Love Conquer

by Cary Hart

  Hell, the bike trailer, I admit, was pretty damn creative, but leaving like that without protection is downright absurd.

  Safety first.

  Running around to the driver’s side of my truck, I climb in and buckle up, putting it into gear. “Shit!” The passenger door is still wide open. I try to reach over and close it, but the seatbelt locks. “Damnit!” Flinging it off, I put the truck in park, jump out, round the truck, slam the door shut and hurry back to get in. I repeat the first process and throw it into gear.

  I follow the only path she could have taken back to Niki’s, hoping and praying she is okay. I scan the road, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “There you are,” I mutter when I finally catch a glimpse of her pedaling down the sidewalk.

  Pulling over, I creep along the side of the road, next to the bike path, looking between her and possible oncoming bikers.

  She looks like she has it all under control. Feisty and cute as hell, she trucks along on that old, rusted, retro bike fitted with a brown wicker basket stuffed with plastic bags full of paint supplies. And, of course, tugging that worn wagon along, which is wobbling from the shifting of the paint.

  As irritated as I am, I roll down the window and pull out my phone to snap a picture.

  “Kyle, I got this.” She gives me a sideways glance. “Did you just take my picture?”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I look ahead and see her path is clear. “Maybe.”

  “Delete it! Now!”

  “I’ll let you delete it if you get in.”

  Good one, Lewis. Blackmail.

  “I’m practically home.” She pedals a little harder.

  “Most accidents occur just a few miles from home,” I shoot back.

  “Automobile accidents.” She points to my truck. “That’s you.”

  We continue on for a few moments in silence.

  “Oh shit!” Nina hits an uneven piece of sidewalk, throwing her bike off balance. The cans shift to one side, causing the wagon to overturn, which takes the bike down, throwing her off.

  Slamming on my brakes, I throw the truck in park, flip on my hazards, and run over to her. “Nina, are you okay?” I’m on my knees examining her from head to toe.

  “Yeah, I was fine until you made me run off the road.” She jabs me in the chest. “You were distracting me.”

  She stands up, righting her bike and dusting herself off.

  “I was trying to help you.”

  “Does this look like you helped?”

  She straightens the wagon, but the wheels are bent. Unhooking the cords, she picks up the wagon and takes it to a nearby dumpster.

  “Here, hold these.” She hands me the paint cans before she mounts her bike. “I’ll take that one.” She grabs a pail from me and puts the handle over one handlebar then holds out her hand for the other.

  “The hell if you are…” I notice the blood dripping down her arms.

  “I am, now give it here.”

  “You’re hurt.” I pull my shirt over my head, ripping it in a couple pieces. “You’re bleeding.” I nod at her elbow. “Give it here.”

  Nina huffs out, “Fine, but only because I hate blood.”

  I tie a strip of shirt around it, applying pressure.

  “Other one.”

  She holds out her other arm, but this one has a little more dirt and gravel in it. “Listen, I have a first aid kit in my truck, but since I’m blocking part of the road, why don’t you get in and let me help you back at the house?”

  “I’m fine.” She stands up too quick and stumbles a little. Her eyes show her surrender and she sighs. “Okay, but just know I’m not going because I couldn’t do this or I’m too weak.”

  “I never said that.” I open the door for her, and help her up. Then I throw her bike into the bed of the truck and gather her supplies before I get in. “I just thought you should have worn a helmet.”

  Safety first.

  Nina

  One minute everything was fun and playful and the next…awkward.

  Am I the one who made it that way?

  Am I that screwed up I don’t even know how to get to know someone anymore? Of course, I’m not going to know about his place of employment, because I didn’t ask him. It’s not a betrayal. He wasn’t hiding it.

  Turning toward Kyle, I see him. Really see him. He literally gave the shirt off his back for me. He was concerned for my safety. Not trying to harm me.

  “Just because I had an accident doesn’t mean I couldn’t have done it myself,” I blurt out, though I’m not sure why. Did I need to convince myself?

  “I know.” Kyle looks at me out of the corner of his eye, smiling.

  “Okay. Good.”

  I sit and stare at him, or maybe it’s examining. Yes, I’m going to call it that. Staring is kind of creepy. Examining is more observant.

  His body is ripped, and his arms? If you would look up arm porn, I’m pretty sure there would be a picture of Kyle’s biceps. Total perfection. His skin, kissed by the sun. His hands, calloused. This man screams hard worker. Mr. Tall Guy is not afraid to get down and dirty.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you may want to be more than friends.” He winks.

  “Wh-what?”

  Oh my God. Was I…

  “Eyes up here, Nina. Eyes up here.” He glances at me then looks back to the road.

  “I wasn’t…Oh, for Pete’s sake. I totally was, but not for—”

  “It’s okay…I liked it,” he interrupts.

  “I was just thinking you literally gave me the shirt off your back to bandage me up,” I blurt out before what he said sinks in. “Wait…you liked it?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “Remind me which one is Gavin’s.”

  I slide off my seatbelt as we near, leaning over the console, pointing. “Right there, second one on the left.”

  “Seatbelt,” he orders.

  Eyes wide, I fall back into my seat. “What is it with you and safety?”

  He pulls into the drive and puts the truck in park. He’s still, hands in his lap. “My dad died from a blow to the head.” He twists his body to look at me, a hand reaching out to check the makeshift bandages. “If he would have worn his hardhat, he would have survived.”

  “Kyle…”

  “So, next time you get on that bike,” he reaches down, clasping my knee, “make sure you protect that hard head of yours.”

  And just like that, I understand. He wasn’t trying to tell me what to do. He wasn’t insinuating I couldn’t handle myself. He was watching out for me.

  He cares.

  Before I can reach for the handle, Kyle is there, opening the door, gesturing me out with an exaggerated swoop of his hand. “I’ll grab the bags and first aid kit. You head to the bathroom.”

  “I’m fine, let me…”

  He drops both hands to my waist and leans in, eyes searching mine. “Nina, it’s okay to let people help you. Let me help you.”

  “You’re naked.” The words are out of my mouth before I can control them.

  His eyes scrunch up as he examines himself. “Not naked, Nina.”

  “Well, your top half is.” I wave my hands around frantically, but he doesn’t move, hands still planted on my waist.

  “I’m a guy.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Your ogling is making me feel uncomfortable.” He winks.

  “Oh Lord,” I mutter, throwing my head back. “Fine.” I secure my arms around his neck. Totally not necessary, but I tell myself it’s for safety reasons. You know, because safety first. Kyle said so himself.

  “Good.” He lifts me out of my seat and gently sets me down. “You okay to walk?” His face is inches away from mine.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Kyle reaches up and unclasps my hands and, holding them in his, drags them down his perfectly sculpted body. I’m mesmerized by the way each muscle flexes with his movement.

  “You look a little flushed.” I feel the sudden
loss of his hands as they cradle my face, pushing back my hair, getting a better look. “Maybe I should carry you in?” His face, once serious, suddenly contorts with amusement.

  Slapping my hands on his chest, I push him away. “I’m fine.”

  “Hey!” He feigns being wounded.

  “You’re an ass!” I shout, throwing him the bird as I make my way up the drive. I hobble through the house to the bathroom.

  “Moving a little slow I see.” The deep rumble of Kyle’s laugh vibrates through me. “A little jumpy, are we?” He points to the closet. “Washcloths?”

  “Yeah, second shelf.”

  Placing the first aid kit under his arm, he grabs what he needs and follows me into the bathroom. “Now let’s get you fixed up.”

  He sets everything down. Tucking his hands under my arms, he lifts me onto the counter.

  “I think I may have scraped up my knees.” I slowly pull up each leg of my yoga pants. “Yep.”

  “By the looks of you, I’m thinking next time, bubble wrap.”

  “Hardy-har.” I stick out my tongue.

  “You better put that thing away before…” He stops himself, an awkward silence filling the room.

  Eyes wide, I open my mouth just to close it again.

  He goes first, “I didn’t mean to suggest. I mean I did, but…”

  “Bedroom. Closet. Shirt,” is all I can get out.

  “Huh?”

  “Naked.” I point at his chest.

  “Ohhhh…sorry for the distraction.” He puffs out his chest as he leaves the room.

  Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I turn around, look in the mirror, and smile. I really smile.

  Kyle is making me feel something I didn’t know if I would ever feel again, and that scares the hell out of me.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper to my reflection. “Trust him.”

  “Trust who?” He’s back, this time wearing one of Gavin’s black V-necks.

  “Oh nothing.” I hold out my arms for him to untie the bandages.

  “I can honestly say, I never thought bondage would be my thing, but…”

  “Kyle!”

  “What? I thought it was safe to say with clothes on.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Kidding.”

  That’s the thing about Kyle Lewis, I have only known him for a couple days, but it seems like he already knows me. When I’m tense, he backs away. Uncomfortable, he cracks a joke. Stubborn, he lets me learn.

  He lets me be me.

  Nina

  “Gavin has a pretty nice place here.” Kyle scans the room. “A little heavy on the bachelor décor, but still nice.” He walks around the front rooms, taking it all in. “Cabinets are handcrafted. Amish, I believe.”

  “Really? How can you tell?” I take a step toward him.

  “See this?” He points to the face of the cabinet. “This design is too intricate to be factory made. The wood…” He taps the door. “Solid.”

  “Why Amish?”

  Kyle turns to me and smiles. “Well, I’m willing to bet, if I open this cabinet here—”

  “Don’t touch the mugs.” I reach for his arm, pulling it back. “Those are Niki’s. She takes her mugs seriously.”

  “Don’t worry.” He cracks a smile. “As I was saying—”

  “Enter at your own risk.”

  “There will be a symbol or initials.” He opens the door, “Yep, sTm, it’s the same family who did mine.

  “Interesting.”

  “I’m probably boring you.” He walks around the room, running his hand along the drywall.

  “Honestly, it’s been a while since someone wanted to share anything with me. It’s nice.” I’m more open than I wanted to be.

  Nodding his head, he takes in what I said. “So, tell me your design plans?”

  “Seriously?” I grab onto the back of the couch, grounding myself. If he really wants to know, I’m liable to spring across this room and into his arms.

  “Yeah…the gray paint…this room?”

  “Let me just show you.” I reach into my bag and pull out the design, handing it over.

  “So, this wall here will be the shade darker.” He turns around to face the fireplace.

  “Yeah, I want this to be the focal point of the room. The other walls and the kitchen will be the lighter gray.” I bounce over to the island and grab the brick sample board. “And I want to replace the marble on the fireplace with this brick.”

  “I see.” He begins to laugh.

  My face falls, his laughter taking me back to the time I tried to talk to Brandon about going back to school.

  Tonight’s a special night. Brandon finally got the promotion he has been working endless hours for and I got into design school.

  Setting the last candle in place, I turn off the lights and take in the glow of the room. A vase of roses picked from the rose bush behind our house decorates the center of the table. Bowls full of spaghetti, Brandon’s favorite, sit on each end.

  Hearing the lock rattle, I fluff up my hair and grab the champagne.

  “Nina, you in…Ohhhh.” He stops in the middle of the kitchen, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Well hello there.” He drops his briefcase and swoops me up in his arms and my legs instantly wrap around him. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s a ‘my incredible boyfriend got a promotion’ dinner, and I have some news of my own.” I give his neck a little nuzzle and he stiffens.

  “I didn’t get the promotion.” He pries my arms from around his neck and slides me down.

  “No way! I thought you were a shoe-in and that tonight—”

  “Well, you thought wrong.” He begins to turn on the lights.

  “You said—”

  “Dammit!” He slams his keys on the table with enough force that it knocks the vase over, and the water goes everywhere.

  “Brandon…” I hurry and pick up the bowls, but it’s too late. The water has gotten into the pasta.

  “Well, fuck.” He grabs the bowls from me. “You made this for me?”

  “Your favorite: half meat sauce, half salsa mixed in with the thin spaghetti.” My smile is weak.

  Dumping one bowl into the trash he examines the other. “I think this one is salvageable.”

  “Oh good.” I walk over to the cabinet and reach in for another bowl for us to share.

  Grabbing a fork, he begins to twist the pasta around it as he walks over to me. “Thanks, babe.” He stuffs his mouth. “This is fucking good.”

  Welp, so much for that. I guess it’s cereal for me. Filling my bowl with stale Lucky Charms is not what I call a celebratory dinner.

  “So, what’s your news?” Brandon sits in his chair and flips on Fox News.

  “Well, remember how I redesigned our bedroom and you said I had a real talent for decorating?”

  “Yeah.” He stuffs in another bite. “Can you pour me some of that bubbly stuff?” He points to his mouth. “Wash this down.”

  I set my bowl down, not feeling very hungry, and pop the champagne, wishing he would wait till I share my news and we really did have something to celebrate.

  “Well, I helped, Mrs. Nance decorate her family room and her daughter who runs an interior design company said—”

  “Who is Mrs. Nance?” he interrupts.

  “Our next-door neighbor.”

  “The old lady you help?” He taps his fork against the bowl. “What is her name? Phyllis? Joyce?”

  “Margaret.”

  “That’s right.” He takes another bite, and a little bit of sauce splashes on his tie. “Goddammit.” He throws the bowl on the coffee table; it wobbles, but doesn’t tip over. “I thought it had too much sauce.” He loosens his tie and walks over to the trash, popping it open with his foot, and slams the tie in it. “My favorite fucking tie!

  “Brandon!” I run over to the trash, dig out the tie and quickly run cold water over it, removing any sauce, and then dab Dawn dish soap on for any grease. “I used the exact amounts you like.�
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  “Something was different.” He walks over to the laundry room which is hidden in a closet in the kitchen. He snags a T-shirt from the bottom of a pile of clothes I just folded, and the rest of his clean shirts tumble to the floor.

  At this point, I just want to forget I even brought anything up. Maybe he will forget I said anything.

  “Okay, so finish…you helped the old lady.” He lets out a little chuckle as he makes his way back to his chair.

  “Well, yes, sort of.” I take a seat beside him, on the arm. Something I have done a million times. “She wanted to redecorate her family room. So, I helped her pick out some paints.”

  “That’s nice.” He pulls me down onto his lap. “Thanks for the spaghetti. I think the sauce was right. It was the grease. You didn’t rinse the meat. That had to be it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Continue.” He turns me on his lap to face him, my legs on either side of his.

  “Well, she loved it, but when her daughter came over, she was in awe.” I’m practically bouncing with excitement now.

  “Keep bouncing like that and I’ll have to bend you over right here.” He raises his hips at the same time as he slaps my ass.

  “Anyways…she thought Mrs. Nance had hired a professional.” I pause gauging his reaction, but he is looking past me and watching the news. “When she found out it was me, she asked if I had a degree or if I had any hands-on experience. Mrs. Nance wasn’t sure so she gave her my number.”

  “That’s nice, babe.”

  “Brandon, she’s that one designer. You know, the one I watch on TV on the DIY network.”

  “Cool,” he responds, not listening to a single word I say.

  “Summer Collins is Mrs. Nance’s daughter! Can you believe that? And the best part is, she said I could intern for her, but first I needed to take a few classes to get the basics down and learn the terminology.” Placing a hand on his cheek, I look him in the eyes. “She got me into design school. Well, not a full semester, but a couple classes.”

  He pushes me off his lap and onto the floor as he stands up and begins to pace.

  So much for not listening.

  “What the fuck, Nina? You think because you painted someone’s house that you can go on TV and do this for a living? It’s slapping some color on a white-ass wall and saying you gave it a make-over.”