Guy Hater: A Romantic Comedy

by Ethan Asher

  Guy: What do you propose?

  Charleigh: I don’t know. Can we talk about it at the house later today?

  We’re meeting with Ryder later today to get an update on his progress. It’s been a week since I’ve been to the house last and I’m excited to see what’s changed since then.

  Guy: Sure, but only if it’s at Deanna’s house.

  Charleigh: Why can’t we talk after we see the progress on your house?

  Guy: I can’t make it. I’m swamped here and won’t be able to make it out there.

  Charleigh: I dunno… It’s kind of a drive out there.

  Guy: HGTV

  Guy: Fajitas

  Guy: …and dessert.

  Guy: What more could you ask for on a Thursday night?

  A few things pop into my mind in no particular order, but texting them to Guy would be counterproductive to my whole “let’s cut out anything that might be misinterpreted by my co-workers as inappropriate” conversation I’m trying to have with him.

  Charleigh: What kind of dessert?

  Guy: You’ll have to come over and find out.

  Charleigh: I’ll think about it…

  Charleigh: And don’t think you can weasel out on our conversation. We’re going to talk about it.

  Guy: See you tonight.

  Charleigh: Maybe.

  The rest of my day drags on at a snail’s pace. I can’t concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes before my thoughts inevitably drift back to Guy. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him tonight. Every time I think about it my stomach turns to knots because I feel that no matter what I say, I’m going to mess everything up between us. Whatever that is.

  I like how things have been going between us, but at the same time, there’s a part of me that’s shooting flares into the sky, warning me that something bad is just on the horizon. I need to pump the brakes for a little while so I can figure it all out.

  I throw myself into work. I double, triple, and quadruple check and the budgetary items, delivery dates, and send off a slew of emails. By the time I look up, everyone in the office is gone. I lean back in my chair and my back cracks in ways it shouldn’t.

  Yikes. I need to do more yoga. Or do it at all.

  I check the time and immediately fall backward out of my chair and crash hard against the floor.

  “Shit!”

  I’m late for my meeting with Ryder.

  22

  Charleigh

  “Glad you could fit me in.” Ryder has a crooked half smile on his face as he watches me approach the house. There’s a thick layer of construction dust covering his blue jeans, which makes them look a shade lighter than usual. The sleeves of his green-checked shirt are cuffed below his elbows and covered in the same dust. His hair is disheveled and matted, but Ryder is nothing if not calm, cool, and collected.

  "Sorry," I say, jogging up the steps. "It's been real—" I nearly topple over as my toe clips the top step, but I catch myself, barely preventing a face plant. I expel a harsh breath, vibrating my lips, dust myself off, and have another go at my explanation. "It's been hectic today."

  Ryder regards me for a few moments, leaning against the wall next to the door. It’s open, but even if it wasn’t I’d still be able to hear the chaos going on inside. After a few moments, he pushes off from the doorway. “Seems to be contagious. Guy’s going to be late as well.”

  “Actually, he’s not going to make it. Police business or something.”

  Ryder shrugs. “Well, let’s get started then.”

  Before I have the chance to walk inside, Ryder hands me a mask. “There’s construction dust everywhere.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, pushing it away, but Ryder insists nonverbally by blocking my entrance to the house and offering me the mask once again, his expression making it clear that I’m not to enter without it.

  “Why aren’t you wearing one?”

  He shrugs. “I breathe this stuff in all the time. I’m used to it. You’ll have a coughing fit without it.”

  I eye the mask as he shakes it and then snatch it out of his hand. “Fine, but it’s just going to make it more…” the elastic snaps behind my head as I put the mask on, “diffacuh tahs beak.”

  “What was that?”

  I pull the mask down. “I said it will be difficult to speak.”

  Ryder reaches for the mask and places it back over my mouth. “That’s unfortunate,” he drawls before turning around and heading inside, starting in without another thought.

  I groan but he doesn’t notice because of my muzzle/mask. He’s lucky that he’s good at his job. I follow him inside, clouds of dust puffing into in the air with every footfall. Hammers are hammering, drills are drilling, and everybody not working on something is moving purposefully through the nearly bare-bones interior.

  “We’re making progress,” Ryder says as we move through the great room.

  “Any issues I need to be aware of?”

  Ryder mouths “I can’t hear you” as he points to his ear and continues to tell me about the progress he’s made. I rip off the mask and fling it to the floor. Sure, it’s dusty, but I’m not about to spend the next half hour or so incapable of speaking. “Are there any issues I need to be aware of?”

  Ryder looks back at me, brows raised for a moment before they fall back down into his usual relaxed expression. “You just won me five bucks.”

  “Wha…?”

  “Marco!” Ryder yells. A few moments later, a man in well-worn clothes and matted black hair struts over to Ryder.

  “Fifteen seconds,” Ryder says.

  Marco looks at me, laughs, and then reaches into his back pocket and hands Ryder a five-dollar bill.

  “You guys seriously bet how long it would take for me to take off the mask?”

  Ryder shrugs. “Don’t take it personally, Charleigh. We take bets on just about everything. Keeps things interesting.”

  I sigh. “Whatever, can I have the tour now?”

  “Certainly, madame.” Ryder bows and extends his arm to me. “This way, if you would.”

  I roll my eyes and grab on to his forearm. “Such a gentleman. So any issues?” I repeat, trying to get this train back on the track.

  “Nothing we haven’t already handled.”

  All of the debris that covered much of the floor during my last visit is gone. The stone face of the fireplace is gone and being prepped for the newer stone that will rise all the way up to the ceiling.

  “It might look like a mess now, but in a few weeks, a few days really, it will look completely different.”

  I nod, not doubting Ryder at all.

  “Everything on schedule?”

  Ryder folds his arms across his chest and eyes me with a playful expression. “Under budget and ahead of schedule. You know I never miss my deadlines, Charleigh.”

  Ryder treads the thin line between cocky and confident, but he always finds steady footing in the latter because he backs up his talk with results. That’s why I chose him out of the multitude of contractors Florence + Foxe employs.

  “The cabinets are installed. The island, too. The electrician will be around tomorrow to wire everything.”

  “Great.”

  “And we were able to cancel that countertop order and rush the new marble—”

  “Hold up.” I pause, mentally rewinding the last few moments in my head. I couldn’t have heard what I think I heard. There’s no way. How?

  “What are you talking about—marble countertops?”

  Ryder is as close to being nervous as I’ve ever seen him. He rubs the back of his neck.

  "Andrea sent the request a few days ago. Said both you and Guy signed off on it. I'd called you and Guy to confirm. I didn't hear anything from you, but Guy confirmed it."

  I don’t know who I’m more pissed at, Guy or Andrea. But rather than blowing my top, I take a deep breath and tell Ryder to reverse whatever he did because marble of any kind does not belong in this house.

 
“I don’t care what it takes or how long it will delay the progress because marble will not work with the rest of my design.”

  “I agree with you there. That’s why I wanted to call and confirm. It seemed out of character.”

  “Did Andrea authorize any other changes?”

  “That’s it.”

  Thank God. I’m going to have a few choice words with her when I get back to the office. Did she think I wouldn’t notice something as major as this? I’m not as mad at Guy because I’m sure Andrea made him believe that I was okay with it.

  “Great, let’s see the rest of the house.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  I’m surprised by how far along the renovation has come. At this pace, so long as there are no other unforeseen issues, we’ll finish ahead of schedule. We pass by Guy’s old bedroom, but the door’s closed. I open it and pop my head in. It’s still in the same shape as I saw it during the first tour I had with Guy: A time capsule from his childhood.

  “What’s going on in here? Why hasn’t all this stuff been removed?”

  “Guy’s orders. He wants to keep it as is.”

  I sigh as I shut the door, making a mental note to talk to Guy about it later. It’s not that big of a deal, the only change I had in the room is repainting and restaining the hardwoods. Basic stuff that could happen in a few days.

  Once we make it back to the front of the house, I shove my notebook into my purse and then hand Ryder the mask. “Thanks.”

  He takes the mask. “Not a problem, Charleigh.”

  “If anything comes up, call me, but it seems like you have everything handled.”

  “Of course, Charleigh.”

  I turn to leave, but Ryder stops me. “There is…” he says, smiling, “one thing.”

  I sigh. “Ryder…”

  I’m not in the mood to be forced to turn down another date. He’s made it a point to ask me each time I’ve dropped by.

  He laughs. “Easy, tiger. I’m not asking you on a date. It’s not that. I found something that I think you’ll like.”

  Ryder guides me outside to his truck. He reaches into the cab and pulls out a piece of wood and hands it to me. I glance at it and then back up at Ryder, back and forth one more time.

  “It’s a piece of wood.”

  “Very observant of you, Charlock Holmes.” He motions with his hand for me to flip it over.

  On the reverse side, there's a rough inscription that makes me awwww. Scrawled at the top in capital letters is THE FINCH FAMILY and underneath it are the names Gabriel, Anne, and Guy, dated June 4, 1984.

  “It was in a wheelbarrow of debris. I found it yesterday just before it was tossed.”

  “This is wonderful,” I say, clutching it to my chest. “Guy is going to love it.” I lunge at him, nearly knocking him off his feet with a bear hug.

  “Alright,” Ryder says, patting my head. He gasps, taking a step backward. “Jesus Christ, Charleigh!”

  “Sorry!” I release Ryder from my death grip of a hug. I didn’t mean to grab him so hard. I didn’t mean to grab him at all. It just sort of happened.

  Ryder looks down at his arms as he rubs them. “No problem. Just promise me that you’ll never hug me again.”

  "Deal," I say, tucking the piece of wood underneath my arm. "Thanks for everything, Ryder. We'll be in touch."

  Ryder nods and then turns around to walk back up to the house. I can still hear hammering and drilling and yelling from down here.

  “I’ll see you at Jamie and Marissa’s joint party if we don’t see each other sooner,” Ryder says over his shoulder.

  Crap! I completely forgot about that. I need to call Marissa…

  “That’s right! The wedding’s coming up so soon.”

  Ryder raises his hat in acknowledgment before disappearing back inside.

  I turn around, clutching the piece of wood under my arm, brainstorming all the possible ways to surprise Guy with it.

  You like him, Emma says.

  Yes, I do.

  And that’s a problem.

  Guy: Deanna's going to be disappointed if you skip out tonight.

  Guy: I already told her you were coming.

  Charleigh: You did what?!

  Charleigh: I didn’t say I was coming or not!

  Charleigh: Why would you?

  Charleigh: This is...

  Charleigh: IT’S BLACKMAIL

  Charleigh: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?

  Guy: A little guilt-trippish, yeah. It’s hard not to pick it up after living with Deanna for a few weeks.

  Guy: Blackmail, though…

  Guy: That would’ve been much easier…and effective.

  Guy: I recall you spent the better part of a few years sleeping next to a cardboard cut out of Zac Hanson…

  Charleigh: Yeah, same with every other Hanson fan. Dig deeper, Finch.

  Guy: The brownie incident of 2001…

  I call him twice, leaving a warning message on his voicemail. Although I’m not sure who he’d tell, I’d like to limit knowledge of said brownie incident to as small a list as possible. Ugh…even after all these years it still makes my stomach turn.

  Look. It’s my mom’s fault for leaving out a batch—three batches, tops—of brownie batter on the counter. How was I supposed to know that she was making brownies for underprivileged children? I'm not a mind reader. I'm a brownie eater.

  Yes. I ate brownie batter meant to be consumed by underprivileged children. The look on my mom’s face when she walked in the kitchen as I scooped batter into my mouth with my bare hands. And yes. I’m a bare-handed, brownie-eating barbarian. I’m not ashamed of it. Most of the time…

  It's not my proudest moment. And neither were the ensuing hours of me throwing up said brownie batter because of the sheer amount of raw eggs I'd consumed. How I made it this far in life without my mom disowning me is a mystery.

  I still don’t know what made me do it. I promised myself I’d only have a taste, wipe excess batter from the rim. You know, help my mom out. But that single finger swipe turned into two, increasing in fingers until finally I just went for it.

  Bare hand and all.

  I’m cringing so hard about it right now that my future children can feel it.

  Charleigh: Guy…

  Charleigh: You wouldn’t…

  Guy: Of course I wouldn’t.

  Charleigh: I want to go, really, but there was an issue that popped up during the visit today that I have to work on.

  Guy: I’m sure they can wait until tomorrow. You still have to eat, right?

  Guy: And a granola bar doesn’t count.

  I stop chewing the Nutri-Grain bar currently in my hand, glance at it and then around at the office. Does he have cameras set up in here or something?

  Guy's right. All of this can wait until tomorrow, and I could use a breather after this hectic day. My conversation with Andrea went about as well as I expected, which is to say not well at all. After denying it for a few minutes, she discarded her act and made it clear what she thinks of my design, which coincidently matches my thoughts of her.

  I didn’t want to loop Christiana into the mess, because that would’ve made the whole situation worse. She’d already given me an earful for not keeping Guy under control, so not being able to keep Andrea under control would be another strike. Unfortunately, she’d overheard us arguing and brought us into the office to discuss the whole ordeal.

  After we settled the dispute, Christiana pulled me aside and questioned whether I was up for the task of Project Manager. I assured her that I was, but she wasn't as confident. From here on out, I'll be forced to give her weekly updates. Lucky me.

  Charleigh: It’s not a granola bar.

  Charleigh: It’s a nutrigrain bar

  Guy: So a candy bar.

  Charleigh: IT’S GOT WHOLE GRAINS IN IT. A WHOLE SERVING.

  Guy: Easy, caps-lock commando, I can hear you yelling from here.

  Guy: So you coming over? I’m just about to pull the beef an
d chicken and shrimp from the refrigerator.

  Guy: They’ve been marinating all day.

  Charleigh: The trifecta…

  Hmm. It does sound better than the dinner I had planned.

  Charleigh: What was for dessert again?

  Guy: Nice try, Charleigh.

  Charleigh: It was worth a shot.

  Makeup: Check.

  Hair: Done.

  Dress: Hugging me in all the right places.

  If I’m going to be treated to dinner, I might as well dress up. Even if it is Guy who’s treating me to it. But as I’m eyeing my reflection in the mirror, I’m wondering if it’s a bit much. Sending the wrong signals?

  Whatever. I’m starving and there’s no way I’m going to shimmy out of this dress and find something else.

  I give my reflection a final once-over before heading to my bedroom. The floor outside my closet is a mess. Shoes and dresses and sundry outfits are strewn haphazardly. It took a little longer than expected to find my outfit because I haven’t been on a date in a long time and had no idea what to wear.

  It’s not a date, I remind myself. It’s dinner. Nothing else. AT ALL. Besides, my mom will be there.

  After grabbing my purse, I do a double take of the perfume on my dresser. Might as well… A few puffs later, I’m smelling all sweet and citrusy. Not like I’m trying to smell good for Guy or anything. It’s all for me and me alone.

  But when Guy opens the door for me, I’m glad I took more time than usual to get ready.

  “Holy shit.”

  23

  Charleigh

  Did I just say that out loud?

  Guy’s vibrant, expansive, so-white-it’s-blinding smile tells me that yes, yes I did say that out loud.

  “I’m glad you came, Charleigh.”

  Dear lord. I don’t remember Guy’s voice being this rough. This sensual. It warms me like a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter night, while at the same time it steals my breath. And that outfit. Holy smokes.