I knew by his smile that he wanted to do it, so I set down my things and walked over to the storage shed. It was hot in there, but it was clean and highly organized. The guy followed me, coming to stand in the doorway just as I grabbed the bag of fish food.
"I can't believe it's this hot in September," he said.
"Where are you from?" I asked. "Ohio, and then New York," he said.
"Yeah, I guess it's a lot colder up there," I said. I took a handful of food out of the bag and held it out for him. "How long have you lived in Florida?" I asked.
"Not long at all," he said.
But I barely heard him because just as the words came out of his mouth, our hands touched. I tried not to be clumsy about transferring the fish food into his hand, but it was difficult. I felt an actual electric, zapping sensation when he touched me. I had only felt like this a couple of other times in my life, and even then, it wasn't quite this extreme. Once, during a middle school crush, and again with a guy I dated more recently, after college.
I loved the way this guy smelled—like the smell of cologne mixed with expensive leather, or wood, or both—undeniably clean and masculine. What's worse was that I smelled so very bad. I knew I did. I could tell there was contrast between me and him, and I blushed from embarrassment because of it. I had to get out of that hot shed. I was shaking as we transferred the food, and it was all I could do to keep from dropping it. I basically tossed it into his hand.
"There," I said casually, even though there was nothing casual about how I felt. I turned to store the bag on the shelf.
"Do I just throw it in there?" he asked as we walked toward the pond.
I was still shaken. "No," I said. "Take it slower than that. Sit on the ledge like you were before, and I'll show you what to do. We'll see if we can get them to eat out of your hand."
"Seriously?" he asked, glancing at me.
I smiled and nodded. I really loved how excited he was about it. "I've never fed these fish, but a lot of times, they'll come take it right out of your hand—especially the ones this size."
I sat on the edge of the pond, and he took a seat next to me. I reached out, looking at his hand and indicating, without saying a word, that I wanted him to give me some of the food. He opened his hand, and I took a few pellets off the top of the pile, being careful not to touch him while I was at it.
"So, you don't listen to classical music?" he asked.
"No," I said, letting out a tiny, unintentional laugh as I shook my head.
"What's funny?" he asked.
I shrugged shyly, but then I quickly turned my attention to the fish. I held the food just above the surface of the pond, trying to coax them into coming up. "I don't know. I've heard a few of the classics over the years—you know the ones everybody knows—the ones that are in movie soundtracks, or whatever. But I've never been to the symphony or anything. I thought it was for rich people, or old people." Then I felt embarrassed for saying that, and added, "Maybe my parents just weren't into that kind of thing."
He didn't respond right away. He seemed content to sit there in comfortable silence, watching me try to make the fish come to get the food. I dropped one pellet onto the surface and watched as the Platinum Ogon caught sight of it.
"Why? Do you like it?" I asked.
"I do," he said.
I glanced at him, and he shrugged.
"But, like you said, it depends on what your parents expose you to."
"Your parents listened to that stuff?" I asked.
"Yep," he said. "Quite a lot, actually. They didn't listen to much else."
We were both focused on the fish and didn't look at each other.
"And they made you listen to it?" I asked quietly.
"Yep."
"That's cool," I said. "You should probably thank them for that. I bet it made you smarter. Part of me wishes I knew more about fancy stuff—just so I could have an intelligent conversation about it. In moments like these, for instance. Instead of admitting that I'd never even been to the symphony and knew nothing about it, I could say something like… yesss, I know Bach, and Sebastian, and their magnificent crescendos. I absolutely loooved that piece that was written in seventeen-la-la-la. It was my favorite, darling!"
I made that whole statement with the accent of a fancy person, which happened to have a slight British accent, and the handsome mover just smiled at me the whole time, looking like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth. I couldn't believe it either, actually. I would have definitely acted silly like that in front of my family or friends, but I hated myself for doing it in front of this gorgeous stranger. I blamed nerves.
He couldn't hold back a laugh. He continued to stare at me as if that was the most curious, entertaining thing I could have said. "Did you say seventeen-la-la-la?" he asked.
"Yes, I did," I admitted.
"What's that even mean?" he asked.
"I was trying to act like someone who knew what year a certain musical piece was written, like 1745 or whatever. I just couldn't think of an exact number right then."
"You also said Bach and Sebastian like they were two different people," he said, still smiling.
"They're the same person, aren't they?" I asked, remembering as he said it that I had heard those names together.
"Yes, they are," he said. "Johann Sebastian Bach. Same guy. You were right about the year, though. You nailed that part."
"What'd I say?" I asked.
"1745."
"And that was right?" I asked, amazed.
He stared at me, smiling at my wide-eyed expression.
"What happened in that year?" I asked.
"Nothing specific, but Bach was alive."
"He was?"
He nodded.
"Are you serious, or are you just trying to make me feel better?"
"I'm serious," he said.
"I can't believe you know that fact. Do you know of the lady who's staying in the house?" I asked, gesturing in that direction. "I think she's kinda famous. Her name's something Winters. Amanda maybe."
"I think I've heard of her," he said, nodding.
"I bet you could meet her if you stick around. I think she was supposed to be here this morning. That's why I had to rush over." I looked down at my shirt. It was too late for me do anything about my appearance, but at least I could offer an explanation. "Usually, I save ponds for the end of my day because I get so dirty cleaning them."
"I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely regretful. "You should have saved it for the end of your day."
I let out a little laugh. "Thanks," I said. "But I think it was a big deal to the landlord that I got the pond shipshape for the cellist. She called in a favor to my boss."
"And here you are," he said, looking me over.
"And here I am," I agreed. "Oh, we missed it!" I said, noticing that the Platinum Ogon had just come to the surface and taken the pellet. The bravery of that one encouraged Monty, and he drifted closer to the surface as well. I gently dropped another pellet onto the surface, and the white one was there to suck it into his mouth as soon as it fell.
The guy gasped. "Oh my gosh, look at that mouth!" he said. "It's like a vacuum cleaner."
I chuckled at his excitement as I dropped two more pellets into the water. This made Monty come to the surface, and before I knew it, the others cautiously followed. "I bet you anything that gold-bronze colored one down in the lower pond would eat straight out of your hand without even thinking about it," I said.
"Really?" he asked, glancing over there.
I nodded. "It's a Chagoi. They generally get the most excited about eating." Then something caught my eye. "Oh, my gosh, this one's super cool," I said, staring into the pond and trying not to make any sudden movements as all five fish ventured to the surface. I slowly scattered five or six pellets onto the surface, still coaxing them. Most of them came to get a piece of food.
"That is the coolest thing I've ever seen," he whispered as their big round mouths opened, s
ucking in the food.
"See that black and white one?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"It's a Kumonryu. Its name has something to do with dragon. The black spots on it change like clouds in the sky, moving and shifting in different patterns and coverage. It might not work so well here in Florida because I think it has something to do with the changing seasons. I've never had clients who had one, so I can't tell you for sure, but I know that variety changes color."
"You're kidding," he said.
I shook my head. "I didn't see him earlier, but Lance did say there was a Kumonryu here, and there he is."
"Pete," he said.
"Pete?" I asked, tilting my head at him.
"Like Pete's Dragon."
I smiled and nodded. "That's the Tancho," I said. "The white with the orange spot on his head.
"Nacho," he said.
"Tancho."
"I know, but I'm gonna call him Nacho since that's what I thought of when you said Tancho."
I laughed. "You need to come with me to work sometime. You can name all my fish."
We stared at each other for several long seconds. I really thought he might say that he wanted to come with me to work—that's how he was looking at me.
"Just do like this," I said, changing the subject. I held a few pieces of food in my fingertips and gently lowered them to the surface of the water.
"Casper's gonna do it," he said, watching as the pure white one came up and took the food from my fingers. "That was so cool," he added, after the fish sucked in the food. "It's seriously like a vacuum cleaner."
"Try it," I said.
Chapter 4
I watched in amazement as he fed the fish by hand. I had the best time watching him laugh at the feel of their mouths and describe what it was like. He was really interested in learning about the Koi and their environment. He asked me question after question—intelligent questions that I didn't mind answering. The best part was that he seemed to retain everything I was telling him. He was smart—like some kind of genius.
In the back of my mind, I wondered what he was doing working as a mover. He picked up everything I was telling him so quickly that I actually thought I could get him a job working with me. I knew Lance would hire him in a heartbeat. I could tell just by looking at him that he was strong, too. He wasn't a massive guy, but he was in good shape, and the muscles in his arms and chest were defined. He could start as a tech assistant, cleaning ponds with Lance or Alex, and then work his way up to having his own route. I was sure he could make better money at it than whatever they were paying him to be a mover.
I marveled at the way he learned—the way he remembered everything I was telling him and used the information I gave him to ask even more insightful questions. We talked for what must have been an hour. I had to test and treat the water to make sure it was balanced, and he alternated between watching the fish and watching me work. I had just gone to turn off the hose when he addressed me by my name.
"Do you think I can feed this gold one, Abigail?" he asked. He was standing over the lower pond and he glanced my way. "He looks hungry."
I smiled. "I told you that one would be an aggressive eater," I said. "Sure, you can feed him."
I was close to the shed, so I went in there and got a handful of food. He met me near the door, and I handed it to him. I begged myself not to notice the feel of his hand, but it was no use. He had the hands of a working man—strong, with calluses on his fingers. I took my hand from his so quickly that I ended up dropping some of the food.
"Oh, whoa," he said as some of the food fell to the ground.
"Sorry," I said, taking off toward the pond so that I could start packing my things.
He followed me.
"How'd you know my name?" I asked.
"It's on your shirt."
I didn't even have to glance at my chest. I knew he was right. I was wearing my work uniform, and my name was embroidered on my shirt.
"Unless you're wearing someone else's clothes," he added.
"I wish I was right now," I said.
"What's that mean?"
"I'm nasty," I said. "I actually have to go by my house and take a quick shower before I head to my next job. It's at a really nice hotel, and I don't think I should go in there smelling like this."
"You're welcome to shower here," he said.
He sounded like he was actually serious, and I gave him a sideways glance because of it. "Thanks," I said somewhat sarcastically. I didn't want to point it out, but he obviously had no right to offer me the use of this shower. I started to laugh about it, but he still wasn't breaking a smile. He was stooped at the edge of the lower pond, handfeeding the fish, and he made a joke about naming the yellow Chagoi "Piggy" or "Oinker".
I didn't respond.
I was already feeling weird about hanging out with him for so long. We weren't doing anything wrong, but I was really attracted to him, and I was having such a good time getting to know him that I was scared that the cellist would come home and catch us yuckin' it up in her backyard.
Then it hit me.
The shower comment wasn't the first thing he said that seemed entitled—he had offered me a drink, too, and it seemed like there were a few other things that made me wonder.
Maybe this guy had every right to offer me the use of the shower.
Maybe he was staying in this house.
Maybe he wasn’t a mover at all.
Maybe the cellist was his wife!
The thought made my heart drop.
I glanced at his hand, searching for a ring.
There wasn't one.
I tried to remember the things he said during the course of our conversation, but everything was a jumble in my mind.
"I'm Ash, by the way," he said, dusting his hands off once he was done feeding the fish.
He held his hand out, and I shook it. "Abigail Spencer," I said feeling even more anxious than before.
He smiled.
Goodness. The sight of it had my heart pounding. "Ash, like Ash Ketchum?" I asked. I let out a little nervous laugh afterward. I hated myself for being such a big dork. Leave it to me to make a Pokémon joke to a person who knew what year Bach was born.
"Yeah, like Ash Ketchum," he said with a smile. "I'm pretty impressed that you knew that."
"Why?"
"Because it's mostly adolescent boys who know that name."
"I have a sixteen-year-old brother," I said.
He nodded as if that explained everything, and I shrugged.
"He doesn’t really like Pokémon, though," I said. "I just knew the main character's name was Ash Ketchum. I remember hearing it somewhere."
I sincerely had a good time with this guy, Ash. It had been a pleasurable experience getting to know him. I thought he was so down-to-earth and easy to talk to. Even more than that, he was extremely good-looking, and for a while, I had actually talked myself into believing I had a chance with him—that maybe, somehow, our encounter in this stranger's backyard would amount to something.
The worst part of it was that I honestly thought he was attracted to me. I had obviously mistaken his curiosity about fish and his kind nature for something more. I thought he had been noticing me. How embarrassing.
Now it was starting to sink in that he wasn't a mover at all. Now I realized he probably belonged to the cellist. Just because he didn't have a ring didn't mean he wasn't married. I felt nauseated at the realization that a guy I thought to be single was actually taken. That would explain why he was so confident and comfortable and why he knew so much about classical music.
So many things made sense now.
And there I was, smelling like a fish pond and making Pokémon references.
Suddenly, I was in a hurry to leave.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"It was really nice meeting you, Ash," I said with a nod. "It was great talking to you."
"Can I help you to your truck?"
"Oh, no, no, no, I go
t it. I'm good. I'm just gonna show myself out the way I came in. Thank you."
I began walking across the yard, toward the gate that would take me to the front of the house.
"You can come through the house if you like," he called. "I think it's closer."
I knew it. He was staying here. He wasn't the mover. This was really one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I had a flashback to a few of the choice things I had said—the moment when I was acting like a fancy person who knew about classical music. I flinched outwardly since my back was toward him. I had to get out of there.
"No thanks," I said, turning to look over my shoulder and smiling with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "I'm all dirty. It was really nice meeting you, though!"
I closed the gate and walked to my truck as quickly as my feet could take me. I already had plans to fling my things into the back of the truck and take off, and I had almost made it there when I heard someone yell.
"Hey!" he said.
I glanced in the direction of the house and saw that Ash was heading my way with a bag in his hand.
Salt.
It was a bag of salt.
A three-dollar bag of salt.
"I think you forgot something," he said, holding it up.
"I'm sorry," I said. "You could have actually just put that in the shed for the next person. I have about ten-hundred of them at work."
Ten-hundred? Really, Abigail?
Ash approached with the bag, and I stepped toward him to take it.
"Thanks," I said.
"Thanks for making the pond look so good. And for teaching me all that about Koi. It was really fun."
"No problem," I said, smiling. I opened the passenger's side of my truck and tossed everything onto the floorboard. "It was nice meeting you."
"Are you going to come back to change the filter?" he asked.
"Oh, no. The, uh, landlord has a regular guy. I was just filling in for him."
I glanced at him as I walked around to the driver's side. There was something about the way he was looking at me. Regret? Disappointment? It seemed like he could tell I was rushing off and wanted to say something to stop me.
So This is Love (Miami Stories Book 1) Page 3