Chapter Five #2
Nick feigned horror. “Damn, woman. Anything but a Hemnes.” He chuckled. “I create decks for a living. I think I can handle your drawers, I mean, your dresser.” Jesus, Nick!
“Well, only if you let me buy you dinner. I can order takeout.”
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Nick grabbed his toolbox from his truck, on the off chance the Allen key didn’t do the trick.
They walked across the field separating the sanctuary from the farmhouse, mostly in silence.
She’d crossed her arms over her chest, and he hoped it wasn’t because she was uncomfortable with him.
He didn’t want to come off as some sort of creeper.
In his line of work, he’d had to enter the homes of many women who were on their own, and he was conscious of not looking intimidating.
Some of his friends had told him horror stories about service guys who’d entered their homes to fix the cable or the plumbing, and who’d said inappropriate things about their looks or the fact that ‘hubby wasn’t home’.
Nick had always gone out of his way to keep his distance and be polite and professional.
He tried not to read too much into Claire’s body language. Lots of people crossed their arms over their chests. Even though he had a bizarre urge to gently pry them away from her body and tuck her hand in his, he obviously couldn’t.
If she decided to throw up a wall between them, it was her right to do so. Her walls weren’t his to demolish. She might not welcome him trying.
He had enough of his own to worry about.
Still, as quiet as it was, he never felt like he had to make stupid small talk. It was nice just being in the open field with her, the blue sky above them, the summer grass a soft pad under their feet.
As they approached her home, he found his words again. “Your house…it’s stunning.”
Claire lived in a classic red brick farmhouse that had an addition built in the back.
It had loads of original charm, with a wraparound porch, gingerbread detailing and a stained-glass window on the second floor.
Surrounded by mature trees, it looked like something out of his mom’s favorite old-timey painting. It was a large home, sprawling even.
Did she ever get lonely in the big, old house?
“Thanks. It dates from 1905. It belonged to a farmer, back in the day, but when he died, his family sold it. Arthur’s parents got lucky and snapped it up.
It was always well-maintained so I’ve never had to do much.
Arthur got it as part of his inheritance.
I know it’s a lot of house, even for two people, but neither of us could bear to sell it. ”
“I can see why.” Nick lived on Runnymede Road in Toronto’s west end. Although his street boasted many heritage buildings, they were puny compared to this one. He’d always loved old houses, and hoped he could move out of his nineteen-sixties bungalow into something like this one day.
“Come on in.”
She opened the unlocked door and held it for him.
He bristled at the idea that she kept it unlocked.
Sure, she lived out in the country, a few yards away from her work, but it didn’t mean someone couldn’t slip in when she wasn’t around.
The suspicious city dweller in him tucked the detail away, hoping he could broach it later.
Nick slipped off his work boots and stepped into the living area, hoping upon hope his socks didn’t reek. Claire removed her rubber boots as well. On her feet, she wore socks with a picture of a cartoon lady in a bathrobe drinking coffee. He smiled. “Nice socks.”
“My sister bought them. She jokes about my passion for coffee. Can I get you a drink?”
“Just some water, please.”
She disappeared into the kitchen to get his water.
Nick took the opportunity to look around the living room.
Although the home was an old one, the interior appeared to have been updated in the recent past. No lace doilies or flock wallpaper in this place.
The lines were cleaner and more modern, and the furnishings were neutral.
However, there were several antique items scattered here and there. He spied a few Queen Anne chairs in the dining room. An old wooden console radio, the sort that looked like a cabinet, stood on the floor. He was pretty sure the china cabinet was antique too.
She returned, holding two large glasses of icy water. She handed one to him and clinked his glass against hers. “Congratulations on your new show.”
“Thanks.”
They drank, glancing over the tops of their glasses at each other.
An image popped into Nick’s head, one of him taking an ice cube from the glass and slowly trailing it from Claire’s full lips, down her neck, toward her cleavage.
Shit. Where did that come from?
“You, um, have a really nice place.”
“If I’d known I was going to have a TV star over, I would have dusted.”
“It’s fine. I feel badly because I’m a sweaty mess.”
“No more than I am. Why don’t I call the takeout place? We can work on the dresser while we wait for the food to come.”
“Sounds good.”
“Do you like burgers? There’s a local diner that delivers.”
“Great.”
They decided on a couple of burger platters and she placed the order. Once she was done, she gestured at the stairs leading to the upper floor. “So, the bedroom’s just upstairs.”
Nick grabbed his toolbox from where he’d set it by the door and followed her upstairs.
Once again, he made sure to keep his distance.
It couldn’t be easy to let a strange man into her bedroom.
Now that he was here, he felt like an intruder and hoped he hadn’t strong-armed her into accepting his help.
“Right this way,” she said, at the top of the stairs. She led him down the hall toward the master bedroom at the back of the house.
Nick paused at the entrance of the room.
Claire hurried over to the opposite corner, where a couple of lacy bras had been thrown over the back of a chair.
She collected them and shoved them into a drawer.
Ignoring everything else in the room, including the king-sized bed in the middle, he walked over to the partially assembled Hemnes.
The side panels had been put together, and a few other bits, but several pieces still lay strewn on the floor around it. A layer of dust had collected on them.
She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it hadn’t been touched. Even the instruction booklet lay on the floor next to the Allen key, open to the last page they’d consulted. The pages had yellowed around the edges.
She stood before the dresser, her arms stiff at her sides, staring at the pieces. Everything in her face was tight.
Nick longed to ease her shoulder muscles with a backrub, and to be able to whisper in her ear, It’ll be okay.
Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor, grabbed the instructions and quickly confirmed what still needed to be done. “Okay, the side panels are done. That’s good.” He grabbed the box cutter that Arthur had left behind. “Is it okay if I open up what’s left of the boxes?”
“Right. I guess that would be the first step.” Claire made a face and joined him on the floor. “I promise I’m capable of doing things. I guess I’ve just been in a rut.”
Something in the vicinity of Nick’s heart melted. Once again, he was stricken with the urge to touch her. An innocent graze of her elbow or a quick squeeze of her arm. But he refrained, out of respect, or whatever damn emotion was riding his chest. “Claire, it’s okay. We’ve got this.”
She let out a sigh, so quiet it was barely audible. But Nick heard it.
How could he not hear it? He was too focused on her, on her breathing, on the shape of her lips.
He shook his head. What the hell was happening to him?
“It’s just a dresser,” she said. “How could I have let it sit here like this so long?”
“After tonight, it won’t be a problem anymore. You’ll be able to cross it off your list.”
“Oh, Nick. If you only knew how long my list was.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Claire. We all have things we put off, things we can’t face head on. If you only knew how many times I’ve gone out of my way to avoid people and situations. From where I’m standing, you’ve done some great things. I admire you.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her face full of softness.
Nick smiled to encourage her. Little by little, they assembled the final parts of the dresser.
There was a bit of cursing along the way, mostly when they both became convinced that Ikea had neglected to include two of the screws necessary.
However, Claire found them tucked into one of the small plastic bags she’d thrown to the side.
When it came time to match up with screws with the various holes, Claire let out a couple of F-bombs.
Nick laughed. “Yep. This is usually the part where most people start damning Ikea to hell.” He lined up the holes and gently forced the pieces together, careful not to cause a breakage in the panel.
“Why didn’t we pay for assembly? Honest to God. What a pain. If Arthur had had his way, we would have, but I was trying to save a buck.” She grew pensive. “I yelled at him before he died.”
“Oh?” Nick stopped what he was doing. He glanced at one of the photos of Arthur on the wall behind Claire.
In this one, Arthur was holding a tiny ball of feline fur, possibly a young Mortimer.
His face radiated love and an otherworldly charisma.
He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to yell at that guy.
“The bills had been piling up and the stress was getting to me. I loved Arthur, but he was terrible with money. I’ve always been better with it, but it never seemed to help.
Between the house and the sanctuary, we pretty much blew through his inheritance, even though I tried to sway him with my frugal ways.
Anytime I brought it up, he just said, ‘Don’t worry.
The universe provides.’” She rolled her eyes.
“He was a bit of a flower child. Never bothered, never stressed. He thought everyone was good, and everything was right with the world. When we first met, I loved his idealism, but toward the end, well, I kind of felt like I was in it alone. He just couldn’t understand why I’d let a phone bill or a cable bill upset me.
I think a part of him would have liked to live off the grid altogether, growing all our own food.
He was such a dreamer that way. One day, I just snapped.
I told him I wasn’t interested in whether or not the universe would provide.
I just wanted my husband to take some responsibility. He died a couple of days later.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. You didn’t come over here to listen to me moaning about my dead husband.” She pointed at the dresser pieces. “You came over here to build the unbuildable.”
“That sounds like a dare.”
Claire smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
To Nick, that felt like a dare too. He wanted to make her smile, really smile.
As they worked, he checked out Arthur’s photo again.
The man looked like a carefree cross between Matthew McConaughey and the god Apollo.
He could see how Claire might have been attracted to his laid-back ways.
But knowing this new information, Arthur didn’t shine so brightly to Nick anymore.
He might have been a good guy, but he’d let Claire down in his own way.
In letting her shoulder all the financial burdens, he’d made life harder for her.
And now she was stuck picking up the pieces.
If Nick had a woman like Claire at his side, he’d be doing everything in his power to make life easier for her.
You’re making assumptions about her marriage.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t too far off the mark.
They persisted until eventually a dresser appeared before them. Claire helped Nick lift it onto its feet and they moved it into the corner, against the wall. For a full minute, they both stood there, gazing upon its particleboard beauty.
Claire reached for his hand, surprising him. “Thanks, Nick.”
He looked at their linked hands. Hers was so pretty next to his, so delicate. “Yeah, no sweat.”
She didn’t pull away. Rather, her gaze met his, her dark eyes full of questions he could only imagine.
He stroked his thumb across the top of her hand, feeling each tendon.
Her lips fell open.
When the doorbell rang, they both jumped and stepped back.
“Food’s here,” she said, hurrying out of the room. “Hungry?”
“Yeah.” Nick grabbed his toolbox and followed her downstairs.
He’d never been hungrier.