Chapter 7 Cole #2
“You pick.” She hands me the tape. “I trust your eye; you’re the professional.”
“You know I build houses, right? I don’t decorate them.”
She shrugs with a teasing laugh. “Same thing.”
I stare at her for a second, ready to make a snarky comment back but think better of it. She isn’t your friend, Cole, and she sure as shit isn’t some sexy stranger you can indulge in a harmless hookup with.
I behave and turn my attention back to the pictures. We mark, drill, and tap anchors. We move quietly and efficiently; our shoulders brushing in tight passes. After several minutes, she breaks the silence.
“So—Bristol Construction, right?”
“Bristol Custom Homes.” I swap the drill for a hammer and tap in another anchor.
She doesn’t ask when or how it started, but I fill the silence anyway.
“Started as a framing gig when I came out here. Then it became a crew. And then after a shit ton of hard work, it became a company when I figured out no one was going to hand me a life I didn’t build myself. ”
“That’s impressive, seriously. I mean, you were what—eighteen when you left?” Her voice gentles slightly without pity. “That’s… so young.”
“Nineteen. But still… Old enough to know better.” I set a nail. “Young enough to still be an idiot about it.”
“What was the first month like?”
I pause, the hammer pulled back, remembering those first few months. They were absolute hell, but I was too arrogant and prideful to ever apologize to my parents and go back home or ask for help.
“I used my truck for a bed. Ramen for dinner. Showered at a rec center where the water never got warm.” I shrug. “It was fine, though. I did two jobs most days. Framed at dawn, demo on weekends. Learned to keep my head down and show up sober.”
Her mouth tilts. “High bar.”
“It was at the time. I wasn’t just a dumbass teenager with a problem with authority; I was one or two decisions away from ruining my life.”
“And now?” She passes me the level, eyes steady on mine. “You’re clearly successful and you seem to have your life in check. What feels good about what you built?”
The question takes me back. I sit for a second and think about it. It’s been years since I let someone inside, since I let someone be curious about me. But it’s also been a long time since anyone has listened, has wanted to know things about me and what I’ve built.
I look back at the wall while I answer. “Obviously the money and security that comes with that feels good but it’s more than that.
” I tap the frame straight. “I’ve set my future children up with a business they can work at or own and I use that business to give back to a community that I took for granted growing up. ”
She goes quiet. “So, you want kids, then?”
I laugh once, a surprised reflex more than humor. “Yes. Is that surprising?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s a good thing. Maddie has said a few times she wished you were married with a kid by now so she can be an aunt.”
Her response shocks me a little. I didn’t realize Maddie wanted that so badly, but it shouldn’t surprise me.
She’s been wanting kids of her own since she was barely five years old.
She would beg me to play house with her growing up and every time I’d get mad and tell her it was weird, which would send her into a fit of tears.
“Work is my wife, my mistress, and my baby,” I say, reaching for another nail.
She doesn’t laugh this time. “That sounds lonely.”
“It was,” I say honestly, fitting the next hanger. “Less now.”
“How so?”
“Because I figured out I’d rather be useful than…
whatever I was all those years I was getting into trouble and being a miserable bastard.
” I glance at her; she’s already watching me.
“I guess I find fulfillment in being a workaholic to help other people out rather than pouring myself into a relationship or someone else.” I don’t know what it is about this woman that makes me want to be raw and honest. “That sounded really arrogant. I didn’t mean for it to. ”
“It doesn’t.” She steps in close to hand me the nails, the move small and intimate because of the limited space. “Useful is good. It’s better to pour into others rather than just sit around and pity yourself.” She glances around her apartment like she’s talking to herself rather than me.
My throat goes tight. I look away. “Level me.” She raises the bubble to the pencil marks. “What about you?” I ask, just to get the focus off me. “Why software?”
She smiles, eyes bright. “I’m a nerd, that’s the bottom line.
” She laughs, then continues. “But really, I’ve always loved building things too.
My mom would get annoyed with all the stuff I’d take apart just to put back together when I was kid.
And as I got older, that morphed into writing code and software, and yeah, here I am.
” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “Also, software has fewer splinters.”
“Fair.” I hang another frame. “How’s the job?”
“Good so far. I’ve only worked two days and they’ve both been from home.” She hesitates, then adds, “I like being good at my job, but I really don’t like being new. It stresses me out knowing I’m the new person in the office.”
“You’ll stop being new faster than you think.” I step back and check the grid. “Everyone’s always moving to Denver, so you’ll be replaced with a new transplant in no time.”
We’re on the last frame now. I lift it and align the wire, feeling her step beside me to “help.” The space is tight. I crowd in behind her to straighten the top edge, reaching over her shoulder to nudge the corner a millimeter right.
Her hair grazes my jaw, and I make the stupid mistake of inhaling at the same time. Fuck. That sweet, warm vanilla scent is going to be burned even deeper into my brain now.
“Almost,” I say, my voice growing rougher by the second. “Hold it.”
“I am,” she breathes, not looking at me.
My hand drops to steady the bottom edge; my fingers find hers on the frame. Just a brush. Skin to skin. She goes still. So do I. The room narrows to a point. It’s nothing. It’s everything. It’s a flash of her back against this wall, my mouth on hers, her panting my name in a shaky voice.
I make myself move first. “There,” I say too fast, stepping back like distance will solve it. “All done.”
She turns slowly, face flushed like she felt it too. I don’t linger long enough to let the spark turn into a moment because if it does, it’s going to be a full-fledged explosion. Instead, I turn my attention back to the projects. “TV is done, coffee table, pictures are good.”
“And without you, I’d probably still be buried under the bookshelf.” She laughs next to me.
“I should go.” The words come out harsher and quicker than I intend. “Long day tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Her smile falters. “I was going to offer dinner. Just pasta. Nothing fancy. But if you—”
“I can’t.” I hate how quick the words fly out. How much I want to say yes anyway. “Another night,” I add, knowing I have no intention of honoring that offer either.
“Sure.” The smile she pastes on is slightly crooked. “Thank you… for all of this.”
I nod, collecting my tools so that I don’t have to look at her, so I don’t have to deny myself again. “Text me if anything shifts or falls off the wall.” I joke but it comes out curt.
“I will.”
At the door, I pause, fighting the urge to say something, anything that doesn’t make it more awkward. She stands in the middle of her apartment that now looks like a home, bare toes curled into the rug, eyes bright and uncertain, and I want to cross the space and wreck both of us.
“Good night, Hailey.”
But I don’t. I told myself years ago I was done making selfish decisions that only end up hurting everyone, so I get the hell out. I pull the door shut, lean my shoulder into the opposite wall, and let my head fall back.
“She’s my sister’s best friend,” I mutter to the ceiling… But it doesn’t sound convincing at all.