Totally Inevitable Intent

by Michele Lenard

  “Don’t pretend. You think its corny.” Lisa smiles back.

  “Yeah, I do.” I laugh. “But guys usually make corny romantics. Doesn’t mean they aren’t sweet.”

  “True.” She beams.

  “Congratulations.” I hug her.

  “Thanks.” She hugs me back. “So, um, I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor?” Lisa bites her lip.

  “Of course.” I hug her again. “But only because you’re too sweet to turn into a bridezilla.”

  “Oh gosh.” A flash of panic crosses her face. “I hadn’t even thought about that. If I start acting weird, you have to stop me.”

  “I already told you, it’s not in your nature. You’ll be fine. Hey?” I wonder aloud. “Is it maid or matron? I have been married.”

  “I don’t know.” Lisa shrugs. “I’m not good with this stuff. I think you’re supposed to be married currently to be a matron.”

  “Let’s go with that, then. Matron makes me sound old.”

  “Okay, maid it is, then.” Lisa laughs.

  “Perfect. So if you’re already collecting bridesmaids, I assume you’ve got some idea of when this will take place?”

  “We’re thinking September. It’ll probably be small enough to have at his house, and since the leaves should be changing, the views would be amazing.”

  A light bulb goes off in my head, and I try not to let it show, because I don’t want to tip my hand too soon. “On the deck or in the yard?” I ask. I’ve only been to Chris’s once, when I helped Lisa move several weeks ago, but I can already envision what I want to do.

  “I hadn’t really thought that far yet. I guess the ceremony would be in the yard, but the reception could be throughout the whole house if we wanted.”

  “Good. Definitely have the ceremony in the yard. You could walk down the steps from the deck like you’re one of Chris’s stars descending to earth.”

  Lisa swats at me. “You’re just as corny as he is.”

  “I can’t help it. It was too easy a shot not to take.” I throw my hands up. “But seriously, it’d be a really pretty entrance.”

  “That does sound nice,” Lisa agrees.

  “Crap!” I exclaim. “It’s almost June. That doesn’t give me lots of time to do maid-of-honor stuff. Hurry and help me with the house. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can work on your wedding.”

  “I’m not expecting you to work on my wedding."

  “I know you aren’t, but I’m going to. Showers and parties, anyway.”

  “I don’t want showers and parties."

  “Yes, you do. Don’t worry, I won’t go overboard, but we have to do something.”

  “You’re already scaring me.” Lisa looks at me apprehensively. Her idea of fun is a good dinner and a movie. Or it had been. Now it’s probably a good dinner and hot sex. But this is not an occasion I’m going to let her miss.

  “I’ll give you final approval, but that’s my only offer,” I say.

  “Okay, fine. I know better than to argue with you.”

  “Good girl. Now I need your opinion on the house.” I show her my countertop and backsplash samples and a few paint swatches I picked up to match each. They’re grouped in the way I’d put them so she can see what fits together. Lisa looks over each of them, not paying particular attention to any just taking them all in. Perfect.

  “I don’t really know what I’m looking at,” Lisa admits. “I mean, they all look good. How am I supposed to pick?”

  “You just did,” I say.

  “What? How?”

  “You didn’t wrinkle your nose or grimace or bite your lip or any other tell you make when you aren’t sure about something. So you don’t hate any of them. That’s good enough.”

  “Okay…but I didn’t actually pick anything.”

  “But I did, and since you didn’t object to any of them, it means I did okay.”

  Lisa blinks a few times in disbelief. “Well, are you going to show me?”

  I point to the black counter with the earthy veins running through it. “This is my counter. If you look closely, it has veins of brown, cream, and a little gray. The cream seems too bright next to it, though, so I’m going to paint the cabinets a light gray to pull out those veins. Then I’ll do this backsplash.” I point to a large rectangular tile that’s black with similar, albeit more subtle, brown and gray veining. “It’s black, which sounds like it’d be dark, but the cabinets will brighten in. Plus, since it’s got black and brown and cream and gray, the new owners can pick virtually any color furniture and it would match.”

  “Sounds great.” Lisa nods. “I’m so glad I could be of assistance.”

  “Hey, you were.” I give her a little side hug. “I felt pretty good about my decision, but I wanted to make sure someone else did, too.”

  “Yes, but why would you need my opinion? I’m hardly a designer.”

  “Duh, that’s the point. You represent the average buyer. You didn’t object to anything I picked. Translation, I picked things that would be acceptable to the average buyer.”

  “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or impressed by your thought process.”

  “Impressed. Definitely impressed. Now let’s go get lunch before I have to turn you back over to your fiancé.”

  ***

  I pull up to the house to find it already bustling with activity. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure about Anthony’s son and his friends doing the work, but so far at least they’re punctual, and I choose to take that as a good sign. I venture inside and find Anthony in the kitchen, talking to his spitting image. Although a few inches taller, and with slightly lighter hair and eyes, they could pass for brothers. Anthony spots me and motions for me to join them.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I cross the room under his watchful gaze. Damn. We haven’t spoken since the shopping trip several days ago, the one where we wound up holding hands, neither one of us seeming to realize how it happened or what to do about it. For my part, I loved the feel of my hand in his, like I belonged to him. It’s been so long since I belonged to anyone, it made me feel as giddy as a teenager sneaking a kiss in the hallway between classes. But since he jammed his hands in his pockets at the earliest opportunity, I'm pretty sure he didn’t feel the same. Although the way he looks at me is certainly at odds with the way he acts, so what do I know? I’ve been out of this dating game for a while. Maybe this is how things progress nowadays. With more confidence than I feel, I plaster a smile on my face and make my way toward them.

  “Jen, this is my son Wes. Wes, Jen.” I shake Wes’s outstretched hand.

  “Nice to meet you. Your dad says my house is in good hands with you and your friends.” I smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wes says.

  “Polite, too.” I raise my eyebrows at Anthony then turned back to Wes. “But I’m not that formal. Call me Jen.”

  “Yes, ma…Jen,” he amends.

  Anthony turns to me. “Wes knows everything that needs to get done. He’ll start with removing the cabinet doors and putting them in the garage. I think you can paint them in there.”

  I nod, trying not to get too distracted by the muscular forearms gesturing around the room.

  “We’ve got plumbing and electric scheduled for later this week, and Wes will be here to coordinate,” he continues, all business. “Once those are finished, we can reconfigure the cabinets and set the island, then we’ll measure for countertops. Did you pick your materials?”

  “Yes,” I say, trying to catch his eye, which he’s obviously avoiding. Is that because of me or because his son is here?

  “Okay.” He turns to Wes. “Call me if you need anything.” He nods at me and starts for the door.

  “Excuse me real quick.” I smile to Wes and chase after Anthony, catching him just before he climbs in his truck.

  “Hey, how do you feel about wood?” I blurt.

  A flash of heat sweeps across Anthony’s eyes, right before they bulge in surprise.

  “I…wha
t?” He pauses, one foot in the door.

  “Do you like wood?” I repeat. I’m not trying to put him on the spot, but it’s pretty clear where his mind went, so I can’t help it.

  “I’m not…what are you asking?”

  “I’m asking if you like wood as a material to work with? Why? What did you think I was asking?” I wonder if I can get him to say it.

  “It’s the most common building material there is.” He rubs his jaw. Chicken, I think to myself.

  “Not lumber. Wood, as in tree branches.”

  “Tree branches?”

  “For an arbor.”

  “An arbor?”

  “Am I not speaking loud enough? Why do you keep repeating everything I say?”

  “I’m not repeating. I’m clarifying. I don’t know why you’d want an arbor.” He takes his foot out of the truck and faces me.

  “For a wedding, of course.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’re getting married?” His eyes grow dark.

  “I’m flattered you think someone would want to tie themselves to the middle-aged mother of a teenager, but no, not me. Can you help?”

  “You want me to help you build an arbor?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

  “I think it would make a great wedding present for Chris and Lisa, don’t you? One that could be part of the yard forever.”

  “Chris and Lisa are engaged?” He frowns.

  “Yep. Just happened the other day. They’re thinking a wedding at his house. I need a wedding gift, and I think an arbor would be perfect, but that’s a little above my skill set.”

  Anthony stands silently, staring at the ground as he absently rubs his jaw.

  “If you can’t, that’s fine, but Chris said you like working with different materials, so I thought you might be able to help. But there are other options. Maybe a prefab one.” I turn to walk away, but he reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me back to face him. My hormones like that.

  “I can help,” he says. “I just don’t know when. I’m juggling several things already.” My hand is still cradled in his, although I’m not sure he realizes it. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to say something. Do something. “When do you need it?”

  “Not until the fall. Sometime in September.”

  “Okay.” He nods, more to himself than to me. “Send me pictures of what you have in mind.”

  “Thank you!” I squeeze his hand, which seems to make him realize he’d been holding it in the first place. He abruptly drops it.

  “I’ve got to get to the next job site.” He climbs into the truck and pulls the door closed, nodding at me briefly through the window before he drives off.

  I trudge back inside, feeling both excited and pissed at the same time. Why does that man alternate between interested and terrified? The back and forth is becoming tedious, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the effort, mysterious dark eyes be damned. I mean, a little bit of back and forth is fine, but we’ve moved past flirtation a few times, each of which ultimately ended with him disappearing in a puff of smoke. There’s nothing fun about a guy who bolts just minutes after we share a nice moment. In fact, it’s downright cruel, and I don’t do cruel.

  “He likes you, you know,” Wes offers as I walk into the kitchen where he’s unscrewing the hinges on the cabinets.

  “He who? What?” I stutter.

  “My dad. He likes you.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I like him, too. He’s been a big help.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Wes looks at me pointedly.

  “Oh,” I say, at a loss for words. Wait, I’m never at a loss for words. My eyes dart around the room, trying to find anything to look at that would absolve me from Wes’s gaze. This conversation is not on the agenda for today. Or ever, with Anthony’s son.

  Wes laughs. “Can I assume you like him, too?”

  “I’ve got to confess, I’m not sure I should be talking to you about this.” I look around for Wes’s friends, but we’re the only two in the kitchen. They must be working in the yard. “I mean, we just met, and you’re kind of like an employee, and we’re talking about your dad. I feel like there’s a rule against that. It seems wrong on so many levels.”

  “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Wes assures me. “Actually, I wanted to thank you for making him smile. He hasn’t done that in a long time.”

  “He smiles?” I balk, totally forgetting about the boundary I just tried to set. “When?”

  “That was you texting him the other morning, right?”

  “Um, yeah, I did send him a few texts.”

  “Well, whatever you said made him smile.”

  “Huh?” I wonder aloud.

  “I think you remind him of her.” Wes moves to the next cabinet.

  “Of whom?”

  “My mom.”

  “Oh, really? Well, that’s great. Because every woman likes to think she reminds a man of someone else. Oh my God.” I smack my head. “I can’t believe I just said that. I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

  Wes smiles, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks eerily like his dad right now. “That didn’t come out right. You don’t look anything like her, and while I don’t remember her all that well, I don’t think you act like her, either.”

  “If I don’t look or act like her, how can I possibly remind him of her?” I object.

  “Not her exactly, just how he felt with her. He was happy.”

  “So you’re saying he’s not happy now?” I frown.

  “He has moments, sure. He enjoys coming to my football games and when he goes out with friends once in a while. He even enjoys work. But I wouldn’t say he’s been happy. Until recently. His eyes aren’t as dark when he comes home. He smiles some. He actually laughed the other day. That all started around the time he met you.”

  As Wes’s words sink in, I feel a knot form in the pit of my stomach. “Why don’t you remember her? Your mom?” I sit next to him on the floor, sensing that he’s about to reveal something painful.

  “She died.” He focuses on the cabinet in front of him.

  I feel my jaw drop and try to recover before Wes sees it. A million questions race through my mind. How? When? What do I do or say? But I have no right to ask any of them. “I’m…I’m so sorry"

  “You didn’t know?” He eyes me curiously.

  “No,” I whisper. “Your dad never said anything.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. It’s still painful for him. I think that’s why he’s sort of scared of you.”

  “You noticed that, too?”

  “Sure, I did. He likes you, but he’s been alone a long time. He doesn’t know what to do.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, Wes, I don’t know what to do, either.” I offer a weak smile.

  “You’re doing it already.” He looks at me, his eyes almost pleading. “Just don’t give up on him.”

  “Okay.” I nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to show themselves, because the last thing Wes or I need is for this to get any more emotional than it already is. I take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s get these cabinets to the garage.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiles. “Jen.”

  Chapter 10

  Anthony

  Colt slaps me on the back by way of greeting, and even though at six foot I’m a pretty big guy, it still has me fighting to maintain my balance. If this is how he greets his friends, it’s no wonder he’s such a machine on the field.

  “How’s it goin’?” Colt asks. “I gotta admit I see all this stuff piled here and I have no idea how you’re gonna make it look good, but I know you will.”

  I take in the pallets of stone, concrete, and sand, not to mention the backhoe, the Bobcat, and half a dozen other tools, and I understand where he’s coming from. Renovations fall into the category of “it gets worse before it gets better,” and right now it definitely looks worse. It’s one of the reasons many people elect not to live through a renovation if they ca
n help it.

  “We will,” I assure him.

  At least, I think we will, though admittedly this project is a bit of a challenge for me. Colt has freely admitted that he’s not a design guy and doesn’t really have a preference about what he wants, so he’s given me free reign to do whatever I think best, as long as it has all his required elements, like a pool and outdoor kitchen, and is totally custom. I get it, the guy doesn’t want to see his backyard in someone else’s house, but that’s easier said than done.

  Some materials don’t work outdoors in Colorado, so right off the bat we have a limit to what we can work with. Then there’s landscaping, because again certain plants work better at altitude than others. That means the customization has to include features other people aren’t likely to have. I’ve equipped the kitchen with a pizza oven, a wet bar, and TVs, not exactly original, but I’m hoping the live edge wood bar top I ordered will make it stand out, especially against the black granite counters over the stainless cabinets framed by engineered stone. I’ve also designed the bottom of the pool floor to have a stallion carved into it, which will be distinguished by a tile inlay, so it blends with the rest of the floor but is still distinct. Then it will spill over a waterfall edge to the tier below where there will be additional seating and firepits. I’ve never seen anything like it, so I’m hopeful he’ll approve. When clients give you free reign, you never quite know how they’ll react until things are done.

  “I know it’ll be great.” Colt smiles. “I saw the basement you did at Shane’s house, and it was epic.”

  “Thanks.” I recall the wet bar we put in with the onyx countertops, backlit from a strip of LED lights running below that illuminated the whole space with a warm glow. It had been one of my favorite projects. I rub my jaw, hoping he’ll love the end result here just as much. Dammit, Jen’s right. I really do do that too much.

  The moment my mind drifts to Jen, I start thinking about her and her project, wondering how things are going, what kind of trouble she might be getting herself into, because someone as eager as she is with a set of tools might have a terrible result.