Chapter 6 #2
‘Hopefully there won’t be a next time,’ she added, looking around at the mess. The floor was dry but would need a good clean, and she was more than a little worried all the wooden furniture, including the built-in sofa and bench, would warp. ‘Will the floorboards rot?’
‘Not from that.’ He pulled his head out of the tiny cupboard and stood up, drying his hands on the only dry towel she still owned. ‘They need to be varnished, though. Piet hasn’t been keeping the place as well as he should.’
‘He said I was lucky to have it.’
Max scoffed. ‘No one’s lived here for a while, and he hasn’t maintained the boat as a good owner should.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Rosie admitted, her cheerful tone faltering. Had she been done? Was she just another gullible tourist? Max’s words confirmed it, and she felt even more stupid than she had earlier for hitting the pipe.
Surprisingly, he seemed to see that she was uncomfortable, and his tone softened.
‘It won’t take much to fix up. As this dries out, you need to keep the windows open.
Houseboats can get very damp with condensation and general moisture.
You don’t want mould and mildew forming. There is some already under there.’
‘Where?’ She dived forwards onto her knees, sticking her head in the cupboard. She didn’t like the idea of breathing in mould spores. Max knelt down and leaned in too.
‘There.’ He pointed to the back corner of the cupboard where a line of blue-black splotches rose up the wall. ‘It’s not that serious.’
‘It is,’ she replied, turning towards him, suddenly realising how close together they were, barely centimetres apart.
She watched his pupils dilate as he focused on her then scanned her face, down to her lips.
Was she imagining the way the air had tightened between them?
The way it sat so heavily around them as if charged with expectation?
Her own eyes fell to his mouth, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
As her eyes rose back to his, he pulled back out of the cupboard, whacking his head in his haste.
‘Ow! Godverdomme! ’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked, repressing a giggle as he rubbed the back of his head.
‘God damn it, you English and Americans would say.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he replied brusquely, dropping his hand. ‘So why is it so serious?’
She jumped up too, concern ringing through her. ‘Because mould spores get into the air and then you breathe them in, and they get into your lungs. It’s gross and not very good for you.’
He looked around, studying the galley, seeing her shelves covered in plants. ‘Is this what you do? Plants and things?’
‘Plants and things?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I’m a florist, and technically spores aren’t plants, they’re fungi but– yeah– I love plants.’
His expression had softened but before she could carry on the conversation, he suddenly picked up a tool and tightened the tap itself. Before she could think of anything else to say, he said, ‘That’s all fixed,’ and began to collect his things.
‘Really?’ As confused as she was by Max’s hot and cold nature, a huge grin spread across her face and some of the tension melted away. Things were back on track. ‘Thank you. I really do appreciate your help. I better get cleaning that mould and airing everything out.’
He stopped on the top step of the galley, the sunshine lighting him from behind. ‘Are you always this happy at cleaning up mess?’
‘No, but there’s no point in moaning about it, is there? It has to be done and at least I can put some music on while I work– as long as you don’t mind me having a singalong, that is.’
‘Given what’s just happened I think that’s fair enough.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll put on my noise-cancelling headphones.’
‘Hey!’ He didn’t exactly smile, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
Had that been a joke? Was he teasing her?
The thought sent a thrill through her. ‘Anyway, I didn’t have anything else to do this afternoon, so I might as well be useful.
I might even paint the cupboards. That dark wood is nice outside but in here it makes everything feel gloomy. ’
Max watched on, shaking his head in bafflement. ‘Give them a few days to dry out first.’
‘Oh, all right.’ He turned to leave and without thinking, Rosie said, ‘Can I make you dinner or something to say thank you?’
His features closed again, the veil of indifference coming down over his eyes and his jaw hardening. ‘No, thanks. I– I have stuff to do.’
‘Stuff?’ Why did she say that? It was clear he wasn’t interested, and she was just making a fool of herself by prolonging the conversation. ‘Stuff, right– yeah, sure. Of course.’
‘Maybe another time,’ he added, turning and walking away. ‘Zoon, come.’ He stepped onto the pavement and back around to his own boat, the little dog following behind.
Another time my foot , she thought and for the first time a slight tinge of embarrassment shot up her spine that she’d been knocked back.
She hadn’t cared whenever she’d been rejected before but for some reason this stung.
Maybe it was because they were neighbours or perhaps it was because she was clearly more attracted to him than he was to her.
Rosie sighed, placed her hands on her hips for a moment and thought about what colour she’d paint the cupboards.
She shouldn’t care what Max thought about her, she reminded herself.
He was clearly allergic to fun and laughter and h aving friends.
A small voice in her head told her she was being unkind.
That there was something more to him or he wouldn’t have helped her today.
He’d have let her pay for a plumber. And what was that moment in the cupboard?
Remembering it sent a shiver of heat through her.
Rosie glanced behind her, but Max was now out of sight. Why did his rejection sting so much?