4. Raven
RAVEN
Sir Slutty ’Stache is a moron. I repeat the mantra in my head as I walk him down to the basement.
The man is huge. Tall and imposing, barely able to fit through the doorframes of this old house.
Every time he cracks a joke, his eyes twinkle.
It’s not normal. Maybe he has a condition. Maybe it’s pink eye?
What is happening to me? These aren’t the normal thoughts of a well-adjusted nearly forty-year-old woman.
This is how teenage boys think when they can’t control their libidos.
I’m a grown woman. I’m in control of my thoughts and actions, and I will not let Sir Slutty ’Stache get under my skin or in my pants.
Ugh. Stop thinking about him anywhere near your pants.
“You okay over there? You’re making a lot of huffing sounds. Are you having an asthma attack?”
“I’m fine. Just not a big fan of the musty air,” I lie.
“It’s kinda dark down here.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“You gonna just insult me, or are you gonna turn on a light?”
I reach up, feeling around for the little string. When I connect with it, a strong hand covers mine. A rush of electricity prickles my skin, and I rear back, my elbow connecting with a solid object.
Sawyer grunts, and I spin to face him, taking a step back. “What are you doing?”
“Was trying to help you,” he wheezes, rubbing his stomach.
“I don’t like being touched. Especially by surprise,” I spit, unsure why I’m making this confession. I certainly don’t owe him anything.
“Noted.”
Footsteps clatter down the stairs as Jonah peeks around the corner, McKenna close behind him.
She peers up at Sawyer, as recognition lights up her face. “You’re Jane’s dad. Is Jane coming over?”
“I am. And no, she’s at her mom’s this weekend.”
McKenna rushes over to me. “Jane’s dad came to our school this week and talked to us about fire safety. I didn’t know who he was at the fire.”
Fucking small towns. Of course this man is my kid’s friend’s father. “What a small world.” I try to sound sincere, but based on the look on Sawyer’s face, there was probably a little too much sarcasm in that comment.
I look over at Jonah as he quietly observes Sawyer.
“We’ll have to arrange a playdate,” Sawyer offers.
Ugh. I’m trying to spend less time with this man. The renovation is already going to take up a lot of my time. I don’t want to see him during my leisure time as well.
“Mom, can we?”
Sawyer turns his face toward mine. “Yeah, Mom, can we?”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re giving me the option to say no,” I mutter through gritted teeth so only he can hear.
He continues, unfazed. “I can bring Tommy too. I also have a boy and a girl.”
Jonah’s face lights up. “Tommy’s in my class. His favorite color is green, and he likes turtles. He sits in front of me, and he always needs to borrow a pencil from me because he forgets his. And he wears the same Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt every other day.”
Sawyer brightens. “You’re the pencil wizard!”
Jonah tilts his head in confusion.
“Tommy is terrible at names. He said there’s a kid who sits behind him who gives him a pencil every day. As soon as he turns around, this kid extends one to him like some kind of magical wizard.”
“That’s me!” Jonah beams.
Fucking great. Of course he’s charming enough to win over my kids. McKenna and Jonah are staring at him like he hung the moon when everyone’s focus shifts to me.
“I guess we can plan something,” I relent. A playdate would actually give me a much-needed break.
“Why are you here?” Jonah asks, looking at Sawyer.
McKenna whips her head at him. “Jonah, that’s rude.”
Jonah looks at her in confusion. He doesn’t pick up on social cues, but I understand his thought process, even if his sister doesn’t. “Sawyer might be helping fix a few things around this house to make it more comfortable for us to stay here while we’re displaced.”
“I don’t want to go back to the other house,” Jonah says.
“You don’t?”
“I like this place. It has more places to hide. And it doesn’t smell like Daddy. But I miss my swings.”
My heart catches at his admission, and I squeeze my eyes shut briefly to contain the emotion as mom guilt pierces my chest.
“I can help with that,” Sawyer says. “Your mom gave me a list of things you need done.”
Jonah looks around the room. “I don’t like loud noises.”
“Neither do I,” Sawyer agrees.
“Are you gonna make loud noises?”
Sawyer squats in front of Jonah, but Jonah avoids eye contact. “I’ll try not to when you’re here.”
“Okay.” Jonah turns and runs up the stairs, and I nod for McKenna to follow him.
Once the kids are gone, the awkward silence is deafening. He seems like a natural with kids. Jonah doesn’t talk to strangers normally, but between the fire and today, he’s said more words to Sawyer than he has to some of my mom friends. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
After several minutes, Sawyer speaks. “Look, this is gonna be a big project. RJ kinda led me to believe it was a smaller list. There are a few things I could do over a weekend that would help Jonah, but some of these things will take weeks to complete. And they will be loud.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t up for the job.” A pang of disappointment hits me, but I shove it away.
“Oh, I’m up for the job. I’d do anything for the pencil wizard. That kid has saved Tommy more times than I can count. He has ADHD and is always forgetting his pencils.”
The side of my face twitches in response.
“So you can smile.”
I roll my eyes. “Grow up.”
“I like it when you’re mean. It makes me hard.”
I blink rapidly. “Did you mean to say that out loud?”
“Absofuckinglutely.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That I meant to say it or that I’m hard?”
“Both.”
“I’d be happy to show you.”
“That’s a hard pass.” My answer is quick, but my eyes flick to his bulge, lingering a little too long. What has gotten into me?
“Stare any harder, and it’ll start dancing for you.” He wiggles his hips.
“You’re a moron.”
He sighs. “I am about a lot of things.”
His unexpected honesty throws me off. I glance at him, but he turns away, surveying the rest of the basement. “So what are we doing down here? Is this where you want the sex dungeon? Seems a little on the nose, but sure.”
“Will you cut it out with that?”
He walks over to the corner of the space, looking up at the beams like he’s making mental calculations. “I have a couple of ideas about what you could do with this space.”
I’m relieved that he doesn’t finish that thought with more sex room suggestions.
At least he can take a hint. “I was able to find a contractor to handle our other property, but even then, it’ll be weeks before they can get out there and clean up and rebuild.
But no one could squeeze this place into their schedule.
I apologize if RJ downplayed the scope of the project, but if you aren’t able to handle it, let me know now and I’ll figure something out. ”
“It’s gonna take longer than I originally thought. And I’d have to work around Jocelyn’s schedule with the kids. Some of the tools I’ll use will be pretty loud, so you might want to make arrangements for Jonah, or it’ll take even longer.”
He’s right. I’ll have to reach out to the moms and see if they can help. Jonah is comfortable with all of them, so it should be okay, but I hope the change in routine isn’t too much for him. Two of my friends are teachers and have experience with ASD kids, so I have support if I need it.
My thoughts spiral when he doesn’t say anything else.
Did RJ pester him into this? Does he feel obligated?
Why does he want to help? Is it because he’s fond of my brother?
It’s not out of any fondness for me; I’ve been nothing but difficult with him.
He probably flirts with everyone. Or maybe he’s one of those golden retriever types in romance books.
Not my books. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around a character like that, could never put myself in the shoes of someone like that long enough to write one believably.
No, my MMCs are all grumpy, brooding, burn-the-world-down-for-their-women types.
“Which item on your list is the most urgent?” His question startles me, distracting me from my thoughts.
“Why are you doing this?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
“You know, sometimes I feel like we’re speaking two different languages.”
He’s not wrong. It’s difficult for me to not take things literally sometimes. “So you’re not going to help?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’ll pay you for your time.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not taking your money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is my mess, and I can take care of it. I don’t expect you to do this for free.”
“Just buy the supplies.”
“But your time and labor…”
“I’m not good at picking out shit. Hell if I know what colors look good together or what’s in style, but I get the feeling you’ll have strong opinions about all that, so pick what you want, and I’ll take care of the install for you.”
Why is that so sexy? He’s calling me out for being opinionated, yet instead of teasing me for it, he is accepting that this is who I am while allowing me to just be. “Okay.”
He takes a step closer to me, and even though there are several feet between us, it feels like he’s inches from me when he speaks. “I gather you’re not a fan of people in your space, but I think it’s necessary to set expectations here.”
I wait for him to say more, but he pauses, doing a slow perusal of my body.
“This will be loud, messy, probably time-consuming. It’ll be inconvenient as fuck, and we’ll butt heads.”
“The renovation, you mean?”
He tugs at the back of his neck, as if debating how honest to be. “Yes, but also no.”
When he continues staring without elaborating, I cross my arms. I feel exposed, like he’s examining every little piece of who I am.
“I’m not good at this.” He waves a hand between us.
“Talking to other adults? Yeah, I gathered that.”
“I like you.”
“Oh.” His honesty stuns me. For once I don’t have a witty retort.