counter, a tray stocked with steaming bowls and plates in front of her.
My throat tightened with anxiety at the sweet domesticity of the scene.
I could not screw this up.
As I watched, she set one place for herself and another across the counter for me, her cheeks pink.
The delicious aroma of her spicy chili drifted across the room.
She made my favourite.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slipped behind the counter into the kitchen. “I’ll wash up,” I said, my voice gruff.
When I came back out, I slipped onto the stool across from her and lifted my spoon like this was something we did every day. “Smells delicious, baby,” I told her honestly. “Thank you.”
Fuck, I’d forgotten about that flush. My sweet baby had an innate desire to nurture and please. Maybe even an untapped praise kink.
I couldn’t wait to explore that with her. She was letting me in, slowly but surely.
Cheeks flushing deeper, her soft blue eyes met mine before taking in the baseboards and the as yet unpainted window frame. “Well, you did risk your life to save me from a hairy Larry.”
I fake growled at her.
She laughed softly then jerked her chin toward the repairs and her gaze softened. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I rumbled.
We didn’t talk while we ate.
But the silence wasn’t quite as strained as I expected it to be.
It was a start.