Chapter Nine
What was I thinking not letting Mom buy this for me? I look at the large TV box as a worker from the store loads it into the back of the Uber XL I summoned.
I scold my idiotic determination to prove to everyone that I don’t need any help.
Anyonewould need help with this.
I slip into the back of the SUV, and as the driver pulls away from the store, he tries to make conversation. When I don’t say anything and he catches me in the rearview, I point to my ear and shake my head. Then I write out a note for when we pull up to my apartment, asking if he’ll help me move the TV upstairs.
He pops the trunk when we get there, and I hand the note to him. He reads it, gets out of the car, takes the TV out of the back, rests it against a tree, then gets back in the car and hightails it out of the lot.
Geez. So much for chivalry. I guess I should have slipped him a twenty with the note. I look down at the box and over at my building. I can do this.
Maybe.
Today’s televisions are much lighter than what my parents had when I was young. How heavy can it be?
I eye the side of the box. It says it’s ninety-five pounds. I sigh. If I can just get it to the building, I might be able to push it up the stairs along the bottom edge of the box.
But how do I get it over there? The door is at least thirty feet away.
I study the box. I have a PhD, surely I can figure this out.
I tip it onto the short end. The box is almost as tall as I am, but I grip either side of it and ‘walk’ it, one bottom corner at a time, slowly across the parking lot.
Halfway there, a car pulls in, and it can’t get around me because I’m blocking the way. The driver looks annoyed at first, but then our gazes meet, and he looks a lot more interested. A cocky grin crosses his face as he opens his door and gets out.
“Need help?” the guy asks.
I nod.
He walks over and maneuvers the box so we’re each standing next to a short end. “Ready?”
I nod harder.
We lean and lift. With him walking backward and me forward, we’re almost to the door when he says, “You’re new here.”
I nod yet again, hoping he’ll catch on.
“I’m - - -”
I don’t understand his name.
I smile and nod.
“You’re not much for words,” I think he says.
I shrug.
“You’re kind of acting like a bitch considering I’m doing you a favor here.”
At least I think that’s what he said.
With my hands occupied lifting the box, I can’t tell him I’m deaf. I shake my head, not knowing what else to do.
The guy looks pissed. And just as we reach the door, he drops his side of the TV. Not sets it down—drops it. Then he looks behind me, spouts angry words that I can’t decipher, and storms off to his car.
I set my side down and quickly look at the bottom corner of his side of the box. It’s slightly crushed. I hope he didn’t just damage the TV.
Movement catches my eye and I spin. The guy is still shouting out of his car door. But not at me. Then I see Blake, all sweaty in his running clothes, looking as handsome as he does pissed.
I’ve learned a lot about the heartthrob coming toward me over the past twenty-four hours. Word got around at the school that Blake Montana has a child and I’m the one working with them. No less than a half-dozen coworkers visited my office to fill me in on the guy who apparently slept his way through every co-ed in college. Looking at him, I see the appeal. I mean what red-blooded woman wouldn’t? He carries himself with such confidence. And not in a cocky, I’m all that kind of way. More like a guy who knows what he wants and goes after it. Not to mention he’s now entered sexy, single dad territory. Why that combination of dangerous and desirable brings a flush to my cheeks, I may never know.
As he approaches, he keeps a suspicious eye on the asshole in the car who’s parking one building over.
I lean the box against the building and get my phone out.
Me: What just happened?
“I should ask you that. I was running by and saw that jerk yelling at you. Who was he?”
Me: I thought he was a good Samaritan helping me move this up to my place. I Ubered it home from the store. He pulled up and offered to help. He got mad when I didn’t speak to him.
“He said some pretty nasty things. Does that happen a lot?”
I shrug. I don’t want to scare him and tell him things like that do happen, and that Maisy will have to learn to have thick skin.
Me: My hands were busy holding the box. I couldn’t exactly convey that I’m deaf. It was my fault. I never should have bought this beast without help.
“Well, you have help now. And, Ellie, it wasn’t your fault. That - - - had no right to say the things he said to you.”
I narrow my eyes, having gotten most but not all of what he said. “Say again,” I sign.
Blake: I said I’ll help you. It wasn’t your fault. And that douchebag had no right to say those things to you. I saw him drop the box. I hope he didn’t break it. If he did, I’ll get you a new one.
Me: I have my own money, Blake. But thanks for helping.
Blake: Let’s just get this up to your place and see what we’re dealing with.
With Blake’s help, we’re up the stairs and in my apartment in no time. “Thank you,” I sign, not even sure he understands it.
I’m delighted when he says, “You’re welcome. Where do you want it?” He pulls a key out of his pocket and uses it like a knife to open the box.
Me: You don’t have to do this.
Blake: Ellie, I don’t see anyone else around who can help you lift it up. This thing weighs a hundred pounds. Over on that console?
I nod and sign, “Yes. Thank you.”
We spend the next few minutes unboxing it, removing the packaging, and peeling off the cellophane covering the screen. He secures the stand to the bottom, then together, we set it on the console. He puts the batteries in the remote, flashes his crossed fingers at me, and presses the power button.
When the SmartTV menu appears, I’m relieved.
Blake: Good thing. I got the fucker’s license plate. I was going to hunt him down and make him buy you a new one.
I furrow my brows and text him back.
Me: I thought YOU were going to buy it for me. What did you say to the guy?
Blake: I simply told him he might be more comfortable if he got out of my sight.
Me: I’m sure you said it just like that.
He lifts a shoulder and cracks a smile.
I have a hard time containing my own burgeoning grin. Blake was protecting me. Despite the rumors I’ve heard about him, his actions toward both Maisy and me paint him as a stand-up guy. I suppose, however, it’s quite possible to be both a player and a good human.
Me: Whatever it was, thank you. I appreciate your help. Can I offer you a glass of water?
“That would be great.”
He tinkers with the TV while I fetch him a drink. The whole time, I find it hard not to peek at him. He’s six-foot-something of muscle and man-sweat. Why that turns me on confuses me. Probably because I’m so used to being surrounded by cerebral types. But Blake seems to have a good head on his shoulders too. He’s not just fun to look at.
I hand him the water, showing him the sign for it.
He repeats the sign, then says, “Thanks. I think the TV is okay. Want me to help you program it?”
I turn down his offer with an appreciative smile.
“Okay.” He thumbs to the door. “I’ll just go finish my run.”
When I thank him once again, he winks and says, “My pleasure.”
On his way out, he hesitates when he sees my family pictures on the wall. He studies them for a moment, glances back at me, then leaves.
I sink down onto my couch and sigh, knowing he’s just given me even more to fantasize about.