by Penny Wylder
“I bet she wasn't,” he says, jabbing me in the ribs with a closed fist.
I don't give him the answer he's looking for, and I won't. Hardin might be my best friend, but it doesn't mean I'm giving him all the details.
“I'm serious, she's gotten under my skin in a way I can't explain.”
“Well, where is she now?”
“Fuck if I know. I haven't seen her in a couple days. She got all weird the last time and took off without a word.”
“You have her number?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Mr. Thayer gave me Narissa's number just in case I needed to reach her. I'm pretty sure he thought the same thing I did, that she might not show up that first day.
“Call her then.”
“No, I can't call her.” I dismiss the idea instantly. If she wanted to see me, she would have shown up at the shop or at the work site by now. Obviously, she'd rather not.
“That's a bullshit answer. What's stopping you?”
“I don't know. It'd be weird for me to just call her. She's my client’s daughter, and the only reason she's been around is because she fucked up the cabinets I made. If it wasn't for that, we'd probably never cross paths.”
“I'm calling bullshit again. Nothing has ever stopped you before, and now you're going to turn into a coward. If you feel something, you feel something. You've never backed down from a challenge before. Why start now? It's how you got us this job to begin with. You didn't take no for an answer from the elite Ethan Thayer, and look what happened.”
“This is different.”
“No it's not. The point I'm making is if you want something, don't think about all the reasons you shouldn't pursue it. Think about all the reasons you should.”
“This isn't the same as going after a job. She's not a contract up for bidding.”
“Will you stop being a pussy and just call her already?”
“Look, she ran off for a reason. She knows where to find me if she wants to. Why should I go after her when I wasn't the one who left?”
“You're going to make me do it aren't you?”
“Do what?” I ask as my brows fold down.
“You know what.” Hardin has a thick smile. “I'll totally do it.”
“Dude, I don't know what the hell you're talking about.” Letting out a soft laugh, I shake my head. “I can't read your mind.”
“All right, I'm not giving you a choice then. I dare you to call her.”
“What are you, ten? No, that's not going to work. You can't dare me to do something and think it'll force my hand.”
“Okay, I double dare you, then.” His voice is louder as he smiles wide.
“Not doing it.”
“Fine, I triple dog dare you.”
“You're a fucking idiot, you know that?”
“All right, I get it. You're too fucking scared.” Hardin finishes his beer, orders a second and a shot for each of us. “Here, this'll put some hair on your balls. Maybe that will stop you from being such a chicken shit.”
What the hell is he trying to do?
Calling her isn't going to change a thing. She probably won't even answer.
Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly give in. “Fine, you want me to call her, I'll call her. I'll show you the girl doesn't want anything to do with me. Will that make you feel better?” I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my numbers until I find hers. My thumb hovers over the call button, close but not close enough to actually hit it.
Hardin notices, reaching out and pushing my thumb the last hairsbreadth. I glare at him with wide open eyes, and he laughs, very pleased with himself.
“You're a dick,” I bark.
“I know.” He smugly grins and shrugs a shoulder.
I lift the phone to my ear, listening to the deafening ring with a nervous pain in my chest. I want her to answer. There's a need to hear her voice, to see her, to feel her again in my hands.
“Your call has been forwarded. . .”
Hanging up the phone, I say, “She didn't answer.”
“At least you didn't wuss out and hang up.” Hardin grabs the menu and flips through. “Want to order something? I'm fucking starving.”
“Yeah, why not.” Laying my phone on the bar top, I push it aside and take a menu for myself.
We order some food. Hardin orders a giant plate of nachos with the works. Sour cream, olives, refried beans, shredded chicken, and I have no idea how he's able to eat the entire thing.
I get myself a nice juicy burger with a side of fries. The prefect meal to have with a beer and unwind. I've got a few projects going on at one time. The Belmont house isn't our only job. Hardin's been carrying us on some of the concrete work. And thank God for him. He'll work his ass off and not complain once. Not once.
We bullshit back and forth. Talking about football, and who's going to be this year’s top pick. I don't think Hardin knows shit, but he got lucky last year when we bet on the Super Bowl.
My phone buzzes, vibrating across the smooth surface of the bar. As I pick it up and see the message float across my screen, my chest tightens instantly. I go quiet, focusing on the screen and ignoring Hardin altogether.
“Who is it?” he asks, wiping the grease off his face with a napkin.
“It's her,” I say, the phone just sitting in my palm. I'm surprised. I didn't expect her to answer to begin with, but I never thought she'd text me.
“Really?” His eyes widen as he nods his head at my phone. “What'd she say?”
“She's sorry about the other day, but she did what her father told her to do with the cabinets, and now she's done. She says she didn't mean to run out the way she did.”
“Why did she run out?”
“I don't know.”
“Ask her,” he urges. “Do you need me to take over and be your voice?”
“No, I don't need you to fucking talk for me.”
“Then ask her. How else are you going to find out and fix it?”
“I never said I wanted to fix anything.”
Hardin cocks a brow and tilts his head as he thins his lips. “Dude, I can see it all over your face. Just fucking ask her already.”
Glaring at him, I tap the question in my phone and send it to her. “You're super fucking pushy.”
“Who else is going to light a fire under your ass?”
I toss him a look and roll my eyes. I'm about to tell him to get bent, when my phone pings. Hardin grins and jerks his head for me to check the message.
It's nothing, don't worry about it. I'm not feeling good anyway, so I won't be much help with installing the cabinets.
“She doesn't want to say, and she's not feeling well.” Shrugging a shoulder, I push my phone aside.
“That's it then? You're just going to wipe your hands clean and let it go without an answer.”
“Yeah, what the hell else am I supposed to do?”
“Go see her, and don't take no for an answer. Get the answers you want.”
“No, no way in hell. I'm not going to her house.”
“Yes you are.”
“No I'm not.”
“Yes you are,” Hardin says, his voice stern. “You're going to go to her house and talk to her.”
I hang my head and stare at the label of my drink. “I don't know.”
“Just do it. You obviously like her. So, you either let her go, or you grow some balls and see if there's anything there. Otherwise you're going to spend God knows how long just wondering.”
As hard as it is for me to admit, he might actually be right. There is something I really like about the girl. I want to know more about her. I want to learn who she is. All the pieces she doesn't share with anyone. Every little nuance and quirk. All of it.
“You know, I think for the first time you're right. I can't even believe I'm saying that out loud.”
“Maybe I've just been letting you think you're smarter than me because technically you're my boss. How would it look if I always showed up my boss?”
&
nbsp; Giving Hardin a shove, I throw some money on the bar. “Here, it's on me tonight. You can get it next time.”
“I'll need an advance on my check first,” Hardin jokes as he checks what's left in his beer and finishes it off.
“I'll see you tomorrow at Belmont. I'll need your help to install the cabinets.”
“Sounds good.”
I head to my car and climb inside. I know where she lives. I did a job not far from her house, and when I showed her father pictures of my work, he pointed out the building in the background his daughter lives in.
The drive isn't far. I pull into her lot and park my truck as my heart begins to pound and my hands start to sweat. I shouldn't be this nervous, I shouldn't even be here, but I am. I'm in this now, there's no turning back. Exhaling a heavy breath, I release the wheel and push my door open.
A cool breeze blows across my skin, sending a chill down my spine. It's a nice little complex, with a well-lit lot and manicured bushes. Her apartment is the first one on the corner, according to her father. He pointed it out in the picture I showed him.
I stop outside her door. Her front window is glowing, and there's another light on to my left. The light to my left goes off as a shadow crosses from one room to the next. My finger rests against the doorbell. Letting out a slow breath, I just push it.
It feels like I'm standing forever just waiting for her to answer, but in reality it's only a couple of seconds.
“Who is it?” she asks, her voice wary. It's dark out, and from the way she asks, I can hear a sliver of uncertainty in her tone.
“It's me,” I say.
The door inches open. Narissa peeks through the thin opening as the chain catches at full length. “Oliver?”
“Surprise.” I hold out my arms and smile.
She closes the door, and I can hear the sound of the chain as it slips it free. The door opens wide, and the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on is standing in front of me.
Narissa is in a tight pair of jeans and a silky orange sleeveless shirt. Her hair is crinkled with perfect tight curls that bounce across her shoulders. A hint of pink tints her cheeks, but I'm not sure if it's blush or if she's flustered that I'm here.
Her plump lips are coated in a clear gloss, and her eyelids are shaded with a light peach color. Bold black lashes fan her lids like petals blooming on a flower making the green from her eyes glow like emerald rocks.
She twists her toe into the floor as she holds the edge of the door in her hand. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you weren't feeling well, I came to see if you were alright.” Looking her up and down, I smirk. “I take it you're feeling better.” I say it as more of a question than a statement. But it's obvious to me she wasn't sick to begin with.
Narissa's cheeks turn red and she diverts her eyes to the inside of her apartment. “Uh, yeah, I'm better. It was just a bad headache, but it went away.” There's a tremble in her voice. She's trying to come up with the lie on the spot, and it isn't going so well.
“Good, I'm glad.” Taking a firm step forward, I place my hand on the door. “You going to invite me in?”
“You know my house isn't really clean, and I was planning on going to bed soon because I'm actually pretty tired.” She yawns, a big fake yawn and waves her hand in front of her face. “It's getting kind of late.”
“It's eight thirty.” My eyes stay on hers as I take another step forward. “I don't care if your place is a mess. You should see my place.” Giving the door a light shove with my shoulder, Narissa takes a long step back as I invite myself in.
I'm not leaving without finding out what's going on with her. She's been hot and cold with me. Flirting, touching, turning me on to the point I can't control myself. And then she's ice, pushing me away and trying to act like nothing's happened between us.
But I can't just pretend and go back to the life before her. Something happened to me the second I met her, acting like it didn't would just mean I'm lying to myself.
Why is she trying so hard to stay away from me?
There's no need for her to hide and make up lies. We're both adults. If she doesn't want this to go any further, she just needs to say it.
“You know what, I'm sorry. Forget all about what I said. I'll help you finish the cabinets, all right? We can go to the house tomorrow, or right now if you want. I don't mind. Let's go, I'm ready.” Narissa reaches for her jacket, but I brush her off as I look around her place.
“It's too late for that,” I say. My eyes scan her walls, and there are so many pictures.
Drawing after drawing of women in large puffy dresses and big feather hats. Men in three piece suits with tall leather boots and what looks like scarfs around their necks. Some of the women have huge pearl necklaces and fancy lace fans. Their hair is pulled back with long curls that dangle over their shoulders.
“What are these?” I ask, examining one at a time.
“Oh, those, they're nothing, just some artwork I've done. It's just a hobby, that's all.”
“They're really good. Who are these people?”
“It's called fanfiction.”
“Fan—what?”
“Fanfiction. These are all characters from Bridgerton.” I give her a curious look, because I have no idea what she's talking about. “It's just a stupid hobby I have, that's all. Nothing special.”
I'm impressed. The pictures look almost real. Some are just sketched and shaded in pencil, others look like they're done with water paints.
“One thing these are not is stupid. They're really good,” I say. “I have no idea what Bridgerton is, but you're an amazing artist.”
“Yeah, I knew by the look on your face you had no clue, but thanks.” I get a nice smile from her as she dips her head and pushes a few curls behind her ear. “But these are nothing compared to some of my friends’.”
“I'd love to see theirs too. Maybe one day I'll get to meet some of your friends, and I can check out what they've done. As someone who works with his hands, I can appreciate this kind of stuff.”
Narissa rolls her shoulders slightly as if she's shying away. “Uh, yeah, maybe.” She dismisses the conversation. “So,” she says quickly, “I'm glad you came by to check on me. That was nice of you.”
“Sure, no problem. When you said you weren't feeling good, I figured it was the right thing to do.”
She leans back against the wall, placing her hands in front her waist as her fingers roll and fumble around each other. “I'm good now though, so you don't need to stay.”
“You want to go for a walk?” I ask. “I mean, since you're feeling better.”
“I don't know.”
“Come on, I know the park across the street pretty well.”
Her eyes shift between mine. I can see her thinking. She's debating what to do. Wondering if it's a good idea or not. Trying to weigh her options against whatever the hell she's feeling.
Just say yes.
“It's just a walk, that's it.” I don't want her over-analyzing what I'm asking her to do. I'm not trying to push her to do something crazy. I just want to get her to relax and talk to me a little.
“All right,” she agrees. Narissa slips her feet into a pair of flats and goes to her door. “A short walk.”
“That's fine. I just want a chance to talk to you, is all.”
Narissa pulls the door open and smirks. “Am I in trouble or something?”
“No,” I say with a chuckle. “I want to get to know you better. I mean, I know your dad pretty well, and I haven't nearly spent as much time with him. You and I worked side by side for days, and I realize I don't know anything about you.”
“Why does it matter? I'm done anyway. I did my part, I helped you. You don't need me anymore.”
“Who says I don't need you?” Quirking a brow, I keep my eyes on hers.
She's quiet, her eyes drifting around my face as she tries to read me. I hold her gaze for a moment, letting her try to figure me out. Her lids lower, l
ips thinning into a tight line as her head tilts slightly.
She has no idea. Giving her a big smile and a wink, I step past her onto the stoop. Narissa closes her door and follows me down the steps. Tucking my hands in my pockets, I look up at the sky.
We walk in silence through the lot, our feet clicking on the ground in tandem and echoing between the cars around us. The grass is damp, covered in a slick coat of water from the sprinklers.
“I love this little park.”
“The flowers are pretty. I come out here to draw sometimes.” Narissa points to the bench surrounded by flowers. “Right over there. I like feeling like I'm sitting in the flowers.”
I reach out and take her hand. “This way, I want to show you something.” Guiding her through the park, we walk around the small pond and over a little bridge to a gazebo sitting alone in the middle of a field.
“See this,” I say, slapping one of the thick beams. “This is what got me the job with your father.”
“This?” she asks. “Why this?”
“Because I made it.”
“You made this?” Narissa releases her hand from mine and steps up inside.
“Yeah. I showed your father a picture of it, and it sold him on hiring me. It's also how I know where you live. You might want to tell him not to point out your house to people in pictures.”
She giggles and shakes her head. “I'll have to tell him that. I was wondering how you knew.” Sitting on the bench that wraps the entire perimeter of the gazebo, she grips the seat and kicks her legs back and forth. “It's beautiful.”
“It took me a long time to get it right. A lot of details and small chisel work that took hours. My hands looked like they were chewed up in a woodchipper by the time I was done.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes when I'm working on a piece of art, my hands take a beating. I get blisters and my skin gets stained from oil paints or pastels. But when you're into something that much, you just don't feel it.”
“Exactly. I think I still have splinters.” I chuckle as I look down at my hands. “That's why my hands are rough like sandpaper. I work them hard.”