Marissa
When Jesse shows up that afternoon with a plastic bucket in hand, my kids are waiting for him at the door.
Since we got home from breakfast, they’ve been spiraling about “the butterflies,” even though I’ve managed to coax most of them outside.
They seem visibly relieved that help has finally arrived.
They aren’t the only ones. The moment Jesse’s face appears in the doorway, my whole body seems to relax. I don’t know what it is about this guy. He’s virtually a stranger and yet something about his presence puts me at ease.
He holds up the bucket and gives me a soft smile.
“Ready to do this?”
My kids trail behind Jesse as he makes his way into the kitchen to inspect the crime scene. He opens the pantry door to survey its sparse contents and a single moth escapes, narrowly missing him.
“Okay,” he says. “Normally there are a few salvageable things in a moth-infested pantry. But since everything is expired, we’ll toss it all and start fresh.
” He puts his hands on his hips and turns to my kids with a serious expression.
“This is a big job, though, and I’m going to need a couple of assistants. Are you two available to help?”
Isla and Levi nod enthusiastically, and Jesse gives them a thumbs-up.
He reaches into the bucket and extracts a couple sets of rubber kitchen gloves, then hands a pair to each kid.
They’re cartoonishly large on their tiny hands and probably overkill for the task at hand, but they’re delighted, nonetheless.
I settle onto a barstool, happy to play spectator in this operation.
Not just because moths are gross, but also because it affords me a spectacular view of my carpenter turned exterminator.
I bite down on my bottom lip, watching his biceps flex as he gathers his supplies. Good god, this man is attractive.
Okay, I admit it. I am developing a bit of a crush. But is that so terrible? It’s not like I’m going to act on it or anything. Besides, we’re only here for the summer. Why shouldn’t I enjoy every one of the scenic views?
“Isla, you’re the oldest, which means you’re up first,” Jesse says. My daughter beams. She loves when people give her the birth-order recognition she feels entitled to.
Jesse shakes open a large kitchen bag and stretches it out like a basketball hoop. “On my count, you’re going to open the pantry, grab an item from inside, and throw it into my trash bag. Are you ready?”
Isla nods, her face set with determination.
“Three … two … one … go!”
Isla races to the pantry and sticks her hand inside.
When a couple of moths fly out, she shrieks but still manages to grab a bag of flour.
She hurls it in Jesse’s direction, sending a thin streak of white powder into the air.
The gloves throw off her aim, but Jesse moves nimbly to catch it in his trash bag.
“She shoots, she scores!”
Isla pumps a victorious fist and my heart swells. There’s my girl. How I’ve missed her. The past few weeks have been rough and seeing her happy feels like a warm hug.
From the pantry doorway, Jesse’s eyes lock on mine and he grins. Beneath the stubble, two creases bracket his mouth, framing those spectacular lips. My stomach swoops.
Levi is bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watches, his excitement growing.
“Me next! My turn!” he yells. His enthusiasm takes me aback. It’s not like him to get comfortable with a stranger so quickly, but his earlier anxiety has melted away. I guess Jesse has that effect on everyone in the family.
Jesse gives him the countdown and then Levi grabs an old tin of cookies.
The lid is not tight enough, and when he hurls it across the room, a few cookies fly out and spill onto the floor.
He swings his gaze to me, his eyes wide with worry, waiting for my reaction.
My sweet baby. Always so hard on himself. So afraid of making a mistake.
“It’s okay.” I hold his gaze and smile to reassure him. “We have a broom. Keep going, you’re doing great!”
Levi’s shoulders sag with relief. Satisfied, he goes back to the pantry to grab another item.
“I’ll get everything cleaned up. I won’t leave you with a mess,” Jesse tells me quietly.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just grateful for your help.
” I mean it: I couldn’t care less about a few crumbs.
What I care about is how the energy in this house has shifted.
This is how I envisioned the summer. Carefree and fun.
A time when my kids can just be kids. They’re starting to relax, which means I can relax too.
And Jesse has played no small part in that.
Though I had pictured fewer winged creatures in the house.
For extra reassurance, I throw in a reference to one of Isla’s favorite movies. “Besides, they’re making core memories.”
Jesse huffs out a laugh and his face splits into a wide grin. A web of endearing laugh lines forms in the corner of each eye.
“Absolutely,” he agrees. “For the rest of their lives, they’ll remember that summer at the lake house when they cleared moths out of the pantry with some random dude.”
“You’re not some ‘random dude.’ You’re amazing.
” The words sound weightier than I intended, and Jesse’s eyes widen with surprise.
I’m surprised too. After years of media training, I’m normally more reticent.
But I meant what I said. The kindness he showed my kids when they were afraid has evoked a feeling deeper than gratitude.
Something I can’t quite put my finger on yet.
He holds my gaze for a long beat, until Isla comes over to announce they’ve finished clearing the pantry, and he turns away to give her his full attention.
After checking their work, Jesse extracts a glass spray bottle from his bucket.
“Next up, we spray down the shelves with cleaner.” He unscrews the spray top and holds it under Isla’s nose.
“What does this smell like?”
She takes a big sniff and then her eyes turn dreamy.
“Christmas,” she whispers.
Jesse nods. “Peppermint is the secret ingredient. My grandma taught me that trick.”
I smile to myself. My grandmother was partial to peppermint too.
They work for another hour, laying traps in the corner of the pantry and vacuuming up the crumbs. The kids are wiped by the time they finish, and I feel no qualms about letting them plop onto the sofa to watch a movie.
Once I’ve gotten them settled, I return to the kitchen, where Jesse is packing up his supplies.
I collapse onto a barstool, the weight of my exhaustion finally catching up with me.
Now that I don’t have to put on a brave face for the kids, the emotions I’ve suppressed since we arrived are bubbling to the surface.
I take a deep breath, forcing them back down.
I can’t let go just yet. I need to hold it together a little bit longer.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “Both for getting rid of the moths and making them smile. You don’t know how much you’ve helped today.”
Jesse shrugs off the compliment. “It’s no big deal.
” His expression is kind and open, and against my better judgment, I feel my defenses lower even further.
I feel the same way I used to at the end of a long day on set, when I would strip off my costume and peel off the corset underneath.
But instead of skin, it’s self-doubt that’s breaking free.
Before I know it, an unwelcome confession is spilling out of me.
“Deep down, I know that’s true,” I admit. “But I can’t help feeling like I should have known better. I should have anticipated the state the house would be in. What kind of mother puts her kids in an unsafe situation?”
Guilt creeps back in, and I wrap my arms around my waist, folding inward.
I did the best I could, but coming here at the last minute was overwhelming.
I was so focused on getting the kids’ schedules set and making sure everyone had what they needed that I didn’t stop to think about what the house might need beyond new floorboards.
I didn’t consider if it was even habitable before moving my family in.
I can’t believe how careless I was. The moths were an unpleasant experience, but what if it had been something worse?
What if something far worse is lurking, waiting for me to discover it?
It feels like I can’t do anything right these days.
I couldn’t keep my marriage together. I didn’t give my kids the summer they were expecting.
I ripped them from their lives and dragged them here, and so far, it’s been another colossal failure.
And now here I am, spilling my guts to an unsuspecting stranger who was just trying to be nice.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a warm, salty tear lands in the corner of my mouth. Jesse tears off a strip of paper towel from the roll on the countertop and hands it to me.
“Hey,” he says softly. “It could always be worse. It could have been bears.”
It’s random and unexpected, and somehow exactly the right thing to say. I bark out a watery laugh.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I needed that.”
He takes another step forward, closing the space between us. I can smell him from this close, his woodsy scent mixing with the peppermint of the cleaning spray, and my body involuntarily leans toward him, like a wilted flower desperate for sunlight.
But the tears keep coming. I’ve opened the valve and now I can’t seem to shut it off.
And as I let it out, I become aware that there are more complex feelings here than guilt alone.
There’s fear and uncertainty, but also a sense of relief.
Today was the first time in recent memory that I didn’t have to solve every problem on my own. And it felt fucking fantastic.
I stare up at Jesse, completely overwhelmed by gratitude. I want to throw my arms around his neck or bake him a batch of cookies, or … something. But it’s all way too much for a person I barely know, no matter how inexplicable our connection feels.
I twist away from him, brushing off tears with the heel of my hand as I attempt to pull myself together. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m cycling through emotions so rapidly that I’m giving myself emotional whiplash.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Jesse reaching a hand toward me, like he’s going to give me an awkward side hug or comforting pat on the shoulder.
He does neither, dropping his arm back down to his side like he’s thought better of it.
I cringe internally. He must be so uncomfortable.
Men never know what to do when women cry.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I never cry in front of people. I really don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’m used to it. My brother cries all the time. I once had to take him off a project because the owner had a yellow Labrador that looked too much like the dog in Marley & Me. He couldn’t make it through the front door without dissolving into a puddle.”
I laugh-sob again and Jesse dips his head closer.
I lift my chin to stare up at him. His face is inches from mine, and I notice for the first time that his eyes are the same bottomless, murky blue of the lake.
He’s looking at me in a way that makes me feel completely exposed, like he can see right through to the center of me. For once in my life, I don’t hate it.
“For the record,” Jesse continues, his expression turning serious. He lowers his voice so the kids can’t hear us from their spot on the sofa. “I bet you’re a terrific mother. Just look at those kids.”
We both turn to glance at Isla and Levi, who are sitting with their heads bent close together, giggling. The old box TV is still hooked up to a VCR, and they’re delighted by the images moving backward every time they hit the Rewind button.
“You see how happy they are? That’s because of you.”
My lips part as I stare up at him wordlessly. Our faces are only a whisper apart, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. He swallows and I watch, transfixed, as the Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
After a beat, he seems to register how close we are and takes a step backward, putting some distance between us. The electric tension in the air unwinds.
“Look, it’s probably not my place to say this,” he says softly, “but don’t be so hard on yourself. You don’t let them wallow in their mistakes. Give yourself the same grace.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, absorbing his words.
I never thought of it like that. But he’s right: When was the last time I really stopped and took stock of my own successes?
As moms, we’re always mentally tracking our failures.
Did we give our children too much screen time today?
Were we present? Were we patient when we felt overstimulated?
When our children talked to us, did we take the time to make sure we were really listening to what they were saying?
It’s so easy to inventory all the little ways we have failed our kids during the day that sometimes we forget to consider the things that went right.
Something clicks in my brain, and I gaze back up at him.
“You fixed the loose paver. The one in the backyard.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but something flickers behind Jesse’s eyes, and I know I’m correct.
He drops his gaze, breaking eye contact. “It’s no big deal. Little bit of rock glue and elbow grease.”
But it is a big deal. I am fortunate to have help in LA. But I can’t think of a time anyone on my staff did something so thoughtful and unexpected—that they made my home safer just because they could and not because I asked them to.
Jesse gathers his stuff and heads toward the door. I follow him down the hallway and when he reaches the entrance, he turns back to me. His steely gaze locks on mine. The intensity of it sends a shiver down my spine.
“I’ll see you Monday, Marissa,” he says.
He gives me one last, reassuring smile. And then he’s gone.