17 - Lane
Lane
Come Saturday, the bathroom was starting to resemble an actual bathroom and not a scrapyard of construction material.
Bear was busying himself with hanging and muddying heavy drywall around the newly installed shower stall and Dax was fishing wire through the walls for the new vanity sconce lights I’d ordered.
Which meant that, for the time being, Sy was the only one free enough to go and get some supplies from the hardware store.
To my complete and utter surprise he invited me to join him.
And to no surprise at all, I accepted. Why wouldn’t I?
Sy and I hadn’t really spent any time alone together since that moment in my bedroom and after learning some more about him from Bear, I was curious to know even more.
He was wearing his usual bright, charming smile but I could tell that he was distracted.
Neither of us mentioned it though, instead trading serious discussions for something lighter as we walked to O’Leary and Sons Hardware. The weather had been strangely generous recently, giving us enough of a break to make the journey there pleasant and not a fight for our lives.
A faded green awning hung over the streetwalk, casting a shadow across a cracked concrete entrance.
The store itself occupied the ground floor of a 1920s brown-brick storefront, with large plate-glass windows on either side of a heavy timber door.
There was also a handwritten cardboard sign that read “Yes, We Have Window Screens, Stop Asking”. I chuckled.
“So this is the famous O’Leary and Sons Hardware,” I said with a sense of recognition. I’d heard the name tossed around throughout the entire renovation project and it seemed like a staple for Cornerstone. “It’s different than I expected. I thought it would be some fancy major chain store.”
“Don’t let O’Leary hear that, he’ll kick you right out,” Sy said with a laugh, opening the door for me to enter first. Stepping inside was like getting into a time capsule.
Narrow, overcrowded aisles were packed floor-to-ceiling with a variety of tools and supplies.
The place smelled of sawdust, cut keys and oil and the floors were worn-down wood instead of polished concrete, with yellowed fluorescent lights that cast dim shadows around the room.
In the corner was a single front cash register manned by an older, cheery-looking man, and from the friendly nod he shot Sy, it was clear that the crew had a history with the owners.
“We’ve been coming here for like a decade now,” he explained, his face beaming.
“Since we graduated college, actually. O’Leary was friends with my grandad and Bear’s great uncle.
Bear's surprisingly superstitious, so he thought it was a good omen or something. Providence. We’ve never taken our business anywhere else and believe it or not, they really do stock everything we need. ”
It was so like Bear to create a work ritual out of loyalty. I may not have been a DIY girl myself, but I could appreciate the sentimentality behind it. It made me feel warm and fluttery inside, appreciative of the fact that I was being allowed in to see a small part of their shared history.
The older man shuffled out from behind the counter and moved toward us, his gait showing the years but still strong for someone that looked on the bleaker end of seventy.
His creased eyes moved between me and Silas with a mischievous curiosity.
“Silas! It’s good to see you again, boy. Who’s this young lady?”
“Hey, Doug.” Silas put a respectful hand on my back. “This is our newest client, Lane Whittaker. I brought her with me for a quick supply run.”
The old man’s eyes sparkled and he extended his hand towards me. I shook it, oddly nervous for someone who was used to meeting strangers day in and day out for a living.
“Good to meet you,” I said.
“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Whittaker,” he replied charmingly. “Especially when it means making the acquaintance of such a beautiful woman.”
I giggled, genuinely flattered by Doug’s comment. He had a way about him that made the compliment feel sincere and not creepy, like some old dudes tended to come across.
“Okay, that’s enough now, old man,” said Silas, sounding like he was only half-joking. “She’s still a client of mine.”
“Not of mine, and I’m only acknowledging her beauty. No need to be jealous,” he said with a wink at me.
“I’m sure you must’ve been a problem back in your day,” I said with a smile.
Doug let out a low whistle. “You have no idea. I could still give the youngins a run for their money if you ask me.”
Silas barked a laugh.
“You sound like you don’t believe him, Sy,” I said, clicking my tongue to my teeth. “Feeling a little intimidated there?”
“No,” he scoffed. “I just think Doug here needs to keep his gout flare up in mind.”
Doug laughed and punched Sy’s shoulder playfully. “Little shit. I’m widowed and old. Not dead.” He gave me an endearing little bow and then waved a finger in Sy’s direction. “Take care of this one.”
Silas’s face turned bright red as Doug disappeared around the aisle and made his way back to the register. I raised an eyebrow, now fully in a playful mood myself. “Oh. So is this a regular spot for you to bring all your clients?”
“No! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s senile,” he stammered, but the adorable blush didn’t leave his face. “I just…I really just wanted to bring you out of the house a bit. Show you the store.”
“Sy, relax.” I placed a hand on his shoulder and felt the muscles beneath stiffen. “I’m just teasing. I can spot a ball-buster from a mile away.”
His shoulder sagged under my touch, relief flooding his face.
“Doug’s just…well, Doug,” he said.
“I figured. Besides.” I released his shoulder, shoved both hands into my pocket and tried not to focus on the way his blue eyes had softened. “We really are here for a work trip, no?”
“Yep,” he answered, sounding like his normal self again. He dipped his head down the aisle we were standing in front of. “We can start down here.”
Honestly, being in this store with anyone else might’ve been boring. But somehow, having Sy be the one to explain things like the difference between drywall and wood screws…I actually found myself enjoying the lessons.
It wasn’t so much that I planned on ever utilizing the knowledge myself, even though some things could come in handy one day.
What was more intriguing was the passion that simmered beneath every explanation.
Silas’s eyes lit up in a way that was absolutely beautiful as he moved from topic to topic and aisle to aisle.
And when he spoke, his gorgeous silky voice didn’t have a single stutter.
He sounded calm and authoritative, quick to answer any questions I had and teach me things in a way that didn’t make me feel dumb.
He actually enjoyed what he did and it came through clear as day.
And then there were his hands. My God.
I stopped focusing on the tools he was manhandling a while ago and could only pay attention to the elegant lines of his long, strong fingers, and their rough pads and soft touches, and the veins on the back of his hands.
When it became clear that I was distracted, he gently tapped the end of a soft foam tube to my forehead. “You still there, Lane? If you’re bored we can just ring things up and leave. I’m sorry, I tend to get a bit carried away sometimes.”
I instantly felt guilty, shaking my head. “No. No, I was listening, I promise. And this isn’t boring me at all. It’s actually nice to hear you talk about this stuff. I love seeing people passionate about their work.”
Sy suddenly got quiet, turning over the driver tool he was holding from one hand to the other. I recognized that look—he was deep in thought. “That’s not the only thing I’m passionate about, you know.”
His statement wasn’t particularly provocative or crazy. But the words still charged the air with electricity that sparked straight off my skin. My throat went dry as I watched his hands on the driver. That single sentence conveyed so much more meaning than just what was on the surface.
I thought of the moment we shared in my bedroom and the way I’d wanted his eyes on me even if his gentleman code wouldn’t allow him to watch me change.
I thought of the times he helped me in the kitchen or massaged my feet and the way his broad chest felt pressed up against my back.
I found myself craving that feeling again now. I was greedy for it.
“What else are you passionate about?” I ventured, pretending to examine another shelf's contents. I had no idea what I was even looking at.
He looked like he wanted to say something. Sy cleared his throat. “Many things. Here, I can show you how to use this.”
He motioned for me to hold my hands out and gently placed the driver tool in my upturned palms. As though trying to defuse the atmosphere between us, he started showing me how the tool would do the work for me, if I ever found myself in a position to use it.
“A perfectly balanced tool should feel like a natural extension of your arm,” he said, helping me place my hands and fingers correctly. “It’s important for things to fit together perfectly.”
This man.
I mentally shook off the brain fog that being too close to Silas tended to bring out. Smiling, I bumped my shoulder into his arm. “Careful. You might end up training me well enough to take your spot at Cornerstone.”
He chuckled. “Oh, that would be my life’s achievement.”
I put the driver tool down and slowly inched my hand towards his tool belt, trying to take advantage of his focus on the fastening accessories. When I thought I’d spotted the perfect window, I grabbed his favorite tape measure and darted down the aisle.
“Hey!” he said indignantly, but he was laughing as he chased after me. The store was empty this time of the day, and Doug was moving around near the front, oblivious for now to the childish games taking place at the back of his store. With the maze-like layout, it made for a fun game of tag.
As we turned down the plumbing aisle, Silas had to duck his 6'4” frame under the hanging PVC pipes.
I used the narrow spacing to my advantage, dodging and just barely out pacing him as he tried to keep up.
We were both stifling laughter, keeping an eye out for Doug.
When he finally caught up to me, my eyes immediately looked around for a defense weapon.
A neon pink heavy-duty rubber mallet instantly caught my attention and I yanked it off the shelf. I got ahead of Sy's long, herding arms as he tried to put them around me to retrieve the tape, and held out the hammer right against his jaw.
“‘Fess up,”I demanded in victory. Sy's mouth twitched in amusement. “What else are you passionate about?”
“Is that a threat, Miss Whittaker?” he asked.
“There are no witnesses around. No one to hear you scream,” I said.
It was in that instant that I became fully aware of just how true that was. One or two customers had drifted in, and Doug was fixed to the front of the store. But where we had ended up, we were practically as isolated as we could be in the tiny labyrinth. Goosebumps broke out across my body.
Silas must've come to the same realization at the exact same time because his playful smile melted. He took a step closer, keeping eye contact with me and practically forcing the mallet harder against his jaw.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked quietly.
“Because… Because I interrogate people for a living.” I swallowed hard. I took a step closer this time. “So tell me. What else are you passionate about?”
I was hyper aware of the way he practically towered over me, and the way my breath started coming in faster. I was aware of his pupils dilating, the tell-tale warning shot of his hands clenching at his sides like he was fighting with himself.
Silas's body lunged forward, as though propelled by something he couldn't control. His arms went around my waist, pulling me up against him and then his mouth was on mine and the kiss we shared was desperate and almost sloppy and so perfect.
I almost dropped the mallet, but my free hand grabbed the back of his neck. Sy tasted of mint and cinnamon and his lips were so much softer than I'd expected.
I felt more than heard the deep growl in his chest and he shoved me back hard against the shelf, sending a smattering of tools and accessories crashing to the floor with a series of noisy clangs.
“What was that?” Doug's voice called out from the front of the store. Sy popped his mouth off mine for just long enough to reply, but his gaze was still locked on me.
“Nothing, Doug. Just being clumsy, I'll take care of it,” he said gruffly.
“Okay, son,” came the reply but Silas had other plans.
In one swift movement, he'd taken my hand and dragged me to the very back of the store, right up to a door marked “Employees Only: Overstock”.
Instead of a digital keypad, it was held shut by a simple magnetic roller, easily flung open as he turned the handle and shoved it open with his back.
He pulled me into the dimness inside and the door clicked shut behind us.