Totally Inevitable Intent

by Michele Lenard

  “Hey, what’s up? You seem kinda quiet,” Colt observes. “I mean, you’re generally quiet but even more so now. Are you worried I won’t like it or something?” He seems genuinely concerned, which is maybe why I answer instead of brushing him off.

  “Well, that’s always a concern, but that’s not what I was thinking about.”

  He gives me a once over. “I get it. It’s a woman, right?”

  “What?” I blink. Am I that transparent? Shit, the last thing I want is for Colt to be worried that I’m preoccupied with something other than his reno.

  “Yeah, I know that look,” he eggs me on. “I’ve seen some of my teammates with it. Who is she?”

  “Just a client.” I rub my jaw.

  “I doubt it.” He snorts. “No one looks like that over a client. Does she have a project going on now, too?”

  I nod.

  “And you’re wondering what’s going on at her job site, aren’t you?”

  “Well yes, but because my son is running it,” I explain.

  “Sure.” He smirks. “So, what’s she got going on? A backyard, a kitchen?”

  “A flip, actually.”

  Colt whistles. “Sounds interesting. You put your son in charge of that? No offense but you can’t have a kid older than, what, eighteen at most?”

  “That’s pretty much what she said, too,” I admit, fighting a smile at the memory. “But Wes has been working for me for years, and it’s a small flip. I’m sure he’s got it covered.”

  “If your kid is so good, why isn’t he on my project?” Colt frowns.

  “Oh, he’d like to be, trust me.” I grin. “But you’re kind of a hero to him and his teammates, so I worry that he’d be more distracted here with you than on a pretty standard flip. Besides,” I add, “this is not a simple project, and I don’t trust anyone to oversee it but me.”

  “I can respect that,” Colt says. “So you’ve got a crew of young football players?”

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  “Well, if they want to ‘work,’” he puts it in air quotes, “here for a day, I’m cool with it. It’s nice to talk to young players about the game.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure they’d like that.”

  “So back to this girl,” Colt says. “What’d she do to put that look on your face?”

  “What look?”

  “The one that’s part scared, part confused, and part enamored.” He grins.

  “Enamored?”

  “Hey, just cause I play football doesn’t mean my vocabulary is limited to words with two syllables. I was a journalism major in college.”

  “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.” I exhale. “I didn’t realize I had any look on my face, much less one like that. I guess I’m sort of out of practice with women, and I don’t know what to think or what to do.”

  “A good-looking guy like you out of practice? Seriously?” He balks.

  “It’s a long story,” I admit, hoping he’ll let me leave it at that.

  “Okay, well, is she cool?”

  “I guess, yeah. I mean, she’s smart and funny.” I shrug.

  “And she’s hot?”

  “Very.”

  “And does she like you?”

  “I don’t know. I think, maybe.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m not sure if I’m ready."

  Colt whistles. “You must have a long story. Look, I’m no expert, but I do know when a guy has that look on his face, he’s usually more ready than he thinks.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s true in the locker room. A guy gets that look on his face and next thing you know he’s living with a girl or married to her.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask him.

  “I think it means you should stop overthinking shit and just go out with her.”

  “What do I tell my son, though? He’s never seen me date anyone.”

  “Overthinking, man.” Colt laughs. “It’s just a date. You don’t have anything to tell him yet, so don’t sweat that. I’m gonna hit the gym. Training camp starts in six weeks, and I don’t want the rookies showing me up on the first day.”

  “Am I supposed to believe you’re out of shape?” I ask him. “You practically tackled me with a friendly slap on the back.”

  “I’m never out of shape but only cause I don’t let myself go completely during the off-season. Remember.” He points to his head and laughs. “This muscle is not atrophied.”

  I snort in response. The guy seems like a happy goofball, but he’s obviously not one to take himself or the game for granted. I can appreciate that. Still not sure I should take his advice about women, he doesn’t exactly have a reputation for lasting relationships, but I can’t deny that all I’ve done recently is think, and maybe that’s my problem.

  ***

  I sit at my desk reviewing invoices and work orders to make sure everything’s on track. This is my least favorite part of owning a business. I always hated anything that kept me stationary, which is why I wanted to follow in my dad’s footsteps and do more than just sit at a desk. But the more work we take on, the less time I get to spend on the project sites. I hadn’t really bargained on that when my dad retired and I took things over.

  Katie would have pointed out the trade-offs I get in exchange for doing things I don’t love to do, like picking my own projects and setting my own schedule. Jen would probably tell me even adults have homework. Then they’d both jump in and help. I rub my eyes, trying to get rid of the voices.

  It doesn’t help that I’ve been hearing voices all day long. Well, one voice, anyway. I might not have been there, but I could imagine every sound, every look, every movement Jen made throughout the day. I’d barely been able to concentrate on my own job because my mind kept drifting to what was happening on hers, whether she was smiling about some feat she’d accomplished, whether her eyes sparkled as she pictured the finished product. Whether her perfect, round ass was lifted in the air as she picked something up or her top pulled across her breasts as she stretched.

  Holy shit—I’m imagining how sexy she looks on the job site, which I’ve staffed with a half dozen horny teenagers. What was I thinking? Should I say something to Jen about what she wears to the house? No. Definitely not. She’s not the kind of woman who alters her appearance for anyone, and asking her to would probably earn me the cold shoulder at best, a slap at worst. Maybe I should say something to the guys about being respectful? No. If it got back to Jen, I’d still be the bad guy. Maybe I need to spend more time there, just to make sure everything is okay.

  I should’ve done that anyway, today being the first day and all. But I chickened out. Each of the past few times I’ve seen Jen, I’ve ended up touching her without meaning to, and once I realized it, the heat between us was so overwhelming I could barely think straight. This morning was the perfect example. I have no business working on an arbor, but “yes” was out of my mouth before I consciously decided to say it. That seems to happen a lot around Jen. I keep getting closer to her despite my better judgement, and the more it happens, the more I think I like it.

  All right, that’s a lie. I like it. I like her. But that doesn't erase all the obstacles in my way. I know I’m overthinking this, just like Colt said, but when my decisions will affect my son, I can’t make them without taking him into consideration. So yeah, I like her, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to do something about it.

  I’m still staring at my computer, no closer to finishing my work than I was when I sat down nearly a half hour ago, when Wes pops in.

  “How’d it go today?” I ask.

  “Great. We opened the drywall in the bathrooms so the plumber has access, and we cleared a lot of debris out of the yard so we can plant grass seed this week. Plus, we got all the cabinet doors in the garage for Jen so she can start to paint.”

  “What color did she pick?”

  “A light gray. She’s pretty excited about it.”

  “Of course, she ge
ts excited about everything.” I chuckle to myself.

  “Yeah, she does.” Wes laughs. “She even gets excited about football.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Yeah. Turns out she’s a huge fan of the Stallions. She’s up on all the players, what moves the team has been making in the off season. She knows her stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “You didn’t know?” Wes frowns.

  “Football hasn’t come up. Except that you play.”

  “Oh. Well, I told her all about our team this year. She knows a little about that since her daughter goes to Rocky Mountain Academy also, but she hasn’t been to any of our games. She said she’d come this season, though.”

  “Sawyer goes to your school?” I gape.

  “Her daughter? Yeah. She’ll be a sophomore, I think. Anyway, she knows tons about the game. She even suggested I do yoga or Pilates to help with my core strength and balance, because when I scramble, having good balance will help me throw even if my feet aren’t set. Plus, she said those exercises are good for preventing injuries since they get your muscles all stretched out.”

  “Don’t you stretch at practice?” I ask.

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t think it’s the same. We don’t spend a whole hour stretching. She showed me a few stretches that I felt in muscles I didn’t know I had. Then I showed the guys, and we all agreed it felt pretty good.”

  “It’s a wonder you got any work done if you spent so much time stretching,” I grumble.

  “Don’t worry, we’re not behind schedule or anything. But it was nice to have fun on a job site. Jen’s pretty cool. We all like working for her.”

  “Just don’t forget that you’re there to work,."

  “Yeah, I know.” He groans.

  I start to go back to my spreadsheets but notice him standing in the doorway, his habit when he has something he wants to say but isn’t sure how to say it. “What’s on your mind?”

  Wes rubs his chin. “I like her, Pop."

  “Okay. I’m glad you do,” I say cautiously, not sure where this is going.

  “I think you like her, too."

  “Well, sure. As far as clients go…”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Wes says.

  I take a deep breath, contemplating my options. Wes has never broached the subject of women with me before, and for the life of me, I have no idea what to do next.

  “Look, forget she’s a client,” Wes says. “I’ve seen you smile more in the last month than I’ve ever see you do. That’s because of her, isn’t it?”

  “I…I.”

  “I think it is.” Wes talks over my stuttering. “Look, I don’t know why you’ve never really dated since Mom died, and I’m not asking you to tell me. But I am asking you to let yourself be happy, and I think Jen might make you happy, if you let her.”

  I stare at Wes, dumbfounded. Did my son actually just give me permission to date someone? Is he encouraging that? It feels so wrong to be having this conversation with Wes, but at the same time I feel relieved.

  “What do you mean if I let her?” I ask slowly, wanting to be absolutely sure I understand him.

  “I’m saying don’t be scared of her,” Wes states.

  “Scared?”

  “Yeah. I saw how you practically ran away from her this morning, so I’m guessing it feels weird to be interested in someone after all this time. But try not to get weirded out. I think she likes you, too.”

  “Why would you think that?” I hope to God I sound merely curious and not eager by asking that, but the way my pulse suddenly spikes, I’m not sure I pull it off. What the hell is wrong with me? Not only am I talking about dating with my teenage son, I’m sounding like a fool to boot.

  “I’m seventeen, Pop, not blind. I’ve watched ladies make googly eyes at you almost my whole life. I learned a long time ago what that look meant. You never paid attention to it before. It never scared you before, either. Something’s different now. Don’t ignore it.”

  “Are you saying Jen makes googly eyes at me?”

  “I’m saying you make them at each other,” Wes says pointedly.

  Oh crap. It took Wes all of ten minutes to recognize what I’ve been trying to deny for months. Clearly, I’m not as adept at playing it cool as I thought.

  My phone beeps, and I check the screen to find about a half dozen images of arbors from Jen. I should’ve known she’d want to get started on this right away, even though I told her I couldn’t. I can’t stop the grin pulling at my lips—the woman is constantly in motion and pulling me along with her.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Wes says knowingly.

  “Yeah.” I rub my jaw. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” I tell him. Then I stare at my phone, paralyzed.

  “Pop?” Wes prods after a minute.

  I look up to find him staring at me expectantly. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. Between realizing my feelings for Jen aren’t going away and my son calling me out about it, I’m stumped.

  “Don’t run,” Wes says as he walks out the door. I look at my phone, my hands shaking. I can’t even begin to process what just happened, and I will definitely need time to do that later. I mean, holy shit, I know Wes is smart, but I never realized he’s wise. Wiser than I am.

  I read the text from Jen.

  Jen: I did my homework tonight.

  I take a dep breath. Here goes nothing.

  Me: I didn’t give you a due date.

  Jen: I don’t like to have assignments hanging over my head.

  Me: There’s only half a dozen looks here. I figured you’d have a whole binder.

  Jen: Who said these were the only images I found?

  Me: If you send any more, you’ll just confuse me. None of these look alike.

  Jen: I didn’t mean to overwhelm your delicate mind. Do you need an interpreter?

  Me: Yes.

  Jen: I like the size of the first two, the pattern of the middle four, and the colors of the last two. Does that simplify things?

  Me: Considerably.

  Jen: Can you work with these?

  Me: Yes.

  Jen: Thank you. BTW, Wes and his friends are great. They’re really well spoken, and they helped satisfy my football fix. I don’t get to do that often.

  Me: Well, you teach second grade, right?

  Jen: I wasn’t talking about my students.

  Me: Sawyer?

  Jen: Yes.

  Me: She’s not into football?

  Jen: She blames football for consuming all her dad’s time, and she resents that I don’t hate it, too.

  Me: Sounds unfair.

  Jen: It is. Football isn’t the root of her father’s shortcomings. But it’s easier to blame his absence on that than to blame the man himself.

  Me: I meant it sounds unfair to you.

  Jen: I’m a big girl.

  Me: I know.

  Jen: Hmm, that could have a lot of different meanings. Which did you intend?

  Me: I wouldn’t bet against you, no matter what you’re up against.

  Jen: That might just be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

  Me: I mean it.

  Jen: I believe you.

  Me: Good.

  Jen: Will you be by the house tomorrow?

  Me: Yes.

  Jen: Good. See you tomorrow. Night.

  Me: Night.

  I put my phone down and slump into my chair, exhausted. I know it wasn’t much of a conversation, but it felt more significant than flirting, although admittedly I’m out of practice in that area. But I feel like the exchange was meaningful, and it gives me another glimpse of just how strong Jen really is, which as a fellow single parent, I admire.

  I know what it’s like for a child to be without a parent, but Wes has never doubted what his mother felt for him, and it sounds like that’s a feeling Sawyer doesn’t have. I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like if Wes had that hanging over his head. Being without her left a void, but
at least Wes and I both know that wasn’t her choice. We can be grateful for that. I wish there was a way to give Jen that same comfort.

  The familiar tightness creeps into my chest. I’m starting to let myself think about Jen in ways I haven’t allowed myself to think of anyone since Katie. But something about that ache is different now. It used to be a stabbing pain, the agony of being without Katie outweighing the memory of good times with her. Now it's more of a dull ache. That scares me because it's unfamiliar, but for the first time in years I'm starting to think that unfamiliar isn't inherently bad.

  Chapter 11

  Jen

  Something is different. Our text exchange didn’t have the same business-as-usual ring to it. Anthony was almost talkative. I mean, he didn’t end the conversation when it branched beyond work like he usually did, which I assume is his version of talkative. What brought on the change?

  Oh my God—I bet it was Wes. Either Wes snagged Anthony’s phone and I was just texting him or Wes had the same conversation with his dad that he had with me. Either way, I am so not comfortable. I really don’t want a teenage kid meddling in my relationship, or lack thereof, with his father, no matter how good his intentions might be, especially now that I know the truth about why Anthony is the way he is.

  If Wes is right, then I’m not misreading Anthony when I feel he looks at me with interest. But if Anthony isn’t ready, then a push from his kid can very well derail whatever interest he may have. And since the part of me that’s still leery about relationships is being overtaken by the part of me that finds him interesting and daydreams about jumping his bones, I do not want him pushed past his comfort zone.

  The front door bangs shut, and Sawyer pads into the room. It’s better than stomping, but that doesn’t make it a good sign.

  “Have a nice dinner?” I ask.

  “I guess,” she mumbles.

  “Was it just the two of you?”

  “Yeah. Dad’s girlfriend had class or something.”

  “Another student, huh?”

  “Grad student, I think, so at least she’s got closer to ten years on me than five.” Sawyer shrugs. I snort.

  “It’s not funny. You have no idea what it’s like to know your dad is dating people young enough to be your sister.”