by A. L. Knorr
It hasn't happened too many times in my life, just a couple. Targa's Mom, Mira, still does it to me. Not every time I see her, but every once in a while when I least expect it, the feeling blows through me like smoke through grass.
I could now add Jasher to my short list of people who give me this feeling.
He was even taller than he’d appeared in the photograph, not to mention broader and browner from hours spent outside. He hadn't seen me yet. Should I call out a hello or to wait until he spotted me? My tongue decided for me and sat frozen in my mouth.
Jasher carried a collection of window frames that looked like he'd rescued them from the dump. Most of the panes of glass were broken. He propped them against the side of the garage and disappeared from view. More scraping sounds. He reappeared with another load of the same.
I couldn't see his features well from the distance but I could see the slashes of dark eyebrows and eyelashes and ruddy cheeks through several days’ worth of beard growth. He wore a black t-shirt and baggy tan shorts made of canvas that reached his knees. He would have made a good cover model for a men's health mag.
Thinking of Saxony, I grabbed my phone and opened my camera. I zoomed in on him and took a photo just before he deposited another load of windows. I winced at the digital capture noise, which I hadn't turned off.
He looked up, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun. I tucked my phone beside my laptop. He grinned and my heart did a little flip. Holy supernova smile.
"Hello!" he called. His voice was like melted caramel. Cheesy I know, but I'm trying to be honest here.
"Hi," I called back. I twirled a lock of hair with my fingers, realized it, and abruptly dropped my hand. What was I doing? I had never allowed a handsome face to vaporize my self-possession. Why did I suddenly feel like I was twelve? Boys were supposed to be the awkward ones, not me.
He crossed the lawn, taking his work gloves off. The beauty of his features became clearer. He was all eyelashes and cheek bones and white teeth and good grief. A finely made man like that doesn't have to try very hard to provoke a physical reaction in a woman. He had a pleasant, open expression and an easy grin, but as he approached something strange happened. His eyes fell on the array of technology in front of me and his smile disappeared. A second dose of that strange sensation whispered past.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
"Just doing a bit of work. I signed up for a summer course," I said. It was a lie, I had been eating a scone, not working, but for some reason I felt like I should explain myself. Why did I feel defensive?
His dark eyes went from my laptop to my e-reader to my cell phone and a look of annoyance crossed his face. He held his gloves in his hands.
In an effort to shatter the film of ice that had formed between us for reasons I didn't understand, I stood and held out my hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Jasher."
He looked at my hand as if I was offering him a snake carcass on a fork instead of a handshake. Finally, he stepped forward, reached over the gazebo railing and took my fingers in his big calloused ones. The warmth from his touch rolled up my arm. He pumped my hand once and then let go quickly. A cold draft swept over me. He gave a stiff nod but didn't say anything. Then he tapped his gloves against his palm. "Well, I've got work to do. Enjoy your course."
Did I imagine it, or had he said course with barely contained disdain? He strode back toward his truck and disappeared around the corner of the house. The truck door opened and closed. When he reappeared, he was wearing a baseball cap and safety glasses. He didn't look at me again. He went about setting up sawhorses in front of the garage and preparing to do goodness knew what with all those windows. I felt completely idiotic.
After his cold reception, I couldn't focus. He was right there, ignoring me. I packed my things into my laptop bag and went into the house. I was so confused that all I did was pace in my room for about five full minutes. What was his problem? I hadn't been hurting anyone. If this was how it was going to be between us, then I may as well pack up and go home. The summer stretched out in front of me, endless and uncomfortable.
The day was too nice and I couldn't focus anyway, so I grabbed my phone and went back outside. I thought I'd take some pictures while the light was nice. Photography always made me feel better. I wandered the opposite direction of the garage, keeping my distance from Jasher. He was working and not paying me any mind. I doubted he even knew that I'd left in the first place.
I took pictures of the pond and the gazebo and scanned Sarasborne’s yard. A thickly forested area lined the back of the property, and I could make out a small bridge arching a stream. A narrow break in the trees showed hilly fields beyond, with a walking path leading off into the bush. As I was taking a 360-degree panoramic photo, my eye caught on something attached to the side of the house that I hadn't noticed before. A greenhouse.
It was made out of an assortment of mismatched old windows of all shapes and sizes. Amazed, I went closer. So this was what Jasher was doing with all those old windows. I hadn't noticed it before because it was hidden around the far side of the house. It was enormous. Even with an untrained eye I could see that this building was a marvel. How Jasher had managed to piece together such a greenhouse using only old windows was a mystery to me. Impressed, I looked over at Jasher. He had his head down over his workbench and a window under his clever hands.
I approached the greenhouse, taking in the details. It was attached to Sarasborne. There must have been an entrance inside, coming off one of the rooms. Maybe there was a parlor at that end of the house? I couldn't recall.
The footprint of the building was a simple key-shape. The round part had a large domed roof. The neck of the key was a narrow column that connected to Sarasborne. A blur of greenery was all I could make out through the glass. Most of the panes were old and warped. Towards the top of the dome, the branches of some enterprising tree poked out. Maybe that was what Jasher was fixing.
I took some photos of the greenhouse. It had to be unique the world over. As I stepped closer, I was startled by an angry, "Hey!"
My head snapped up. Jasher was looking at me, his brows drawn together to form an angry line between his eyes. I looked behind me and around my feet, trying to work out what he was upset about. I wasn’t standing in any delicate shrubs or anything.
"Get away from there with that thing!" he yelled, a hammer dangling forgotten in his gloved hand.
"Get away from where with what thing?"
"Get away from my greenhouse with that stupid phone!" His tone was sharp and cutting.
I stepped back, stung. Jasher dropped his eyes down to his work, shaking his head and muttering.
Stupid phone? Heat flushed up my neck and across my cheeks. I was paying him a compliment, wasn't I? Showing interest in his work. I thought it beautiful and unique enough to take pictures of, so what was the issue? What right did he have to yell at me?
My vision blurred, and my face felt like it was burning up. I stalked back into the house. My mind whirled and tripped over itself, trying to make sense of him. Maybe he was afraid I'd publish it online and someone would steal his idea or something. Whatever his issue was, he didn't need to be so rude.
I suddenly missed my friends deeply.
I took a shower to scrub the incident from my mind, but it kept creeping back on sharp fingers. I shut off the spray and stepped out of the old clawfoot tub, shivering. I wrapped myself up in a scratchy line-dried towel, turbaned my dripping hair, and closed myself in my room.
I opened my friends’ messaging app and attached a photo of the back yard, the one I'd taken from the rear that showed the back of the house, the pond and the gazebo. Targa was the first to respond, and she didn't waste any time getting to the goods.
Targa: Ok, so the place is amazeballs. We knew that. What about your cuz? What's he like?
Saxony: Sí. Give, Georjie.
In response, I sent the photo I had taken of Jasher. There was a delay in the conversation wh
ile the girls took in the photo. I could see them in my mind’s eye - zooming in on their phones. Then...
Saxony: