by Jewel E. Ann
“Start working for me. When do you want to start working for me?” His voice was no longer low. And he slowed his words as if he were talking to a child or someone who didn’t speak English well.
Embarrassed wasn’t the right word to describe how I felt in that moment. More like … mortified. And when Fisher smiled, as if he’d been reading my mind the whole time, I wanted to do physical harm to him. Never had I felt so angry toward another human in my whole life. The most frustrating part? I wasn’t sure why I was so angry with him. For not wearing a shirt? For having a sinful body? For winking and smiling? Maybe talking in a slightly deeper voice, which tripped my imagination, sending it tumbling into a dark, forbidden place.
“We can do it … I mean …” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can start working for you. Well … your business … whenever.” Gah! I might as well of had “parochial-schooled virgin” tattooed on my forehead.
Chapter Five
The next day, my mom took me to lunch and gave me a quick tour of Denver, promising me we’d go to a Rockies game when she returned from Los Angeles. That night, I sat on her bed next to her suitcase while she packed.
“Is it weird?” I finally got the nerve to broach the subject. “Being with someone so much younger than you?” It wasn’t the question I needed to ask her, but I hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her why she was growing pot in the storage room of her salon.
She folded a pair of black pants and added them to the growing pile in the suitcase. “You’re my daughter.” A hearty laugh followed her answer. “Or are you meaning that the women I was around in the correctional facility were all my age? Because they weren’t. Crime comes in all ages, sizes, colors, and social statuses.”
“No. I mean Fisher.”
She shrugged. “He’s my landlord. I think he’s twelve years younger than me. So … twenty-eight. I suppose I’m a little envious that he’s been so successful this early in his life. But it doesn’t bother me to have a landlord younger than me.”
My nose wrinkled. “Again, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Her eyes narrowed, lips still curved into a grin. We had the same smile. My dad used to say it before she went to prison. Then he stopped comparing me to her at all. But she had tiny dimples like mine, and her smile was a little crooked like mine. Hair. Eyes. I was her mini me.
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Fisher is … your boyfriend. Right? I mean … I know he’s your landlord too, but you seem to be close to him, more so than a landlord-tenant relationship.”
Her lips parted, eyes unblinking for several seconds. “N-no …” She coughed a laugh. “We’re just friends. I can promise you that.”
“Really?”
Another laugh. “Really.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” That question came out so quickly I didn’t have a single second to stop it.
Adding more clothes to her suitcase, her eyebrows lifted a fraction. “No. Why? Are you into older men? Please say no.”
“Of course not. I mean … I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with a year or two older, but not ten years older. I only asked because I noticed he didn’t lock his side of the door at the top of the stairs. And I think if he had someone living with him or even visiting, he wouldn’t want you going into his space unannounced. I’m not at all interested in him.” I rolled my eyes.
My mom bit her lips and nodded slowly. “I see. Well, I knocked, so that was my announcement, and he started it, so I know he’s okay with me going upstairs.”
“What do you mean he started it?”
“We’re friends. Just friends. Sometimes we watch TV together down here. Sometimes we hang out and have a beer or two. I don’t even know when it happened really, but he’d knock twice to come down here, and I’d have to go up the stairs to unlock the door. So eventually, I stopped locking it on my side, and he stopped locking it on his side. But, by all means, if it makes you more comfortable, you can lock it while I’m gone.”
I traced my fingernail along the zipper to her suitcase. “It’s no big deal. I might lock it if I remember.” Oh … I was locking it. That was a guarantee. However, there was no need for my mom to know just how little I trusted the naked fisherman.
“Well, I trust him. I wouldn’t leave you in the same house with someone unless I trusted them with my life and yours. I’m a good judge of character. Fisher is one of the good ones. I mean…” she smirked “…don’t get me wrong, I told him I’d remove his testicles if he for one minute looked at you inappropriately.” She laughed.
I wasn’t sure what she was laughing about because I felt certain he had already given me that look more than once.
So I wasn’t so sure about his “good one” status, but I knew I was about to find out.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Keeping her gaze on the shirt in her hands, she smiled. A sad smile. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m pretty sure I’m done with men.”
“But you have so much life left to live. I’ve prayed for you. I’ve prayed that you would find happiness again. I’ve prayed that you would be able to stay clean too.”
“Clean?” She glanced up.
“The marijuana.”
After a few seconds of intense contemplation, she found her sad smile again. “Thanks for praying for me. I’m not sure God’s ready to give me His grace yet, but I do appreciate you thinking I deserve it.”
I let her finish packing without asking anymore questions, but I had a lot. There was so much Dad didn’t tell me. Maybe he thought he was protecting me, but I didn’t feel protected when he died, leaving me with so many unanswered questions.
“Fisher’s taking me to the airport in the morning. We’re leaving early … four-thirty. You can come if you want to, but I understand if you want to sleep in.” She zipped her suitcase and set it by her bedroom door next to her carry-on bag.
“I’ll come.”
That seemed to make her smile, a real one that showed both of her dimples. “Great. I’ve written down things for you. My number and the number for the salon where I’ll be. Wi-Fi password. I wrote down Fisher’s number too, in case he forgets to give it to you. You have your grandparents’ contact information, and I’m leaving you the keys to my car and some money for gas and food.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t have to leave me money. I have money from Dad’s …” My nose wrinkled.
She blinked a few times before recognition ghosted along her face. “His life insurance.”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
We didn’t talk anymore about my dad or the money that I had, the money that would be given to me in increments as I got older, including money assigned to my college fund that I wasn’t sure I’d use.
We ate dinner. Watched TV. And turned in early for bed.
Four-thirty came too soon. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and stretched on yoga pants and an oversized tee.
“Coffee?” Rory asked.
I shook my head and yawned. “I might go back to sleep when I get back here.”
“Good idea. Let’s go then. Fisher has already carried my suitcase up to his truck, and he’s waiting on us.”
“K” was all I managed on a second yawn as I followed her out the door and around to the front of the house, where a white truck with Mann Construction, Inc. on the side of it waited for us.
“Morning, ladies.” Fisher smiled as I climbed into the back seat and my mom hopped into the front seat.
“Morning. I think Reese might be regretting her decision to ride with us to the airport.” My mom laughed.
“I’m good,” I said on yet another yawn.
Fisher and my mom chatted on the way to the airport while I grabbed a quick nap. When he pulled to a stop in the drop-off lane, I climbed out and stretched while he retrieved the suitcase from the bed of the truck.
“Take care of yourself, and take care of my baby girl,” Mom said while giving Fisher a big hug. “
And remember … she’s my baby girl. Nothing more.”
What did that mean? Fisher winked at me over her shoulder. Really? What the heck was that all about?
I looked at him differently, knowing he wasn’t my mom’s boyfriend. I shouldn’t have, but it made him even sexier. My gaze ate up everything about him—that strong jaw with a permanent five o’clock shadow that showed his maturity, not like the young men in caps and gowns at my graduation ceremony with molestaches.
Blue eyes with thick lashes.
Messy, dirty blond hair peeking out from under his baseball cap.
Defined arms.
Just six-plus solid feet of strong man.
Who … wasn’t my mom’s boyfriend.
“Bye, sweetie. Call me. FaceTime. Text. Just … let me know how you’re doing or if you need anything.” She hugged me.
Fisher glanced around while slipping his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as if he was giving us a little bubble of privacy.
All too quickly, she released me, slung her carry-on over her shoulder, and wheeled her suitcase toward the entrance with nothing but a quick glance back and a big smile.
“Breakfast?” Fisher asked while climbing into the truck.
I hopped into the passenger’s seat and fastened my seat belt with shaky hands. It was officially just me and the naked fisherman. “It’s five. Who eats breakfast at five?”
“Well, if you’re working for me this summer, then we do.” Pulling away from the curb, he chuckled and shook his head.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. The veins in his arms that continued to his large hands loosely gripping the steering wheel. His scent—all man, but like I imagined the mountains would smell. I was well in over my head with a river of inappropriate thoughts pulling me under.
“Thought you said we were going to breakfast?” I asked Fisher as he pulled his truck into the driveway.
“We are.” He hopped out and walked into the garage.
Maybe he forgot something.
His wallet.
His phone.
I jumped as my door opened.
“This isn’t a date. But good for you for insisting a guy open the door for you. I’ll do it this one time, but my other employees can’t see me doing this for you. So pull this lever toward you then push out on the door next time.” Fisher smirked, really proud of himself for making me feel stupid.
I assumed we were leaving again. And I knew how to open a door.
Jerk.
“Thanks.” I scowled at him while sliding out of his truck. “I thought we were going to breakfast.”
“Jeez, we are. You must be starving since you can’t stop asking me about it.”
I followed him into his kitchen. “I’m not really that hungry. I’m just confused.”
“Well, this is bread.” He held up a loaf of bread. “And I put it in this little appliance that cooks it nice and brown to create something called toast.” He dropped four slices into the toaster. “After that, the sky’s the limit, baby. We can put almost anything we want on top of it. Think of it as the perfect vehicle to anywhere. I personally like going to peanut butter town with banana slices, but you can do butter, jelly, avocado, hummus, marshmallow cream … really, the options are endless.” After he set two white plates on the counter, he turned toward me and grinned.
“Why do you treat me like I’m eight instead of eighteen?” I crossed my arms over my chest and flipped out my hip.
“Because you wear this permanent deer-in-the-headlights look. I don’t know if you’re scared of me or just really confused. But since I don’t think I’m a scary person, I have to assume you’re confused. I don’t know how they do things in Texas, so I’m just walking you through my routine.”
“We have toasters in Texas. And for the record, I spent most of my life in Nebraska. It’s a neighboring state to Colorado, in case you don’t have good geography skills.”
My reaction pleased him, or at least that was the look he chose to give me. Complete amusement.
I wasn’t trying to amuse or please him.
“I’m not sure yoga pants are the best choice for work apparel. I suggest jeans for sure. Leather work boots for visiting job sites. And whatever shirt you want as long as you don’t care if it gets dirty.”
“I didn’t know I was starting work today. And I don’t have work boots. I have tennis shoes.”
“Those will work.” He grabbed the toast when it popped up and deposited two pieces onto each plate. “We’ll get you work boots later. Maybe over our lunch break.”
“Sounds …” I started to say “sexy.” Why? I didn’t know. But I quickly replaced it with something less provocative. “Fashionable.”
“Fashionable?” He glanced over his shoulder while spreading the peanut butter. “This isn’t a job where you have to worry about being fashionable. Practical and safe for the win.”
“I don’t like peanut butter.” I eyed his hand spreading it onto my toast too.
“Jesus, woman … are you even human?” He scraped the peanut butter off the bread and returned it to the jar. “There’s the fridge. Have at it. Put whatever you want on your toast.”
It would still smell like peanut butter, but I opted to keep my mouth shut and just gut it down. He added his sliced bananas and took a seat on one of the painted metal barstools while I found a stick of butter and smeared lots of it over the residual peanut butter.
“I threw up a bunch of puppy chow … you know, the corn or rice cereal with peanut butter, melted chocolate, and powdered sugar? And since then, I haven’t been able to eat peanut butter.”
“Thanks for sharing your peanut butter vomit story while I’m eating peanut butter.”
I glanced over my shoulder while returning the butter to the fridge. “Oops. Sorry. Cinnamon?”
He nodded to the spice rack by the stove.
“Sugar?” I grabbed the cinnamon.
“Pantry.”
“Where is your pantry?”
“The door to your right.” He took a big bite of his toast and nodded to the cabinet door.
“Here?” I opened the door and a light turned on to a hidden pantry and walked inside. “This is cool.”
“Second shelf on the right, clear to the back.”
I plucked the bag of cane sugar from the shelf and exited the hidden pantry. “Did you build this house?”
“I did.”
“Seriously?”
He chuckled. “If you didn’t think I could seriously build this house, then why did you ask?”
I shrugged. “Just making conversation.” I did my best to play it cool. When, in actuality, I was on a high.
Eighteen.
In a new state.
Mom out of town.
Living with a twenty-eight-year-old man who rented a large portion of space in my head. Dominating my thoughts—corrupting my thoughts. He even interrupted my prayer time. I quickly discovered that my on-and-off anger toward him was because he made me think and feel things that felt sinful. I wondered if I could have an innocent crush on him? He wasn’t married. And if I didn’t act on it, could it be a big deal? An actual sin?
“I built it three years ago. My dad is an electrician. My uncle is a plumber and a welder. I started working for a construction company when I was fourteen, over the summer. And I loved it. I knew I wanted to build houses. So my dad and uncle helped me get up and going. And things took off. I have more business than my crew and I can handle most days.”
“So you have a crew?” I took a seat at the counter, leaving two chairs between us, and he smirked when he noticed that I was avoiding close proximity to him. “Does that mean you don’t build the houses anymore?”
“I don’t build as much, but I still do a lot of the trim carpentry in the custom homes we build.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I didn’t want to be the deer-in-the-headlights girl with him, so I nodded like I totally understood.
“You ever been married?” Why
? Why did it happen again? Why couldn’t I control my curiosity?
“No. You?”
I smiled over my bite of toast while wiping cinnamon and sugar from my lips. “Duh.”
“Boyfriend?”
I did it. I started it. And he jumped on board, making me regret saying anything.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?” he asked.
I whipped my head to the side, stopping mid-chew. “Um … no.”
He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “Don’t look so offended. You’re eighteen. You’re supposed to be woke enough to not be offended by the question like there’s something wrong with being a lesbian.”
“I … I …” Swallowing, I shook my head. “I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian. It’s not their fault.”
“Fault?” His jaw dropped. “Oh man, I’m embarrassed for you.”
“What does that mean?” I set my toast down, no longer feeling hungry. Not that I was anyway because it was too dang early in the morning to eat.
“I’m pretty sure implying being a lesbian is a ‘fault’ would not score you points with a lot of people.”
I felt so backed into a corner. I didn’t know what to say. I knew all the things my grandparents had told me and all the things I was taught at the Christian academy. “You know what I mean,” I said softly.
After a few seconds of eyeing me until I felt two inches tall, he nodded. “I do. I know what you mean. But not everyone would.”
“You’re gay,” I said as it hit me. Everything so clear. Of course my mom wasn’t with him. He was gay. That explained his reaction to what I said.
Without a shred of offense, he shook his head. “No. I’m not gay.”
I frowned. “It’s wrong.” Rubbing my lips together, I shrugged. “I was taught that it’s wrong.”
He stared at the last bite of his toast for a few moments before popping it into his mouth and lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, good thing you’re out of that place they called a school. Now you can fucking think for yourself.”