by Jessica Park
My nod is weak. “Sure.”
Danny nudges me to the right, forcing me to take in more colors. “And now?”
“Purples. A million of them.”
“Look at the shades. Boysenberry. Sangria. Iris. Heather. Do they make you feel something?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Keep going.”
“Let’s try blues.” He adjusts my view. “Peacock. Azure. Indigo.”
I stop in my tracks. “You left one out.”
“Okay,” he says. “Tell me.”
“Cerulean.” It’s so easy to picture now. “Your color. Herringbone pattern. Skinny, rectangular tiles.”
His fingers pull back more, maybe accidentally running through my hair, maybe accidentally grazing against my shoulders. Maybe not.
I can feel his breath against my collarbone right before he whispers in my ear. “I can’t argue with that.”
It’s not easy, but I wander away from him now, taking my time and looking at tile after tile, trying to envision what would work for the fireplace that I slaughtered.
After walking up and down the long aisle about a million times, I stop in my tracks. “Are you going to have a fit if I like this white tile for the fireplace It’s got curves and shit. Texture. It reminds me of waves.”
Danny pauses and looks at what I’m so excited about. “Okay, that is totally sexy. It’ll be perfect, especially if you do a beautiful, rustic wood mantel. And listen, white and gray and black and all of those non-colors that you love are crazy beautiful in their own way. I merely wanted to hear that you were open to more. That you could appreciate more.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re doing great, kiddo.” He playfully rubs my back, and I’m not sure whether to be unhappy about being called kiddo or elated that he touched me again. “That living room is dark and needs a lot of light brought in. And maybe you’ll go nuts with the furniture. Imagine!”
His smile is contagious.
“Maybe I will. Maybe there will be”—I pause for a minute—“a couch or two in a soft parchment shade. Throw pillows with the exact richness of crème de cassis.”
“I like the way you’re talkin’.” His hand hasn’t left me, so I think I’m on the right path with this color thing. “Cassis. As in the liqueur?”
“Yes. I’ve never had it, but Kir Royale was my grandmother’s go-to drink. When I was young, I’d watch her make one and think how fancy nice it was,” I say with a laugh.
“Oh, ‘fancy nice,’ huh?” He pulls me in and laughs. “I’m down with ‘fancy nice.’ Integrating it into my vocab straight away.”
Not that I want to break the moment, but I am eager to keep going with the house stuff. Which is way less hot than the way Danny Schroeder’s touch is burning up my skin, but still important.
“I maybe, perhaps, possibly mentioned to Paul the idea of adding three large iron-framed windows that will look out onto the creek. Along with a sliding door or something at the bottom of the stairs,” I say, laughing.
He rolls his eyes. “Well, that will solve your light problem. And keep me working for longer and you in town for longer. Meaning no complaints.”
It’s all I can do to hide my smile as I lead us to another section in the store. “Okay, now, prepare yourself. I don’t want your head to explode, okay? Now, I’m not normally a wallpaper fan, but even with new tile, that bathroom is pretty damn boring. What if we did some kind of bold pattern?”
“I like where you’re going with this. Keep talking.”
“I mean, if we’re doing the blue tile, I don’t want more crazy color on the wall.”
“Well, yeah, after this craaaaaazy-colored floor, sure.” He winks, and I push him away jokingly.
“Baby steps, baby steps!” I implore. “But I was wondering about a big black-and-white print?” My hands touch samples as we stroll together. “Like this? It reminds me of giant black peonies.”
“I love it,” he says decidedly.
“And obviously, a new sink, toilet, and washer and dryer because those are old as hell.”
“I guess we have some orders to place.”
“Yes. But I’m not looking at toilets in front of you. I’ll do that another time.”
Danny shrugs. “Why? You’re here. Might as well.”
“It’s creepy and weird. I cannot think of anything less sexy than perusing toilets with someone, much less you.”
“Huh. Well, this is interesting.” He leans against a shelf and crosses his arms, unable to conceal a teasing smile. “So, you’re looking for sexier pastimes with me?”
Shit. Why did I say that?
Danny would probably come up with five ways to describe the color that floods my cheeks, and it doesn’t help that his stance only tightens his T-shirt across his chest and arms. I look down, but now, I’m looking at the way his jeans gently hug his waist and thighs. And more. Not too tightly, not too loosely.
“I meant that I’m not shopping for a toilet with anyone. It’s a solitary activity.”
“Just like using one!” he replies with too much delight.
“Oh my God. I’ll order one online. Hey, maybe one of those old-timey ones with the tank up top and a metal chain that pulls to make it flush. Ugh! I’m stopping now!.” It’s hard not to be appalled at how excited I’m getting about toilet possibilities. “Could we please talk grout and stuff? Anything but this conversation that has gone horribly sideways.”
“We can for sure be done talking about toilets.” He moves in and throws an arm over my shoulders, pulling me against him. “Maybe not other stuff.”
It feels as though I’m not alone in my attraction, but I can’t indulge in this. Not only am I going to be leaving at some unnamed point in the not-too-distant future, but I’m damaged goods, as they say. Like, a true mess. And Danny is … well, Danny is all cool and skilled and hot and together. Opposites might attract but not like this.
We’re checking out when I say confidently, “I need to rent a tile saw. I’m going to be, you know, cutting tiles. Tiling various rooms. ’Cause that’s what I do. It’s my thing.”
Danny cannot pretend that I’m not totally lying. “You need to stop talking.”
“Tiles all the way!” I shout.
He stops my fist as I try to raise it in a salute. “Nope.”
When the car is loaded with materials and we’re on the road, I apologize. “Sorry. I should have known that Paul has a tile saw. I was planning on renting one. So, I could have gotten the rest of this stuff myself.”
“You would have ended up with seriously dull bathroom tiles and a scratched-up fancy-nice rental car, so I’m glad I was here.”
“Trust me, I can’t wait until that car gets picked up.” Rolling down the window brings in much-needed fresh air.
“Another thing?” Danny says sternly. “I’m damn glad that you didn’t try using a tile saw without a lesson or five. Shit, Callie, you could have lost a finger. Or an arm.”
I slump a bit in my seat. He’s got a point. Perhaps my aspirations are more than a bit high, but I know that I can still do this in some form, major help or not. “I at least want to try.”
When his hand reaches for mine, I manage not to shudder.
“You can definitely do this.”
We shouldn’t be holding hands. This is bad. This has to stop.
Instead, I tighten the grip he initiated and look away.
Maybe it’s a friendly thing.
Friends hold hands, right?
I wish Shallots were here as a distraction.
“You mentioned Wakefest when we were at Mary Ann’s.” While I am curious, I’m also desperate to shift my focus from his touch. “What is that?”
“Oh man, it’s so fun. The best time of the year in Wake. God, it started after you left, huh? Probably a few years after. It takes place over three days in early August. We might be a small town, but this festival is killer. While we’re not big on a map when it comes to population, there’s so much land and
space available here, which is perfect for a big summer fair. Arts and crafts sales, live music, tractor pulls, food stands, live bands, a children’s tent, sugar-shack stuff, maple products, face painting, and all kinds of animal shows. Oh, and produce like crazy, especially from Mary Ann’s place. Not rides, like most fairs have, but those always seem kinda deadly anyway.”
His description throws me back. “I remember going to state fairs like this. Blueberry everything. I haven’t thought about this in years. Wait, and there were sheep-shearing contests, right? Like, who could shave a sheep’s wool off in the shortest time? That always seemed weird to me. And all of the sheep at Mary Ann’s farm had short hair. So, they’re already sheared?”
Danny groans. “There’s definitely no sheep or any other animal shearing at Wakefest. Whatever you do, don’t mention that to Mary Ann.”
“Why’s that?”
“Not only are sheep routinely cut during the process, but they also have to be handled multiple times, and it’s terribly stressful for them. It’s kind of awful. So, she and her grandparents bring in people who are highly trained early in the season. They do all sorts of things to calm the sheep and make sure they’re not traumatized, and their sheep are only sheared in the early spring, when it’s an optimal time.”
“Well, shit. I feel awful now. I used to think those events were fun.”
“You and me both. I had no idea. But don’t worry; all the animal events now are very humane. Mostly people showing off their farm fur babies. You’ll love it.”
“Well, if I’m here.”
“Ha! With the renovation list you’ve come up with, you’re not leaving Vermont anytime soon. Anyway, everyone in town is involved with Wakefest somehow, so that’s going to include you. Trust me, it’ll be some of the best days of your life.”
“And what do you do at this hometown fair?”
He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to stick around to find out.”
When he pulls up to the house and we start unloading supplies onto the side of house, I’m still processing the idea of being here longer than I thought.
When we go inside, the concern on his face is worse than Paul’s. “I gather you got an early start on demolition.” He also knows it wasn’t planned.
“Schroeder, it was nothing.”
“I knew that you wanted to redo it, but this?” He walks to the fireplace that I haven’t even started to clean up. To the random smashes, to chaos that was clearly not methodical. To the rubble that I’ve left behind. His hands run over what remains of the brick. “It wasn’t nothing.”
“Fine. I was blowing off steam.” It’s a poor defense, but I use it anyway.
It takes him a moment to reply and an even longer moment before he turns around. He might be facing me, but he cannot look me in the eye when he simply says, “I understand that.”
For the first time, I wonder if Danny is not as happy as he seems. If maybe he carries some kind of pain the way I do.
The pounding at the front door makes us both jump.
Before either of us has time to move, Paul has already let himself in. “Delivery! Roofing tiles and all that will be here tomorrow.” He points at Danny. “You and the boys should be here by nine at the latest.”
“You got it.”
“And, Callie? Get ready for some noise.”
“I’m ready.” I’m not ready but whatever.
Paul claps his hands together and marches himself into a seat at the dining table, and Danny plants himself next to his boss. My assumption that they’re going to talk work proves to be wrong when neither of them says anything for too long and when they are clearly trying too hard to look casual.
Oh. I get it. “Are either of you hungry? I have leftover chicken, if you—”
“If it’s not a problem,” Paul says.
“Sure, I could eat.” Danny pretends to read an urgent text.
“And I could do a salad with that—” I start.
“Yep!” they both answer my unfinished question.
I back into the kitchen slowly, as if they were both deranged. “So, you want me to feed you?”
Paul pivots a bit in his chair. “It’s because that omelet was so spot on …”
“We thought you might have something else,” Danny adds.
I pace the small kitchen and again chop up salad ingredients while the oven heats up. This is insane. Not only have I never had anyone ask me for food beyond the recent omelet requests, but I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone randomly think I’m qualified to provide anything.
It’s not a bad feeling at all.
And twenty minutes later, I find another small high when these two are silent and devouring their plates.
“Any chance this meal will kill the town laughter about my spatchcock chicken order?” I ask without hope as I drop into a chair. “Because this chicken in the salad is the spatchcock … er, butterflied … chicken.”
“Nope!” Paul answers too quickly.
“Not likely, but we can try.” Danny kicks me under the table so that I look at him. “And Alex already loves your omelets. That’s huge. He’s a talker.”
“Fantastic. And he pretty much stole a hat.”
Danny nearly chokes, laughing. “You’ll get the hat back. It might take a minute, but be patient.” It takes him another minute to swallow and breathe normally. “A heads-up? Alex doesn’t always react like most people. He’s got his quirks that sometimes need a little patience, but I think you’ll figure him out pretty fast. And he loved your omelet, the way we all did. Although he’s hoping for breakfast sausage next time.”
“Next time?” I about shriek.
“He might have mentioned a Sunday brunch,” Danny says in a whisper. “You might want to get ready.”
sixteen
Thank God for fast shipping because nuzzling myself under this new, puffy white duvet and fresh sheets is what I need now. It might be my parents’ room, but I have to make it mine. At least for now. I simply can’t sleep in my childhood bedroom.
But new bedding doesn’t mean that I sleep well.
Dreams about driving backward over hills without brakes, dealing with winding roads? Not terribly relaxing. Out-of-control car dreams seem to be becoming a recurring theme, and I’m not a fan.
After pacing the stuffy room over and over and finding no relief, I rush down the stairs in the dead of night and fling open the front door, gasping for air.
As I’m inhaling and exhaling, trying to recover from a full-blown panic, attack I see Danny at the end of my driveway, staring calmly at the moonlit lake, Shallots by his side.
“Oh hey. You’re awake,” Danny says with such serenity. “Did you know you had a rowboat? Come on. Let’s go.”
What in the hell is happening?
“A boat ride?” I manage.
My breathing starts to even slightly, and I’m able to stand up. While I’m still recovering from my nightmare, his presence brings me some degree of peace. And also irritation. There’s something to be said for solitude while handling a massive anxiety fireball, but I’m too tired to argue. My emotions begin to subside, and I walk toward him.
“A boat ride, yes. C’mon.” He leads me to a spot under the deck. “Fine, I admit I stored this here. I love being out on this lake in any way I can. Considering the view and the easy launch point from here, how could I not store a boat? So, help me pull.”
This is all so stupid, but I help him lug the boat from under the deck, across grass and sand, and into the water.
“Okay, I know this looks weird and stalker-ish or whatever. But … I love this spot. Being out here on the lake.” He situates himself and then Shallots before holding out his hand. “You coming?”
“Sure.” I reluctantly let him help me find a seat in this dumb rowboat.
It’s so dark, and the lake is only barely lit from the lights coming from the houses on shore. Danny rows us out until it’s hard to see anything. Until it is so damn quiet.
<
br /> Until he’s brought us to a place where we cannot lie.
“So, you’ve been coming here and rowboating it by my house?” I’m unable to ask this without a degree of accusation.
“Yes, I know it sounds weird,” he admits. “I get it.”
“And?”
“And I never had a father. Mike knew that, and he was the closest thing I had to a dad. Losing him hurt me too. A lot. And then you and your mom and sister left, and …” He struggles for words. “You were all gone. With no good-byes. It was rough.”
“You know that wasn’t my choice,” I say softly.
“Of course not. You were a kid. Nobody blames you.”
“They blame my mom though.”
He looks directly at me. “No. Never. Who knows what any of us would do in that situation? She left to protect herself as best she could.”
I don’t know what to say. Danny’s forceful pull on the oars sends mini waves off the boat, their sound breaking through the silence that has come between us.
Finally, I knock my foot against his and ask, “So, my dad was a surrogate dad to you? Does this mean that you think of me as a sister?”
“Definitely not.” His mischievous smile does not disappoint. Nor does the cute wink. “Are you okay with that?”
I don’t need to think before I answer, but still, I look around and take in this beautiful night view of the lake. “Yeah,” I say definitively. “I’m very okay with that.”
“Good.”
“So, you come out here and row because of my dad?”
“Being here keeps me close to him. Yes.”
Danny is remarkable.
“Want to play a game?” he asks randomly.
“Um, okay. Sure.”
“Tell two truths and one lie, and we guess which is which.”
This supposed game seems weird, but I agree. “Fine. You go first. Two truths and one lie.”
“I can eat pickled jalapeños for days and never break a sweat. I once ran over a hedgehog on my dirt bike and took it to the vet and then paid for its cremation. And I love to dress up in a proper suit and tie.”
“You don’t seem to love vegetables, but I can see you loving heat. And a jalapeño isn’t that hot. Second, you’re an animal lover, so that piece rings true. Tragic but true. And the third?” This guy is all about his jeans and tanks and muscle shirts, all of which would normally look douchey on most guys, but these are his daily clothes, and they’re who he is. Informal, hardworking, unaffected.