Chapter 13 #2
“No, no buts.” He shakes his head. “I talked to Patricia and she showed me the inspection. Someone should’ve stepped up and done something about this house a long time ago.
Nobody did, and you ended up with a bathtub in your laundry room.
You have to do a lot of work on this place, so you might as well learn to take the help where you can get it.
Especially if you insist on doing those ridiculous ‘hacks’ you keep showing me. ”
Let’s just say he hasn’t been too impressed with the DIY accounts I follow.
I worry my bottom lip. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”
I take a deep breath once I realize he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“See? Was that so hard?” he asks, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that, while smaller than when he was laughing before, is no less beautiful. “Now come help me unload my truck. We’re working on this together.”
—
The good news is that if nothing else, the washer and dryer I spent a fortune on double really well as a kitchen island if need be. The bad news is that for the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours, they’re the newest fixture in my already crowded kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to swing into town and grab something for dinner?” Tate eyes my new cutting board station with more suspicion than confidence. “I have most of the restaurants saved in my phone. It won’t take me long to pick it up.”
Duke is asleep by my feet. After demolishing my treat supply and getting us both yelled at by Tate, he wore himself out by chasing the squirrels around my backyard and barking at the cows that wandered closer to my fence than they ever had before.
It was a lot of work for him, as evidenced by his deep snores vibrating through the floor.
“No,” I tell him for the hundredth time. “After all the work you put in today, the least I can do is make dinner. And if you ask again, I’m going to start to think you’re questioning my cooking skills and I’ll be very offended.”
“Whoa.” He raises his mortar-covered hands up in surrender. “We wouldn’t want that. I promise I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thank you,” I say, returning my attention to mincing the garlic with my mortar-free hands. “That’s all I ask.”
I know Tate said I’d be helping him with my laundry room makeover, and I did…
kind of. I put a lot of thought into picking which of the five options I wanted for the floors—one was plain white, two were patterned, and two were solid colors in the shape of hexagons.
I considered allowing my laundry room to be white and simple, but I am who I am, and I went with the pink hexagon option instead.
I lifted with my legs, not my back, and didn’t complain once when hauling the boxes of tiles from his truck into my house.
I listened intently to his every word and followed his directions down to the letter as I added water to the thin-set mortar and mixed it to the perfect consistency.
I was the perfect assistant…until it came time to actually lay the tiles.
It wasn’t that I was bad as much as I was a hindrance.
The classes I took and the YouTube videos I watched provided me with the basics, but not the speed.
We quickly came to the realization that I was much more helpful when I stayed out of his way.
I pretended to protest for a few minutes before turning my attention to our dinner plans.
“So a handyman and a football coach? That’s quite the combination,” I call into the laundry room as I check to see if the water’s boiling yet. “How’d you land on those two things?”
“I don’t really know,” Tate says. “It wasn’t much of a decision, things just kind of worked out this way.”
I add a pat of butter to my hot skillet and the most satisfying ASMR sounds fill my cluttered kitchen. “I mean, sure, I guess, but even if you land somewhere, you generally have to take a few planned steps to get there. Did you always want to be a football coach?”
“Nope.”
I wait a minute for him to elaborate before repeating after him. “Nope?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Nope.”
Wow. Working with a real wordsmith here. I toss minced garlic into the pan and let it sauté until it’s time to add in the asparagus and squash I bought at the farmers market while I try to think of something else to say.
“I’m surprised. Didn’t Matt say you won state when you went to school here?” I think back to the day I found out he was the football coach. “He made it sound like you were really good. I’m sure you thought about wanting to keep playing football back then.”
He turns on the saw and cuts through the last tile so it fits nice and snug in the corner of the room. “I guess.”
I know Millie told me I should go to Tate with my questions for him, but if these are his answers, I might have to resort to the town gossip tree after all. “Did you go to school for—”
“Jesus, what is this? If you have something to ask, just ask.” He stands up and snaps, “I’m sure Silas filled you in on everything the first chance he had.”
“I…I’m sorry?” I’m so taken aback by his response over my—admittedly terrible—attempt at small talk, I almost forget what I was talking about. “What does Silas have to do with you wanting to play football?”
Since Tate has started working on my house, I’ve barely seen Silas at all.
He might like me, but not enough to risk spending any time around his brother.
Sometimes he’ll swing by on his horse, stopping at the fence to talk until I force him to come inside for a drink, but it’s getting rarer and rarer lately.
Needless to say, when he does take the time to come by, Tate is the last thing we’re talking about.
“You know what? I forgot I have something I need to do tonight.” He avoids making eye contact with me and reaches into his pocket for his keys. “I’ll come back and check on the tiles tomorrow.”
The anger in his voice from seconds ago is gone. His words are so flat, so even, he doesn’t even sound like himself.
It’s worse than the anger.
I can’t make sense of it, but I’d rather Tate feel anything for me than nothing at all.
I follow behind him, still trying to figure out what in the world just happened.
“Um, okay.” I watch him wake up Duke, unsure if asking him another question is going to piss him off again.
Hoping it might. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?
Feeding you is the least I can do after all the work you did. ”
I don’t know what it says about me that I still want his company after this little show, but my pulse gets a little faster with every step he takes.
I’ve gotten used to the way he looks at me like he’s not sure if I’m being for real or trying to prank him.
I was able to tell myself his little huffs of disbelief were actually out of amusement and signs that he was starting to warm toward me.
This feels different.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks,” he calls over his shoulder, not even deigning me worthy of a last look. “I’ll text you. We can reschedule.”
His tone is so cold and devoid of emotion, it sends chills down my back. Even poor Duke looks confused as he follows slowly behind him.
This time, I don’t respond. Not just because he’s in his truck, his tires kicking up gravel as he screeches away before I can reach the door.
No. It’s because I have nothing to say. And even after the taillights of his truck have long disappeared into the dark of the night, I still don’t know what the fuck just happened.
And after the way he ran out of here, I’m not sure I ever will.
It’s a good thing I don’t care. It might be one more thing keeping me up all night.
And now I have nowhere to run to.
Not even in my dreams.