Chapter 16
I sit back on my heels and look out across the floor.
The blue and white linoleum is cheap. I’m not a pro. And yet…
It looks good.
Really good.
Much better than when I got here a couple hours ago.
When I flick my eyes to my watch, I’m shocked. Six hours have passed since I arrived at Gwen’s house. Somehow, it felt like two.
When she steps in through the back door with the dogs, a gust of cool, refreshing night air enters with them.
It’s good to feel the burst of cold air against my skin. I worked up a sweat, smoothing these things down. Manual labor’s satisfying. So is the feeling of completing a job.
It is also incredibly satisfying when the dogs trot right up to me. Both of them.
I’m winning them over.
Zoey licks my face like she missed me when she was out in the backyard with Gwen for ten minutes. Mr. Brown doesn’t growl. Instead, he bumps me with his nose until I share some of the lovin’ I’m giving to Zoey with him.
I pet his head, his back.
He wiggles his stiff body. His silvery muzzle breaks into a grin.
Gwen giggles. “They sure have warmed up to you.”
“It’s like they haven’t seen me in ages.” I ruffle Zoey’s head behind her ears. “Goof. It was just ten minutes.”
“Look at her tail,” Gwen says with another one of her easy laughs.
I look down Zoey’s body to her tail. It’s swiping side to side in a big arc.
“You’re a happy girl,” I tell her. My voice lilts, sort of sing-song. I’ve never talked like this before.
I’ve never felt like this before.
This good.
Something about being in Gwen’s house with her all evening has been really good for me. Just like everything about her, this time with her has been exactly the medicine I needed.
I let myself really slow down when I was putting in the panels. Rather than a big sheet, the stuff she bought came in large squares. We had to take measurements, make templates, and cut the squares to fit the shape of the room. Then, we spread a special flooring paste with the trowel I bought. She was right by my side, smoothing panels down with me, talking in that calm, sometimes silly way she has.
We also goofed around with the dogs, ate dinner, and even took a break to sit out by a fire for a while. She found marshmallows in her cupboard, and I cut sticks for us off a sapling at the edge of her yard.
That’s another thing I’ll definitely remember when I’m an old man: sitting under the stars with her in those rickety Adirondack chairs, pulling gooey marshmallows off of the stick with my fingers.
Laughing, joking around, pointing out constellations.
The dogs loved it out there. They soak up Gwen’s energy, just like I do.
Out there, with the orange flames flickering in the stone pit, I felt satisfied to the core. Satisfied in a way I haven’t in years.
I almost told her about the gift I bought her—the overnight in the Queen’s Room, up at the Mini Windsor Castle.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Gwen doesn’t seem to be the best at receiving. She’ll give, give, give, but she clams up when I try to do nice things for her. She already gave me a hard time about hiring that mechanic. ‘He fixed so many things on my car,’ she fretted, out by the fire. ‘I can’t believe my window works now! It’s like a new car. I will pay you back for that one of these days when I get the funds.’
Of course, I shot down that idea.
I don’t want her money.
What will she do when she finds out I booked her a night in the Queen’s Room up at Windsor Castle?
I hope she won’t try to reimburse me for the expense. I’m sure she doesn’t have an extra $800 lying around for extra things like that. It’ll probably make her uncomfortable to know I got her the room. But I heard the longing in her voice when she told me about staying in it and how her grandmother wanted that for her.
Her grandmother must have been a wise woman. It would be good for Gwen to have a night for herself in that luxurious setting. I want that for her, too.
I want her to feel like a queen.
Now, as I press the lid on the container of flooring paste, I feel more of that satisfied, happy sensation buzzing through me. I glance at her, wondering if now might be the right time to tell her about the reservation. More importantly, we have to talk about us—what’s happening between us.
But when I look at her, I see she’s frowning.
Her hands are tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. She’s got a far-off look about her.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask as I get to my feet.
“Hm. I was just thinking about the fact that it was light out when you got here, and now it is very dark out.”
“No moon, either. That’s why the stars were so bright.”
I stop petting the pups. Zoey and Mr. Brown amble toward the living room where Gwen set out a bowl of water for them. The slurping, lapping sounds bounce off the unfinished walls. A draft creeps through the windows.
I wonder if Gwen’s cold. Is that why she’s unhappy? Or is it something about how dark it is outside?
Her large, beautiful eyes find mine. “I was thinking about how valuable your time is… how I shouldn’t have kept you so long.”
She weaves her hand through her hair, pulling it back out of her face. “It’s been sort of overwhelming working on this place, but I don’t want you to get the idea that you have to rescue me or something. I mean, Clay hasn’t been able to do as much as we thought he would because of his knee…”
She gets that far-off look again but then shakes her head. “It’s okay, though. We’ll figure it out. Besides, his knee will get better—if it’s really hurt at all. And he’ll try the saw again. That time he messed up with it freaked him out because obviously. I mean, it’s a power saw. But it’s probably like riding a horse. He’ll get back on the horse, or I will, and?—”
“Hold up. You mean you’ll use the saw? Don’t use one unless you know how.”
“I can watch videos online and learn. That’s what you did.”
“Yes, but this is flooring.” The protective urge floods me. “Promise me you will not go rogue and use a power saw after watching some yahoo on the internet give you the quick tips. That will not serve you. Hey, the hardware store on Main gives classes every Saturday morning on the basics of home maintenance. They have a class on saws coming up. You could take it.”
“Yikes,” she says. “My Saturdays are precious because they’re a rare day to do everything I’ve been putting off all week: exercise, laundry, visits with family and friends. And I doubt Clay would put in the effort…”
She sighs. “But, yeah… maybe… one day. When I’m a little less busy. For now, I just really want you to know that I am not a damsel in distress. This is my project, and I can handle it. I hate that this ate up your whole night. Maybe you should bill me.”
“Baby—” The word slips out. “Don’t bill me. Don’t worry about my time. And definitely don’t use a power saw without learning from someone how to use it safely, first. No matter how many videos you watch online. That sounds like a good way to lose a finger, and I like your hands the way they are.”
Baby.
I called her baby.
I don’t know if we’re there yet—at that place in a relationship when names like that are okay.
But right now, I can’t help it.
Talking about her using a dangerous saw makes me feel protective of her in a way I never anticipated. In a way I’m not quite ready for.
I want her to accept my help.
I want her to feel worthy of having someone spend six hours doing something nice for her because she deserves it. But I see by the down-turn of her lip that she’s full of doubt right now.
“Clay says he doesn’t know how to use tools because our dad wasn’t around,” she says. “Mom wasn’t into power tools, you know? She is one strong woman, believe me, but her strengths come out in other ways. Not carpentry. When my grandma passed away and left inheritance money to me and Clay, I thought this would be such a great way to spend it. I thought we could learn about carpentry stuff together. That isn’t the way it’s gone, though. It’s a lot harder than I thought it’d be, getting all the renovations done. But I can hire contractors. I sent a guy a message about this floor…? He said it would cost me about twelve-hundred, to have him and his guys come in and lay it in. So if you want?—”
“Don’t say anything about a bill again.”
“But I could pay you. I’d just use that estimate… but make the check out to you.”
“I did this because I wanted to. It has nothing to do with money.” I step closer to her.
She turns to face me and tilts her chin.
She looks up into my eyes. “But—but you’re paying me for the dogs and extra hourly, and now…”
She sighs and pulls her hands out of her back pockets. She tugs at the edges of her cardigan and pulls the sides so they overlap over her chest.
I wrap my arms around her. “Hey—really. This has nothing to do with money. This is me, helping you out because it was fun to hang out. If you try to pay me, I’m gonna feel offended. I helped Leo with his floors. You can bet he didn’t try to give me money for it.”
“But Leo’s one of your best friends. You and me? We’re not friends.”
“We’re not?”
I want to be her friend.
Her friend, and much more.
Am I ready for that?
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” she says softly. “That came out rude. All I’m trying to say is… I work for you, Brock.”
“Yeah. That’s how we met. But now, there’s more to it.”
“Is there? I mean, I know there is, but I guess that’s still the bottom line.”
“The bottom line… meaning, the most important part. You think the most important part of what’s happening is… what? The office? My desk? Your desk? Paychecks?”
“No… not really.”
“What’s the most important part to you?”
“Um…” Her chest heaves as she gulps in air. “I can’t—sorry. I can’t say this to you. Not first. You go first.”
“You make it sound like a dare,” I tease. “Like we’re in some treehouse fort, about to sip stolen beers.”
That earns me a smile. “That’s another thing I never did. Steal beer.”
“My buddies and I did sometimes. Straight out of our parents’ refrigerators. There was a fort in an old oak tree at the park where we used to hang out. My mother caught me taking one of her wine coolers once, grounded me for a week.”
“Sounds like you earned it, Mister Wine-cooler burglar.”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
“So, when you were about to steal your first sips from those illicit cans and bottles, you dared each other to go first?”
I nod. “Oh yeah. And I was the hero. I don’t back down, Gwen. That’s not my style.”
“Okay, good.” She stops tugging at her sweater and reaches up to tap my chest. “Then I dare you to go first.”
I love it when I break through her nervousness. Her eyes, hooded before and veiled with lashes, now open wide. She peers at me, with nothing hiding the playful glint in her eye.
There are sides to Gwen, just like with everyone. She can be shy one moment, then she’ll open up in the next.
Right now, she’s opening up.
She reaches for me. Her hand fits against my lower back muscles, just above my waistline. It’s a familiar touch, now that we’ve kissed several times. But even though it’s familiar, it’s still absolutely, totally intoxicating.
“Okay,” I say gruffly now, thanks to the desire flooding me. “I’ll go first. The bottom line. The bottom line isn’t about work, for me, with this. With us. The bottom line is that I haven’t felt like this before. I mean, ever. Being around you feels intoxicating, Gwen.”
“Like that tree house beer?”
“A hundred thousand times better.”
“Intoxicating…” she repeats. “Me?”
“You.”
“I don’t know what I did to make you feel like that.”
“You don’t have to do anything except be yourself.”
“Well… hm. Okay. That, I can do.”
“Now, I dare you.” She feels so perfect in my arms, just like this.
“To steal a beer?”
“Ha. Right. No, that is not the dare, Miss Temple.”
“Oh… That might be easier.”
She falls quiet.
This time, I don’t rush to fill in the silence. Maybe, if I’m going to see where this thing with her will go, I’ll have to get better at pausing. I’ll have to walk at her pace, talk at her pace, slow down. I know that will be good for me.
My patience pays off.
“Okay… the bottom line,” she says.
There is so much love in her voice that, for a moment, I’m stunned.
She nips her lip in and pauses again. “This is going to be very difficult to say, Brock. The bottom line is I don’t understand this. Not really. But that’s how the best things in life are. They just happen in ways you can’t really figure out. It’s a mystery to me how, on Monday, I barely knew you. I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. And now, three days later, I care about you in a really deep way.”
“In a good way?” It’s hard to speak.
“In a very good way.” She places her hand on my chest, and lets her palm rest there. She feels the area over my heart. “In an intense, sort of magical way. It’s been good getting to know you, Brock. I didn’t expect it. But it has. Really good.”
I thought she was the one unused to receiving, but it turns out I’m in the same boat.
I’ve never had someone speak to me like she’s speaking to me now.
Love pours out of her, through her soft, warm tone. Through her thoughtful eyes, and her loving touch. She’s being genuine and sincere.
For so many years, with so many women, I surfed waves of pleasure. It was pleasure that never lasted. Fleeting, shallow, and sometimes so insincere, I could barely feel anything real about the women I was with.
Sometimes, I felt numb.
Other times, needy, unsatisfied, frustrated.
Always impatient to move on, to find someone new. I talked with those women, about the news, the weather, the places we were visiting. But the discussions never dipped beneath the surface. Those discussions never went deep.
Right now, Gwen is speaking to me from the depths of her heart. That touches me.
It also scares me.
Am I person worthy of her care? Her nurturing, loving touch?
“I’m sorry if that’s a lot,” she whispers. “Maybe I should have kept some of that back. It’s too soon.”
“It’s not too soon,” I tell her.
Her palm whispers over my peck, to my collarbone. Then, her fingers curve around my neck.
She cares about me.
Deeply.
In a good way.
In my mind, I’m reading between the lines. She fell in love with me over the past three days, just like I fell in love with her.
I’m not ready to say the L-word to her, yet. I’ll have to dance around it, like she’s doing.
Even though I can’t tell her that I love her—because it would be too soon—I have to at least try to convey my emotions.
“It’s wild,” I whisper, as I look down at her. “It hasn’t been that long. But I feel like these past three days have been a lifetime.”
“In a good way?” she asks.
I nod. Inch my lip toward hers. “In a very good way.”
“You took my words.”
“I hope they weren’t copyrighted.”
“Nope. You can use them.”
“I’ll give you credit.”
“Please don’t,” she says. “I don’t want fame or glory.”
When we kiss, it doesn’t rock my world, like it did by the pond, or even in the break room or my office. Those times, it was like the ground shook. My life turned upside down.
This kiss, though, feels inevitable, like the only thing that could possibly happen. It’s not ground shaking or disruptive, it’s simply right. Natural. Almost like breathing.
As we kiss, I wonder how I survived so long without her.
She holds me, tugs me closer, and tells me with her body that she needs me as much as I need her.
I don’t want the kiss to stop. Her kisses are part of my world now. I don’t know how I’d ever survive without them.
I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.
“It’s getting late,” she says, when we finally part for air. “I know you probably have to get home.”
“I should.”
I can’t move away from her.
I can’t tear my eyes away from her lips.
She moves her fingertips up through my hair at the nape of my neck in that way she has. “Or, we could toast more marshmallows.”
“Those are my options,” I say, feeling dazed and drunk, though I haven’t sipped a drop of alcohol all night. “Go home to an empty house, or stay here with you, a fire out under the stars, and more marshmallows?”
She nods. “And the dogs. They already ate dinner, right?”
I nod. “Earlier, at the house. They’re good.”
She grins. “Great. Then those are your options.”
The dogs trot into the room, and line up by the back door, both tails swishing.
“Looks like the dogs want to head to the backyard, and the fire pit,” I say.
“And… you?”
“No question about it. I’m in.”
I mean it in so many ways. I’m in for anything with Gwen. Toasting marshmallows. Making memories. Holding her, kissing her, and loving her. I’m in for the long haul.
Maybe it’s like she says, and this thing between us is a mystery.
I can’t hire someone to research it. I can’t make a strategy, or a tactic, or get a team together to try to analyze it. I just have to let it happen. She said that the best things in life just happen, in ways we can’t figure out. This thing with Gwen is the best thing that has happened in my life.
It could be the worst thing, too, if it ends badly.
If I hurt her, I will never forgive myself.