Jesse
I really thought the novelty would wear off.
That once I spent a few days in her presence, the thrill of seeing her again would dwindle and things would go back to normal.
I guess I was also counting on her not living up to the idea I’d conjured in my brain.
I figured she’d be different than I remembered, her traits rearranged through a Hollywood filter.
And it’s true, in a way: She’s not quite the same twelve-year-old girl with matchstick legs and hair that shone in the sun like fresh pennies.
But the alternative is worse. Somehow, she’s even better than I remember.
And that little run-in we had in her dining room didn’t exactly dampen the attraction.
It felt like there was a magnetic force, pulling us together.
For a moment there, I could have sworn she wanted me to kiss her.
Looking back on it, I’m sure that feeling was one-sided.
Luckily, we were interrupted before I did something regrettable.
Something that would sully our working relationship.
I haven’t seen much of her this week. The kids have been at camp every day, and she’s mostly avoiding us while we’ve finished working on the floors.
Still, I couldn’t help stealing glances at her every time she passed through.
A glimpse of her as she rushed the kids out the front door.
A sliver of her silhouette through the window as she sat on the dock, staring dreamily out onto the lake.
It’s pathetic, really, the way my entire day centers around the hope of another tiny moment.
Like scouring for raindrops in the desert.
She’s been in the kitchen with the kids for the past hour and it’s harder than I expected not to stare at her as I sweep a lambswool brush across her living room floor, coating it in a second layer of polyurethane oil.
Especially since my brother isn’t here to notice.
Shelby’s mother took Charlotte for the weekend, and I told the two of them to take the afternoon off and enjoy their time alone.
It’s not like laying topcoat is a two-person job.
Marissa is standing over the kitchen stove, stirring a pot of buttered noodles she’s preparing for her kids.
She’s wearing a washed-out T-shirt and denim cut-offs that highlight toned legs.
Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and as she stirs, she uses the back of her hand to brush away a loose strand that’s fallen over her forehead.
She’s humming to herself as she works, and I have a feeling she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
It’s just one of the little pieces that makes the whole of her so enchanting.
I force my eyes away from her, returning my attention back to the task at hand. Now is not the time for distractions. Careful application of wood finish is crucial; any mistakes at this stage can ruin the entire project.
Focusing on the movement of my brush, I concentrate on following the grain of the wood. The key to a smooth finish is applying the oil in long, even strokes. As I drag my brush down the length of the floor, I repeat the words in my head like a mantra. There, just like that. Long, even strokes.
And this is backfiring. Fuck. I reach a hand down, adjusting the sudden, inconvenient bulge in my pants. I shake my head in disbelief. I’ve worked in construction for decades and I’ve never been less professional.
Mercifully, I’m rescued from my own treacherous thoughts by the sound of the doorbell. I glance over at Marissa. Her body swivels toward the door as her brow furrows.
“I wonder who that could be,” she murmurs.
Before she can make a move, Isla bolts from her seat at the kitchen table and races down the hallway.
I hear the front door opening, followed by a shriek.
My hand tightens on the handle of my brush, and I take an instinctual step toward the door.
But then the scream is followed by another word. “Daddy!”
Daddy?
I glance over at Marissa. Judging by how the color has drained from her face, she’s just as surprised as I am. A deep, throaty laugh follows Isla’s exclamation, and at the sound of it, Levi dashes down the hallway as well.
A moment later, a figure steps into view, swinging his legs with exaggerated steps while children hang off either thigh.
He’s of medium height, a head shorter than me at least, but lean and fit.
Despite the ninety-degree heat, he’s dressed in a black T-shirt that highlights a sleeve of tattoos, black jeans, and pointy-toed boots.
He’s also doused himself in enough cologne that I can smell him from the other side of the room.
He hasn’t spoken a single word, yet somehow, I hate him already.
“Rocky?” Marissa’s voice is stunned. “What are you doing here?”
Rocky shoots her a cocky grin as he drags off his Ray-Bans. “What do you think? I’ve come to visit my family. You think you can just take my kids across the country all summer and I’m not going to stop by and visit?”
Despite the lingering smile on his face, there’s a passive-aggressiveness to his undertone that makes my insides clench. How dare he barge in here and speak to her this way.
Two spots of pink appear on Marissa’s cheeks. “Rocky, we talked about this. We have a schedule in place for a reason. You can’t just show up here unannounced whenever you feel like it.”
Rocky’s smirk deepens, and I feel a sudden urge to slap it right off his face.
“Rissa, relax. It’s not like I’m expecting you to put me up. I’ve already rented a hotel ten minutes away. Just thought I’d spend a few days here. Maybe take these guys out to dinner tonight.” He glances down at the kids, who are still hanging on to his legs.
“What do you think? Want to go grab a bite to eat?”
Both kids let out yelps of delight. Mission accomplished, Rocky returns his attention to Marissa.
“As long as your mom says it’s okay.” Rocky grins at his ex-wife, knowing full well that he’s got her trapped. Here he is, offering to take the kids out for a fun night. If she says no, she’s the bad guy. Disdain simmers in my gut. Is it possible to hate a person you’ve just met?
I look to Marissa, positive that she’s going to tell this jerk to leave her house. But she’s just standing there, silent.
“Actually, she already made the kids dinner.” The words echo through the living room for a full beat before I realize I’ve said them. Both Rocky and Marissa turn to me for the first time.
Rocky cocks his head to the side, regarding me with a look that says he can’t believe the help is addressing him. “Sorry, who are you?”
In lieu of a response, I narrow my eyes at him. Is this guy for real? I may not have his wealth and status, but at least my mother taught me some manners. Who am I? About to be your worst fucking nightmare, that’s who.
My hand curls into a fist.
Luckily, Marissa jumps in before I do something I’ll regret. “This is Jesse. He and his team have been doing some work on the house. Refinishing the floors.”
Rocky’s mouth tilts into a smirk as his eyes do a lazy perusal of his surroundings.
“Glad to hear that you’re putting some work into this place. From the looks of it, she’s seen better days.”
Screw the manners. I’m punching this asshole.
Fortunately, I’m once again saved from myself when Marissa takes a step closer to Rocky.
“It’s fine. Go out and enjoy dinner together. But don’t stay out too late, okay? The kids have had a long week of camp.”
Rocky gives her a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” He turns to his kids. “What do you think? Burgers and fries, or should we just skip right to dessert and have ice cream for dinner?”
The kids are still cheering as they disappear down the front hall.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Marissa trudges slowly back into the kitchen.
She drags out a kitchen chair and collapses into it with a defeated sigh.
The sudden shift in her body language is impossible to ignore.
Her whole frame has gone limp, the energy sucked out of her.
“Sorry you had to see that,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry you had to experience that.”
Gingerly, I set the brush down and make my way over to the kitchen. Fuck the finish. I’ll fix it on Monday. I pull out the chair across from her and take a seat.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Marissa shrugs. There are creases in her forehead and she looks exhausted. I’m flooded with a fresh wave of anger at her asshole ex-husband for doing it to her. Based on her reaction, I doubt it’s the first time he’s pulled shit like this.
“You think I’d be used to it by now,” she says, confirming my suspicion.
“I always have to be the responsible parent, the one who keeps everything going, and then Rocky gets to swoop in and be the fun one. But the kids adore him, so what am I going to do? Deny them time with their father? Tell him to be less … Rocky?”
She gestures half-heartedly to the pot resting on the side of the stove and barks out a humorless laugh.
“Guess I’m having buttered noodles for dinner. Care to join me?”
I don’t laugh back. I’m too busy swallowing the urge to chase this Rocky character down the street and tell him exactly where he can shove his burger and fries.
Not that I’d ever do something like that in front of the kids.
Besides, the only person who deserves my attention is the morose woman slumped in front of me.
A woman who deserves so much more than discarded pasta.
“Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner?” I offer. “Save the noodles for tomorrow’s lunch.”
Her eyes widen as she regards me, and I feel a momentary wave of panic. Maybe I’ve overstepped here. As far as she knows, I’m just the carpenter she met last week. Practically a stranger.
I’m not a stranger, though. Not really.