Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Every so often, Garrett would get what he called the bug. It was a sort of itchiness, a desire to work with his hands more than he got the opportunity to do during the regular day-to-day running of Nut and Bolts.
He had opened a hardware store because he liked building things.
It had been a practical measure too, for sure.
He’d needed to make a living and there hadn’t been a hardware store for miles.
And nobody wanted to drive for forty-five minutes just to get a screw or two when they were in the middle of a big project.
His gamble had paid off too. The people of Magnolia Shore had embraced him, and several larger organizations had pledged to get their supplies through him, rather than through the big box companies that operated out of town.
This meant that, even though his shop wasn’t usually a bustling hotbed of activity, he kept his doors open without too many lean periods.
It was good. It was.
It also meant that he spent more of his time doing inventory and filing paperwork than he did actually building. This too, was mostly fine.
Until the bug got him.
This round of the bug, he decided, was Eleanor Ridley’s fault.
She’d been so happy and excited about her big project that it had reminded him that he loved that kind of work, loved transforming a space from one thing into another.
He’d thought about her renovation, then thought about it some more.
He’d strictly reminded himself that he was interested in her project, not in the woman herself.
And if that was true, which he told himself some more that it was, then this itchiness in him must have more to do with his desire to build and create than it did curiosity about a woman.
So, he’d taken up whittling again. He wasn’t a master at it, wasn’t nearly as accomplished in this art as he was in various other fix-’em-up projects.
But you couldn’t put up drywall while you were standing behind the counter at the shop.
You could, however, whittle a little bird out of a scrap piece of wood.
Garrett would give it to his nieces when it was done.
They always treated his clumsy carvings like they were the most delightful sculptures.
He frowned down at the vaguely duck-like blob of wood. The itchiness wasn’t going away.
This too, had to be Eleanor’s fault.
Garrett was assessing his next moves on his lumpy project when the bell above the door rang its cheerful trill, letting him know that someone was entering Nut and Bolts. And there, as if he had conjured her with his thoughts, was Eleanor Ridley herself.
“Hey!” she said brightly. Her smile was warm and bright.
The itchy feeling vanished in a flash. Garrett did not have any thoughts or feelings about that.
“Oh, hey there,” he said, cursing himself for his gruff awkwardness. Where had that thought come from? He was a gruff guy! It was his thing! He shouldn’t let it bother him!
He cleared his throat.
“Hey, Eleanor,” he tried again. “What can I do for you?”
She looked to the side, her smile growing the tiniest bit shy. She looked impossibly cute like that, with that hint of friendly nervousness in her expression. He’d bet his hat that she looked adorable when she blushed.
Not the time, Wilder.
“Well…” she hedged, shuffling her weight from foot to foot. “Remember when you told me that I should hire a professional for jobs that were a little bit out of my reach?”
“I do,” he confirmed, visions of disaster running through his mind. It only took about five seconds before, mentally, Eleanor’s house was ashes on the ground and she was injured in the calamity… never mind that she was clearly standing in front of him, safe and sound.
“Well…” she repeated. “I might, maybe, just be the teeniest, tiniest bit out of my depth with the oven. Electric!” she added hastily, correctly reading his expression of alarm. “Not gas. But it’s not working. And I am stuck.”
She looked so bashful, and not a little bit annoyed, to admit it that he had to suppress a smile.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ridley… are you saying that I was right?”
She pursed her lips at him. “Oh, don’t be a sourpuss,” she scolded.
This time, his smile could not be vanquished.
“I don’t know that I’d call it sour,” he said. “Smug? Sure. Satisfied? Yeah. A person who was correct—”
“Yes, yes, you own a dictionary, good for you,” she said.
She rolled her eyes, but he had the sense that she was having a good time.
“Are you going to help me or not?” She quickly described the problem.
Garrett was not electrician, and, by rights, this was the kind of thing that he maybe, possibly should have referred over to Tyler Meadows.
He chose not to interrogate why he wasn’t going to do that.
“Yeah, of course I am. I would have to order some parts, so I can’t make it out there today, but I could put up the sign tomorrow or the next day, maybe?”
“You and that sign,” she said, shaking her head. “But thank you. I didn’t want my gratitude to get lost in the teasing.”
For some reason, he found that the gratitude rankled in a way that the teasing didn’t. He didn’t want this woman to feel beholden to him… something that was, no doubt, a dangerous kind of feeling. He probably should call up Tyler, after all. He knew he wouldn’t, though.
“Yeah,” he said shortly instead. “You’re welcome. Of course.”
Eleanor tilted her head slightly, as if trying to read deep into his mind. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling, being surveyed like that. But she only did it for a moment, then shook her head, and turned to go.
Garrett felt a pang of disappointment and then a swift, foolish surge of happiness when she turned back.
“You know,” she said, “I’d offer to pay you for the work but… you’re not going to let me, are you?”
He chuckled. “Not even a little bit.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, well, in that case, I think that you should let me treat you to brunch as a thank you.”
There was a stubborn set to her jaw that made him think that she was as unlikely to be moved in this as he was to allow her to pay him for the aid that he planned to offer her.
Still, for the sake of his bruised heart, he had to give it a try.
“I don’t know, Eleanor…” he hedged.
Her eyes narrowed even further. He could see the decades she’d spent parenting in that gaze, that I’m on to you, mister sort of look.
“Technically,” she said, sweet as pie, “I owe you two brunches, given that you already helped me transport my window and everything. But I suppose I could make do with one…”
He had a feeling this was a limited time offer. The woman drove a hard bargain.
“Fine,” he agreed, ignoring the part of him that was happy to share a meal with her, instead of resigned. “Brunch it is.”
“Wonderful,” she said, face brightening in an instant. “Put up that sign of yours. We’ll go to Juniper Café.”
“Wait, now?”
Again, the I see what you’re up to look.
“Yes, now. I’m not giving you advance notice so you can weasel out of your hard-earned appreciation, delivered via pancakes. Let’s go. Chop chop!”
Her energy was as irresistible as a hurricane, for goodness’ sake.
“Okay,” he said. “Just… give me a minute, okay?”
“Oh, of course,” she replied. She was the picture of benevolence now that she was getting her way, and that made him want to chuckle too.
Instead, he quickly went to the back of the shop, where there was a miniscule bathroom that he didn’t really advertise, although he had been known to let a harried parent with their toddler use the space a time or two.
The mirror inside was old and cracked, but it showed enough that Garrett could see the nerves on his face.
He hadn’t been on a date in over a decade, not since Maria had left and left him a wreck behind. But this wasn’t a date, was it? No, it couldn’t be. Clearly, he was just getting in his own head because of this strange pull that Eleanor Ridley seemed to have over him.
It was not a date. Nope. Not a date.
Even so, he ran his fingers under the water and used them to comb through his hair quickly. The effort was unimpressive, and he regretted not having more time to clean up.
Even if it wasn’t a date, he could want to look nice, right? That was allowed.
There was, alas, nothing for it. He gave himself one last look, took a deep, steadying breath, and went out to greet the woman who had him all tied up in knots.
After she adjusted the cutlery at her place setting for the third time, Eleanor found herself having a flashback to eating out at a diner in Indianapolis when Jeremy was five or so.
Her son had either just started school or was about to, she couldn’t recall precisely, but he had been so convinced that this meant he was all grown up.
And yet, when they’d found themselves facing an unusually long wait for their food, Jeremy had gotten a hopeless case of the wiggles that he’d tried to suppress by shifting every item on the table.
When asked, he’d solemnly told his parents that a table should be just so to put its best foot forward…
something that Eleanor often said to him when she was trying to convince him to put on shoes or comb his hair or any of the other countless little tasks that small children avoided just for the sake of being contrary.
His comment had made Eleanor and Brian burst out laughing, which had outraged poor little Jeremy. The incident had become something of family lore, although Eleanor hadn’t thought about it in ages.
Garrett caught sight of her smile.
“Something funny?” he asked.
Beaming, she slipped into the tale, using her cutlery as props to demonstrate the infinitesimal movements that Jeremy had been making to hide his restless energy.
By the time she was done, her own nerves, the ones she knew she shouldn’t have since this was nothing more than a meal between friends, had dissipated somewhat.