“Thank you,” Kit said. She tapped her foot anxious to get away from the hostile stare of the receptionist.
“How long you know Tunney?”
“Not long.”
“You staying long in Willow Falls?”
“It depends…”
“On Tunney?”
“On …other things,” Kit said, looking at the floor.
“How come you’re helping him renovate his house?”
“I’m living there. He asked me if I’d mind.” Kit shifted her weight from foot to foot.
“You don’t look like much of a carpenter to me. So why would you be helping him? Helping him do what, exactly?”
“I’m his carpenter’s helper, whatever that is.”
“Why’d he ask you?”
“I don’t know,” Kit said, color creeping up her neck.
“I guess his request has more to do with your bra size than your experience,” Anne Marie said, staring at Kit’s chest.
Kit looked at her watch saying nothing, embarrassed.
“Look at you. Can you lift a fifty pound bag of anything?”
“Probably not…but I can paint, I can clean up, put out drop cloths.”
“Yeah? Whoopee. Tunney is a man first.”
“What do you mean?” Kit replied.
“He probably sees you as most helpful to him in the bedroom.”
“Are those supplies ready?” Kit said, her embarrassment turning to anger.
“Jeremy’s loaded you up. Watch out for Tunney. He’ll sneak up on you, if you’re not careful…break your heart,” Anne Marie said.
“Nobody is going to sneak up on me.”
“No? I bet he already has.”
“I’m late,” she said, anxious to leave Anne Marie’s scrutiny.
She drove everything home, got the supplies unloaded in five trips... In the vestibule she ticked off everything on the list. Paint, brushes, rollers, drop cloths, blue tape…a man’s shirt? She held the shirt up, wondering what it was for.
* * * *
In an hour, Tunney scraped, spackled and plastered the inside of the closet.
“Tomorrow I’ll sand and you paint.”
Kit nodded as if she knew what to do. Never painted before. Guess I’ll learn.
She tried to stay away because he worked shirtless in the warm closet. She didn’t trust herself. But she did bring him water and a sandwich. Trying to avert her gaze from his broad shoulders, his strong, bare chest sprinkled with dark hair, a lump grew in her throat, her breath came more quickly. With a little spackle smeared on his arm and shoulder, some plaster dust in his hair and a light sheen of sweat on his chest; he looked so sexy she could hardly keep her hands off him.
“Should be dry by tomorrow. You can paint then.”
Better confess now.
“Me? I don’t know how to paint.”
“I thought you were going to be my helper?”
“I am, but…”
“Time you learned how to paint. The closet is the perfect place to start because no one can see in there anyway, in case you mess up.”
“Why do you assume I’m going to mess up?”
“I’m not assuming, but just in case. I’ll come in the morning to show you.”
“What’s this shirt for?” Kit asked him, holding up a solid light blue long-sleeved shirt.’
“An old shirt of mine. Wear it to paint. Painting is messy, gets everywhere, so you need a big…a…”
“A smock?”
“Yeah, right. A smock.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got to get back to work. See you tomorrow,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Sarah invited Kit to dinner. After the meal, the children disappeared into their rooms. The ladies took coffee onto the deck.
“How’s the house renovation coming?”
“We started today.”
“And?”
“If he takes his shirt off one more time…I might not be responsible.”
The two women dissolved in laughter.
At nine o’clock, Kit drove home in her “rust bucket” as she called her old car. Tired after a day of physical activity, only sleep was on her mind, or so she thought. Bedding down in the master bedroom, the fantasy of Tunney being with her came back. Imagining his strong arms folded around her, keeping her safe, she fell into a restful sleep.
* * * *
The next morning, Tunney showed up right on time. Kit answered the door wearing nothing but his shirt, which hung down just below her knee. He eyed her body then looked away.
“What are you wearing?”
“The smock, remember? Your shirt.”
“But…but…what else?”
“Nothing else. This shirt is thin, paint’ll soak right through. Easier to get paint off my skin than out of my lingerie. Do I need to be dressed to spend the day inside a closet, painting?”
“Maybe not to paint the closet, but geez, you shouldn’t come to the door so…so…undressed.”
“Why not? You can’t see anything.”
“I can see enough…more than enough.”
His gaze rested on her breasts then dropped to her legs.
“What?” she said, looking down at the shirt.
“Your legs…can’t you at least button up…all the way to the top? You look like a centerfold for Popular Mechanics.”
“Very funny. I have legs, Tunney. Get over it. I’m not going to button the shirt all the way to the top, I’ll choke.”
“Now you know how a man feels when he goes to work.”
“Put your eyes back in your head. Let’s get started.”
Tunney went upstairs. He strung up a powerful light and set up a stepping stool.
“Put out the drop cloth first,” he said, “then get the roller and the pan.”
Kit set out the drop cloth to cover the wood floor in the closet. He poured some paint in the pan filling the trough halfway.
“The most important part is to get the paint on evenly. First outline with the brush. Here, let me show you. Move the brush back and forth in even strokes,” he said as he brushed the paint on the wall.
I’d like to stroke you evenly. Her mouth felt dry.
Chapter Nine
When Tunney gave her the brush, she started outlining the side wall.
“Right but do the ceiling first, in case you need to touch the wall to balance yourself. Call me when you’ve finished outlining the ceiling. I can’t be here when you get up on the ladder.”
“Why not?”
“Get serious. When you stand on the ladder then reach up, I’ll be able to see…well…all the way to China…use your imagination, dammit. I’ll be back,” he said, storming out of the closet while Kit laughed.
When the ceiling had been outlined, she called him. He picked up the roller and screwed a long handle into the end.
“Here, you roll this in the paint, try to get it distributed evenly on the roller. Then you roll the paint on the ceiling. Stroke in different directions. Then you go over the ceiling like this, light strokes.”
Again. Twice. That word, “stroke”. She closed her eyes, gave her head a slight shake to remove the image. Stroke, stroke. Stop, I’m only human.
“Something wrong?” He stared at her.
“I’m fine. Got it…evenly.” Color rose in her cheeks.
He stood so close to her. Couldn’t he move away? Not in the closet, nowhere to go.
“Should I set up a fan in here? Too hot for you?” He asked, perusing her face.
Beads of sweat had formed on her upper lip.
Damn right…with you standing there with plaster in your hair, those gorgeous arm muscles just inches from me, your sexy mouth…with that lopsided grin!
“I’m fine. Let me try, okay? I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“It’s hot in here.”
He feels it too.
Tunney mopped his face with a towel he yanked out of his back pocket. Their eyes connected as
he moved the towel down to his neck.
“Too hot in here for you?” She taunted him with her words, raising her eyebrows.
“Damn right. Too hot anywhere near you in your…smock.”
“Don’t you have something else to do?”
She looked up into his eyes, seeing heat there tempted her to step a bit closer. He placed his hands on her arms to hold her away from him.
“I’m stripping the paint off the dining room trim. I need to get back.”
Stepping back to give him room to pass, her bare foot dipped into the paint pan by accident.
“Oh, crap!” She picked up her foot, which was covered in white paint.
“The roller, Kit, not your foot,” Tunney chuckled.
“Very funny,” she said, dabbing at her foot with several paper towels, stifling a laugh.
“Painting is messy.”
“Duh!” Kit said, then turned to swipe a finger covered with paint down the length of his nose.
“What are you doing?” He grabbed his nose.
“Sharing!”
Tunney grabbed a paper towel.
“You want a paint fight?” Grinning, he cocked an eyebrow at her.
“No, no. I’m sorry…sorry,” Kit said, putting her hands up.
“You know what I’d do to you, if you weren’t married?” he said, moving closer.
Kit backed up against the closet wall, wanting him to show her but being afraid at the same time. Her eyes grew wide her hands palmed the wall behind her. Trapped!
“What? What would you do, Mr. Carpenter?” She feigned confidence, but the breathiness in her throat gave her away.
“If you weren’t married, I’d, I’d,” he said, dipping his finger in paint before running it down the length of her nose, then he grabbed her to him and kissed her hard. His lips bruised hers with their passionate insistence. She rested her palms on his chest but didn’t push away. As he tightened his grip, Kit softened in his arms. His lips engulfed hers, hard at first then going soft, coaxing her. Finally he pulled away. She heard his ragged breathing, watched his chest heave while he sucked in air. Her pulse kicked into hyper-drive, her hands still on his pecs.
“That’s what I would do…but you’re married, so I can’t,” he whispered. Tunney pushed her aside, stalked out of the closet then disappeared down the stairs to the dining room. Kit wiped the paint off her nose with a shaking hand. She leaned against the wall while waiting for her breathing to return to normal.
* * * *
Tunney continued to come by daily with equipment, paint, stain, plaster to set up projects all over the house. Kit laid down drop cloths, picked them up, cleaned brushes, bagged garbage, stirred paint but stayed in a different room, away from him.
He avoided her, too. He didn’t apologize after the escapade in the closet, but he gave her a wide berth. He patched the ceiling in the kitchen in the early afternoon since she was there in the morning. Mornings were spent plastering cracks in the walls in the living room. Stripping paint, rubbing oil into the trim in the dining room took place in the late afternoons. He played the radio and sang along, working away as if she wasn’t even in the house. Except at break time.
Kit prepared ham and Swiss sandwiches for lunch. They ate in the kitchen, eying each other warily as they discussed the projects, disagreeing over colors for each room. They were always polite, staying on their own side of the table with minimal physical contact. Unable to avoid passing by each other, the occasional touch of shoulder to shoulder or hip to hip, hands brushing as they passed the mustard heightened their physical awareness. The heat generated by their mutual desire forced her to turn the ceiling fan up a notch when they were there together.
He spent several days pulling up worn carpets in the rooms on the first floor, tossing out ancient area rugs. He planned to refinish the wood floors. A cracked pane of glass in the parlor window needed replacing.
Every morning at six o’clock, Kit spent an hour at her computer, trying to write, but nothing came. At eight, when Tunney arrived, she worked on a renovation task from their list. She scraped walls, painted, hauled equipment and supplies up the stairs, down the stairs, from room to room.
“The gray should go in the living room because it’s sunny…the gray is cool.”
“I don’t have enough gray paint for the living room. I have enough for the parlor.”
“So? Get more paint.”
“Then I won’t be able to start until tomorrow, the paint might not match perfectly.”
“Mix the two together.”
“Nuts!” Tunney said, stalking out of the room, refusing to admit she was right.
“I changed my mind about the color for the dining room. How about light green instead of cream.” Kit chewed her lip.
“Green! No way. The rooms have to have neutral colors. We agreed. No one wants a green dining room…except maybe you.”
“But you said I could pick colors.”
“I said you could help pick colors. My house, my decision.”
Kit walked out in a huff.
In the evening, she scrubbed dried paint from her hands her fingernails, her feet and other parts of her body. Tunney pulled bits of paint from her hair, she did the same for him. At the end of the workday, after showering off the paint, they went to dinner.
Tunney had taken her to many of the local eateries. Tonight they’d be dining at Dan’s Delicacies. Kit attacked a huge salad with chicken, cranberries and walnuts while he demolished a steak sandwich. Over dinner, they shared decorating ideas, talked about the work they had done plus what projects were still waiting for their attention.
After dinner, he dropped her at the old house. She raised her hand in a reluctant good-bye as he drove away. Running her tongue lightly over her lower lip, she recalled his powerful kiss, igniting feelings she wished had been left alone. You may never get another kiss like that one. She entered the house and went straight to bed, her body aching from the physical labor of the day her mind reliving his remarkable kiss in her dreams.
* * * *
At number 29 James Street
Sarah’s routine changed when the children hopped a bus to and from school. Although she still wore a chauffeur’s cap for Laura’s ballet classes plus Scottie’s swimming classes, now she’d have time in the morning to write.
Jim had quietly become part of their lives. Since he lived next door, formalities about spending time together went out the window. They eased into an everyday relationship over several weeks. The children became used to finding him nuzzling Sarah’s neck in the kitchen or their mom with her arms around him or giving him a peck in their presence. But their relationship had not yet passed through the bedroom door.
They had been going out on Saturday nights but she always returned home early. Her desire for Jim grew, yet what about the children? How would they react if he slept over? So she resisted her desires, which became increasingly harder with every date.
They took it for granted Jim would be there, starting dinner most nights, bringing groceries, taking a place in their lives every day. But he still went home to his house next door to sleep alone.
He taught in the morning then handled administrative duties as department head in the afternoon. Sarah began to walk in the woods by herself. Those quiet walks allowed her to channel characters and plots enabling her to begin writing.
She gave Jim plot outlines and chapters to read. He read her work, offering suggestions along with encouragement. The first of October was Founder’s Day at Kensington State. Classes were cancelled; everyone took the day off. He noticed Sarah’s car in her driveway just before noon so he dropped in on her to discuss a few sentences in her latest draft he felt needed rearranging. As always, any excuse to be with Sarah made him happy. He walked up to her front door and rang the bell.
Sarah had stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes earlier. She concentrated on toweling her hair dry before getting dressed. Then the doorbell rang. Stark naked, she ran into the bedroom, g
rabbing the cover-up on the bed. It was her light turquoise clingy jersey dress usually worn over a bathing suit or around the house. Being taken off guard, she popped it over her head then headed to the door, running a brush through her damp, dark hair. She peeked through the peephole then opened the door.
“No class today?”
“Founder’s Day…” he said, staring, his mouth agape.
His eyes skimmed over her form revealed by the light blue dress. The heat from his eyes almost burned through the dress. She tugged at the hem, moving the dress a little lower down on her legs but moving the neckline lower as well.
“Is something wrong? You’re staring at me like I’m naked.”
“You’re not…you’re not wearing anything…are you?” he asked, his voice rising an octave. His eyes moved slowly from the hem of the dress to its neckline.
“Of course I’m wearing something. I’m wearing this dress. What’s wrong with you?”
“I know, but I mean…underneath, below…the dress,” he stammered, red creeping up his neck.
“You mean…like underwear?”
“You’re not wearing any…are you?”
“I just got out of the shower when the doorbell rang…I wasn’t dressed…you can’t see anything…can you?” she stammered, her cheeks turning pink.
“You look amazing, you should dress like this more often.” He stepped back a bit while his gaze roamed over her body.
“You mean come to the door practically naked?”
“You’re…irresistible...” He fumbled for words.
“Did you come by for something?” Her hand fluffed her hair to hasten drying.
“I’m sure I did but I don’t remember now.”
Sarah chuckled.
“Anything to do with those papers in your hand?”
“These? Oh, yes. These. Yes, I brought back some of the chapters you gave me to read with a few comments.”
“Come in.”
She steered Jim over to the computer by the window. She sensed his stare on her behind, making her self-conscious. Sitting down at the machine she pulled up the chapter of her novel he offered.
Now and Forever 4, The Renovated Heart Page 8