13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Raif
R aif shows up at ten am with a bag of breakfast sandwiches and his toolbox.
He didn’t work with Ash at the station yesterday as it was his day off, but he couldn’t keep her out of his mind.
The way she moved, kneeling and bent over, arms dirty from the flowerbeds.
The way her hair kept falling in her face and the bit of dirt that she smudged on her cheek when she went to push her hair back.
He spent all of yesterday at the lodge moving in a daze.
Spending time with her was wonderful. It was quiet, serene, how he likes it.
Her scent wafted in and out of his nose all afternoon.
Axel has said that Chloe’s scent calms him.
Makes him feel more at peace. He sees Axel bury his nose in Chloe’s neck, taking in her scent.
And after meeting Ash, he can say that her scent calms him as well.
He’s usually a calm person, gruff and standoffish, but not especially stressed.
But her scent takes him to another level of calm. He wants to wrap himself up in it.
He knocks and hears a muffled thump and a curse before the door is pulled open.
Ash is there in another pair of old cutoff shorts and a paint-splattered t-shirt.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s barefoot, which makes the whole situation seem a little more comfortable, like she’s okay with inviting him into her home.
He holds up the bag of sandwiches from the diner. “I brought breakfast.”
“Oh, great. I haven’t eaten. Thanks.”
She takes the bag from his outstretched hand and moves back into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow her inside.
He toes off his boots, not sure what the protocol on shoes is, and makes his way to the kitchen.
He sees a half-painted living room, an ugly peeling yellow paint that she is clearly trying to cover up.
He sets his toolbox down carefully on the kitchen counter, seeing that Ash is seated at the kitchen table, already halfway through her sandwich.
He pulls up a chair and grabs himself a sandwich out of the bag.
He’s purchased six, three for each of them, and he’s hoping she eats more than one.
He wants to provide for his mate, keep her full and healthy.
He doubts she takes the best care of herself, what with her forgetting to eat at the station during meal times.
If he can only feed her now at this one opportunity, then he wants to take it.
She polishes off the first sandwich before him, and he’s impressed, seeing as he turns into a literal bear and can devour food quickly.
“Have another, there’s more for you.” He pushes the bag towards her, and she takes one out with no apparent qualms, which makes him happy.
She eats fast, big bites in between gulps of coffee.
He slows down a bit only so he can watch her.
After her second sandwich, she sits back and downs the rest of her coffee.
“Oh, you want some coffee? Sorry, I’m a bad host.”
“You’re not. And coffee sounds good.”
She stands and moves to the coffee machine.
Opening up a cabinet to get out a mug. He joins her, facing her and leaning against the counter.
She pours him a cup and passes over the cream and sugar, just watching him as he makes it the way he likes it.
When he takes his first sip, he sees her eyes are locked on his mouth.
“This is great. Thank you, Ash.”
She smiles a little, eyes locked on his before clearing her throat and stepping away, separating the distance between them.
“Leaky sink is this way,” she thumbs over her shoulder, and he picks up his toolbox to follow her down the hallway to the bathroom.
It’s right off the hallway and not connected to a bedroom, and he assumes from the layout that it’s the only bathroom in the house.
The sink is leaking steadily, and he gets to work.
Kneeling and pulling his toolbox close. She watches him for a minute.
“I’ll let you work, holler if you need anything.
” Before he can respond, she’s gone, and he focuses on the task at hand.
It’s ridiculously easy, really. He tightens all the pipes under the sink and looks for corrosion.
The culprit ends up being a broken washer in the faucet.
He pulls one from the toolbox that he’d picked up from the hardware store.
He has it fixed in a couple of minutes, and it’s no longer leaking at all.
When he carries his toolbox out a minute later, he finds her staring at the living room wall. She doesn’t seem to hear him, even when he sets down his toolbox, so he clears his throat. She jumps a little and turns to look at him, clearly surprised.
“All done. I can show you what the issue was if you like?”
“Yes, please.”
He leads her back to the bathroom, where he explains about the broken washer.
“So that’s all it was? Just this little piece of crap broke?” she thumbs the broken washer with a frown on her face.
“I also tightened the pipes underneath. The trap was a little loose, but I don’t think it needs to be replaced.”
“Thanks. Thanks for doing this. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing, it was my pleasure.”
She turns towards him to protest, and he holds up his hand.
“Seriously, Ash, the washer cost maybe ten cents. And I wanted to do this, that’s why I offered.”
She nods and looks back down at the broken washer in her hand.
“So what do you have for me next? I’m here all day.” He tries to make his tone light and playful, but it still comes out gruff and grumpy.
“You don’t have to. I know I’ve already taken you away from the lodge. I appreciate your help with this, but you don’t have to stay.”
“I’m here because I want to be.” He locks eyes with her and tries to pour his sincerity into it. He wants her to know he is here for more than just home repairs. He is here as her friend. As her person. As whatever she wants them to be.
“Come on then,” she has a small smile on her face, and he’s glad she’s not kicking him out.
When she leads him back to the living room, she stops and stares again. He can see the tarps are down, and the paint is poured into a tray, brushes ready to go, but she’s just looking.
“Wall giving you trouble?” He stands next to her, following her gaze as she looks between the old yellow and the new gray.
“It’s stupid, really. It’s just old paint. I don’t know why-” she’s shaking her head, and he wants to reach out and touch her, but refrains.
“It’s not stupid.”
She looks at him then, really looks at him. He can see her eyes flit over his face like she’s looking for something, like she’s looking into him. He feels open, bare, like she can read his thoughts.
She huffs and turns back to the wall.
“I didn’t use to live in Juniper Springs. I lived in Sorrell, it’s a few towns over.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“I...my parents owned a farm, and had my whole life. I worked on the farm, grew up practically running it. James, he was a farm hand. We ended up together.” She pauses for a long moment, and Raif doesn’t say anything.
He knows her story isn’t over, and he waits patiently for her to continue.
“He died a couple of years ago, bull riding accident. We were never married, but-” she claps her hands together, and he can hear the crack in her voice.
“That doesn’t matter.” She turns to look at him, a question on her face. “It doesn’t matter that you were never married. Love is love. And his death was a great loss to you regardless.”
He can see the tears in her eyes now, threatening to fall. He wants more than anything to pull her into his arms, hold her, and tell her he has her, that she will be okay. But he doesn’t move, he knows any physical contact needs to be on her terms, she has to initiate it.
She clears her throat and turns back to the wall.
“It’s stu...It’s just a wall. I can paint a wall. I’ve lived here for a year. I can paint a wall.” Her voice is soft, raspy. And it’s like she’s trying to convince herself of what she’s saying.
“It’s not just a wall,” he begins. “It’s new. It’s covering the old. It’s moving on. And you have to be ready for that. If you’re not ready…”
He wants to tell her he’ll wait with her till she is ready.
That she never has to give up James for him.
That if she never falls in love with him, that’s okay, as long as he gets to know her, to be her friend.
She walks forward and picks up a brush, holding it over the wall.
It’s the wrong kind of brush; she should be using a roller, but he doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t want to break this moment. Doesn’t want to take anything away from the big step she’s taking.
She puts the paintbrush against the wall, brushing it up then down.
Over and over in the same spot before moving outward to cover more of the yellow.
Raif moves behind her, picking up his own brush and picking a section she has yet to do.
His brush hovers as she watches it. It’s only when she meets his eyes and nods that he begins to paint.
They work together, covering that wall and the next.
Tackling the baseboards and perfecting the line where the wall meets the ceiling.
It's quiet save for the sounds of the paintbrushes on the wall. It takes four times as long using the brushes as opposed to rollers, but he doesn’t care.
He knows it’s cathartic for her, and knows that she needs to do it this way.
When they’re done, the house smells strongly of paint, and a light gray adorns all the walls.
He takes their brushes to the kitchen sink to wash them as she walks around the living room looking at their work.
He comes back to the room and to her watery smile.
She looks tired but happy, his heart warms a little that he helped put that smile there.
“Thank you, Raif. For fixing the sink and for today. Thank you.”
She squeezes his arm, and he can feel the warmth of her skin on his.
“Anytime,” he tells her. But he knows it sounds like more, like anything. That he’d give her his life if she needed it. That he would give her the world if he could.
She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and he knows she understood everything he didn’t say. Her smile is blinding; it’s everything he’s ever wanted.