“Mostly. He’s still too quick to throw a punch, but he works for me now and stays out of trouble. What about you?”
He asks the question I’m prepared for everyone in town to ask and I try out my predetermined backstory.
Recently broken up — true.
Needed a change of scenery — true.
Through his hums and ahs I worry Ridge sees through the parts I leave out, but he doesn’t call me on anything. I’d love to sit at the table and grill him for more information on his family, but I don’t plan to share more about mine. It’s better to not know his than to delve into my history.
**
The dishes clatter in the sink as I toss in the silverware on top of them. I add “wash dishes” to my mental to-do list. I’d forgotten Gertie didn’t believe in dishwashers. “Nothing in that box will scrub plates,” she’d always say while filling up the white country sink with sudsy water.
Ridge has his coat back on, hiding the big broad chest I’d gotten to admire during dinner. He lingers by the back door.
“Don’t forget to eat your cookie before you leave.” I toss him one of the plastic wrapped fortune cookies.
I break apart my cookie and reveal the fortune. My face puckers as I read the nonsense. Come on, cookie, can’t you give me words of encouragement? Crap about new beginnings or shit.
“What’d yours say?” he asks, cracking open his own.
“Behind an able man. There are always.” I shrug. “Who the hell knows what that means. You get anything better?”
He laughs and sticks a piece of cookie in his mouth while unfolding the paper and flipping it over. His eyes narrow as he reads, his head shaking when his eyes meet mine. “Nope. More nonsense.” Ridge stuffs the fortune and wrapper in his pocket before I can offer to throw them out for him.
“Chen’s needs to work on their cookies.” I toss my papers in the trash.
“I’ll tell them the next time I stop by.” He laughs, a deep chuckle.
“Hey,” I call out before he leaves. “Can I have my key?”
He pulls his heavy key ring from his pocket and after a moment of finagling with it drops the silver key on the counter. “Sure.”
“How’d you get a key, anyway?” I’d like to know how mine was wrong.
He shrugs. “Gertie trusted me. And she locked herself out at least once a week but refused to let me install one of our systems. Said she wouldn’t let someone use cameras and technology to spy on her.”
Sounds exactly like Gertie.
“Night, Tabitha. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ridge says and then he’s out the door with barely a sound behind him.
I don’t remember a time I’ve ever been more excited for a tomorrow.
CHAPTER THREE
I race around the track, drop off another package, and hit the buzzer as I pass. The ding from the victory bells turns into a hard knock, and I peek around questioning where the noise comes from. It happens again, this time bringing me out of my dream, and I open my eyes to the dark room around me.
I’m wrapped up in the white quilt from the spare bedroom. It would make more sense to claim the master bedroom, but Gertie’s possessions are still in there, looking like she’ll return at any moment. This room feels like mine. It’s the one where I spent summers curled up in the thick comforter and propped against the light blue familiar walls reading a book.
The knocks come again, but this time there’s a male voice yelling from somewhere out front. “You up, Tabitha?”
It’s another three point four seconds before I recognize it as Ridge’s voice. Then I’m up and out of bed, tugging my brown hair back into a proper ponytail. I hightail it out of the bedroom to find him standing in my kitchen.
“How’d you get in here?” He gave me the key last night.
He holds up his massive key ring. “Gertie’s spare. I told you she lost her keys a lot. Nice shorts.” His eyes fall to the tiny lime green gym shorts I wore to bed last night.
Still partaking in my mini freak out, I notice the chill of the room and wrap my arms around my chest to help cover up the tiny spaghetti strap tank top. “Um. Yo… see.” I try to form words, but they come out a jumbled mess before I get it together. “Let me go change my clothes.”
“Don’t worry. I stopped by to drop off coffee since you’re sans pot. I’ll be in and out of town all day.”
“Lots of security business to take care of?” It’s then I notice the oversized white coffee mug sitting on the counter behind him. I practically lunge at it not at all concerned how it makes me appear. “What time is it?” My first sip is cautious and I breathe in the aroma of God’s brew.
“Five.”
My eyes widen. No wonder the house is dark. The sun isn’t even up yet. No one should get up before the sun. I turn the coffee mug to warm up my other hand and notice there’s writing on the side. “I drink coffee for your security” is written in thick black letters across the side.
“My dad’s idea of a joke. I didn’t know how you like it, but I have sugar or creamer too.”
“Me? No, I’m good.” I wave off his concern and take another sip the liquid still too hot to gulp like I want.
He laughs, but I’m too engrossed in my beverage to check if the skin around his eyes crinkled this time.
“Where are you going this early in the morning?” I ask.
“Here and there. I’ll be in Bay Harbor this afternoon. Your plans?”
“Oh this and that. Thought I’d pop into the hardware store and pick up new door locks.” Ridge looks down at his keys and frowns until I laugh at his expression. “I’m kidding. I do need to pick up paint, a few candles. Unpack my boxes.” A smart woman would change the locks, but I’m not overly smart when hot neighbors are involved.
“You know how to get to the hardware store?” he asks moving toward the door.
“Of course. I spent summers here, remember? Besides Pelican Bay is like four streets. It’s hard to get lost.” Let’s leave out the fact I did just that last night.
He laughs. “Have fun at the hardware store. Make sure you say hi to Mack, but don’t get too close. Half the town is in love with him and I’m willing to throw down if needed.” He stops half-way out the door. “If you need any help or anything comes up, call me. I left a card on the table.”
I pick up the black piece of card stock. His name, Ridge Jefferson, and a phone number are the single pieces of information written in a silver lettering. The back is empty. The door closes and I watch Ridge walk out of my back yard.
**
Pelican Bay Hardware looks like any small town hardware store. If you’ve never had the privilege of visiting one, picture white tile floors with rows and rows of various hardware items like screws, nails, and other… well, hardware shit. With spring on the way bags of mulch and dirt are piled up along the store front on Pine Street. I don’t spend much time in stores you can’t find in malls, so my description might lack a few key points.
A bell dings as I walk in, and the lights are brighter than the sky outside even though it’s past nine.
“Morning,” a husky thick voice calls out from behind a long customer service counter directly in front of the glass door.
I stop in my tracks a few steps into the building, overwhelmed by which way to turn.
“You look lost. What can I help you find?” The man from behind the counter stands beside me highlighting our height difference. Is everyone in this town tall? He must be at least 6’2”. His hair cut shorter on the sides, but longer on the top and swept to the left. There’s a hint of grey showing on the edges and around his ears. Is there an expression for a male version of a MILF? Father I’d like to fuck? FILF. It doesn’t have the same ring.
“Um. I’m looking for paint.” His bright blue eyes meet mine and he smiles down before leading me to the back of the store.
“Oh I also need to get a key copied.”
He stops us in front of a large paint display, the little pieces of colored paper sticking out and so
rted by color shades. “No problem. I’m Mack. Head back to the front desk once you pick colors and I’ll mix you up a gallon.”
I nod but keep my focus on the paint samples. So this is Mack? I totally see what Ridge meant when he said half the town loves him. For a man in his late fifties, he’s hot. I’d let him stir me up any time.
Half-way through selecting a nice calm blue color for the master bedroom, my phone goes crazy. Beeps and dings sound off one on top of the other. I reach into my back pocket and pull it out. My Facebook has blown up. Little f logos take up the entire top of my notifications row. There are nineteen missed calls. I don’t open it and see who.
I know.
Mario.
He’s called repeatedly every day since I left. The constant interruptions to my GPS app added to my frustrations and made it difficult to forget him.
“There’s signal here?” I yell the question back to Mack since we’re the only two in the store.
I turn and he’s rounding the shelves behind me. “Oh sure. It depends on the carrier, but when the weather conditions are right, the fog’s burned off for the morning, the moon’s in the East kind of thing, you can pick up a signal on this side of the store. It’s half the reason the young kids come in here to buy pop every day.”
Or ogle the hot guy. I don’t think everyone is here for the pop or cell signal. Either way I hope it works out well for his business.
My phone rings, Uncle Cracker, “You Make Me Smile” playing through the store. I really need to change the song. Mario is not that guy anymore. There’s no smiling when I remember him, only scowls. He’s more of a “No Scrubs” by TLC guy at this point.
“Important call?” he asks.
With my head tipped up, I try to lose my crabby expression. “No. Definitely not.” I swipe my fingers across the screen, turn the volume down, and stick the phone in my back pocket again. I’m ready to get home where I won’t need to worry about whatever Mario plans to say.
“Do you have the key you need copied?” Mack holds his hands out and I give him my entire key ring, lost in his gorgeous eyes. “How many do you need?”
“Um… two?” I don’t need copies at all, but it’s the first thing I think of. I could leave one on the counter for Mack. Tell him he can use it whenever. OMG. I must stop thinking of the hardware guy sexually. Hardware guy. I laugh quietly in the corner and go back to selecting the perfect shade of blue.
The silence and my mellow are crushed by the loud grinding saw-like noise of metal on metal. My god it could peel paint or put a person with hearing aids into a coma. It’s such a horrible obnoxious noise.
The piercing continues for another minute with a slight pause before starting up again. My ears ring when I approach the front desk area with my two paint samples. Sky blue for the bedroom and daisy yellow for the kitchen. There isn’t much to do and I hope a fresh coat of paint will brighten up my new house and make it feel like home.
“Just these two colors? Do you need any rollers or paint pans?”
I stare at Mack while I process his question. Since the house is the exact colors it was ten years ago, the odds of finding any of those supplies in Gertie’s basement are slim to none. “Probably.”
He chuckles and then turns behind him selecting two gallons of paint and putting them under the machine to add color before mixing them up in a shaker box. “I’ll grab you the essentials,” he says before walking out from his counter.
I trail him because… well… it seemed like the thing to do when someone offers to pick you out supplies. Ha-ha, supplies.
Wait.
That’s not even sexual. I mean I could make it sexual. I guess. If I really tried.
“Have you done much painting?”
“No.” I’m not sure I’ve ever painted anything that wasn’t part of high school art.
Mack nods his head at me like he expected the answer and then grabs an array of items off the shelf. “Well if you need any help, I have a son about your age. I’m sure he’d love to meet the pretty new girl in town.”
An instant blush steals my cheeks. Pretty. Mack called me pretty. “Oh well, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” What? Like anyone would have a better response given the circumstances.
“Make sure you do. Riley’s a good kid and I’m sure he’d have no complaints.” Mack sends me another smile and I watch the wall behind him while he scans my purchases.
Flustered, I grab my wallet and hurry to swipe my credit card. It’s a move borne from experience. I use my credit card to pay for everything. Of course it’s a credit card provided by Mario. The machine beeps a few hundred times announcing to Mack and thank god the empty store my credit-not-approved status. Duh. Mario would have removed my name from the credit cards immediately after reading my note. I don’t blame him.
It’s why I took the cash.
But it’s still embarrassing. No one wants to be called out by technology as broke. “I’m so sorry I’ll call the company,” I apologize to Mack with the lie.
“Do you have another card?”
Yes, but they were all provided by my ex. I thumb open the money portion of my wallet. To keep up appearances and all that crap. “I have cash.” I tucked away a few hundreds earlier this morning. The rest of the stash is hidden in a secret drawer of Gertie’s rolltop desk, a living room air duct, and a few other places through the house.
Mack hands me back less change than I expect from the hundred — I guess painting is expensive — and helps me load my purchases into the trunk of my car.
The drive home is simple. My phone vibrates for the last time as I cross over Main Street and I breathe a sigh of relief. There are three granola bars left from the box I purchased on my cross country road trip, and I gobble one down on the way. I’ll need groceries by tonight, but the chocolate covered granola should last me a few hours.
My tires crunch over the gravel in the driveway and I’m pulling a gallon of paint from the trunk before I notice the person sitting on my front porch.
“You need help with that?”
CHAPTER FOUR
I drop the can of paint, and it falls to the side and rolls under the back end of the car. With a hand on the top of the trunk, I brace, debating whether I need to make a run for it. A tall blonde hops off my porch, leaving the rocker she’d been sitting in wobbling from her sudden departure.
“I’ve got it. Thanks. I reach back into the trunk, curious about who the hell is chillin’ on my porch, but not curious enough to ask her.
She sticks her head in the trunk, disregarding what I said, and pulls out the second gallon of paint and one of the plastic bags. “Name’s Katy. Hardware, huh? Did you see Mack?” The questions roll out of her with barely a breath.
“Um… yeah.”
Katy walks up to the porch, the paint swinging in her hand. “I brought your mail.”
I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, how can I have mail? “Okay…”
“Larry, the mailman, is up there in years. He forgets what road he’s on most of the time. As long as the numbers match, he crams it in the box,” she carries on waiting for me to open the front door.
“Right.” I lead the way into the living room and deposit my heavy can of paint and bag on the floor. “I’m Tabitha—”
“Thompson. I’m aware. The whole town knows.” Katy leaves the items she carried beside mine and peeks her head outside returning with a short stack of various mailers.
“The whole town?” I rifle through the pieces she hands me.
“Well probably not the whole town, but Pearl’s a blabbermouth, so everyone who doesn’t already will by dinner. I’m sure she’s enacted the phone tree.”
What the hell is a phone tree?
“This is all junk mail.” I toss half the stack of flyers in the trash and continue to go through the rest walking to the kitchen.
Katy follows behind me. “Yeah, but I wanted to meet the girl who’s the talk of the town.”
“Talk of the town?�
�� I cock an eyebrow at her.
“Phone tree,” she answers simply. “Plus it’s a federal offense to mess with someone else’s mail. I couldn’t throw it away.”
“Someone ripped off the Chen’s coupons.” I hold up the flyer, the entire bottom missing.
She laughs. “Chen’s is the bomb. You need to try it.”
“I ate some for dinner last night.” I leave off the fact Ridge shared. It’s obvious Katy talks with Pearl and I don’t need the town discussing our dinner together.
“Well then you understand what I’m talking about.”
I nod my agreement.
“So what are you painting?”
“The kitchen and bedroom.” I throw the remaining junk mail in the trash and lean against the counter.
“You want help? I have a ton of experience painting.”
I’m not sure what to do with Katy and her bubbly personality, but it’s nice to have another person to talk with. Especially when she does most of the talking for us. By the time I left Oklahoma the only friends I had were wives or girlfriends of Mario’s business partners from his chain of family-owned restaurants. They weren’t women who offered to help you paint a bedroom. A half day shopping excursion or fancy lunch, sure, but no hard labor.
“Yeah, I’d love help. I’m clueless.”
Her smile grows. “Great! Let’s grab the paint and get started.”
**
Painting is a bitch. Way harder than I thought. First Katy made us move all the furniture into the middle of the room — Aunt Gertie’s massive king size bed and heavy as shit dresser included.
Then we taped all the edges. Thankfully Mack had thrown in a roll of blue tape with the other stuff he stuck in my trunk. Stuck in my trunk. I smile at my internal joke. Bad Tabitha.
Katy wraps her brush around the last unpainted inch above a window and I take one last swipe with my roller to fill in the last non-blue line. Light blue paint flicks off the roller, a drop landing on my forehead.
“There. The room looks great.” Katy steps back from the wall. “Now we’ll let it dry for a few hours and then come back and do a second coat.”
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