by Max Monroe
Chloe’s response makes him smile. “I know I always say it, and I always will. Even when you’re forty.”
I set my fork down and settle my hand into my chest, no doubt in an attempt to stop the newly awakened flutter under my ribs. Goodness gracious, single dads—good ones—really do have a hotness about them that’s unmatched. I think it’s because they show their ability to love. With every conversation, every kiss, every consideration they give their kids, women see the opportunity to be given the same. It’s concrete, black-and-white evidence of a man’s ability to think outside of himself. Which isn’t exactly on the top of the list of the male’s biological strengths.
“I know. I love you too, kid. Bye.”
He tosses the phone back to the top of the table with little finesse and picks up his fork again to dig back into his hash browns. He doesn’t even notice that I’m trying to reconstitute myself from the puddle of goo his conversation formed. Thank everything.
Why is it always like that? Why is a father being loving to his kids always so special? Moms are that way all the time, and no one seems to notice.
I don’t know. There’s, like, some kind of biological trigger or something. My ovaries have fired up the power bank and are ready to start pumping out some product, I’ll tell you that. Little fucking baby factories. Meanwhile, Shell’s here sweating her tits off to make ends meet, and nobody’s banging down her door, trying to give her a glass-plated trophy. The only one who’s seemed to notice is Jake, and for as kindhearted as he is about her situation, I also don’t get the sense that he has in any way, shape, or form tried to date her.
I shake off my weird thoughts and tuck my napkin under the edge of my plate. The food really was delicious, and if it weren’t for the fact that it might seem like I was stalking him, I might just follow Jake here every morning.
I pick up my mug of coffee and hold it in both hands. It’s toasty and smells just as good as it tastes, and I sip on it while Jake finishes his meal in silence, and I surreptitiously watch him the whole time.
He doesn’t notice—at least, he doesn’t let on that he does. But it doesn’t feel weird. Strangely, it feels comfortable.
Like we’ve been doing this forever.
And if that isn’t the scariest fucking thing I’ve admitted to myself in the last ten years of my life, I don’t know what is.
I redirect myself swiftly, though, shoving my feelings of deep spiritual connection as far back in the filing cabinet of my brain as I can get them. I don’t even bother to hook the little end of the folder on the edges. No, I’d rather that fucker fall down through the others and get lost in the bottom of the drawer forever.
Or as Randy Travis once wisely sang… Forever and ever, amen.
Jake
“Okay. What’s the secret password? How the hell do I get into this thing?”
I look across the cab to Holley, still on the ground, surveying the height of the jump up into my truck with bewilderment.
I’ve never liked running boards, so I specifically ordered my F-350 Platinum without them, and up until now, it’s never really been an issue. At six foot three, I just climb in, and so does Chloe, since she’s five foot seven. But Holley can’t be much over five feet, and apparently, it’s a lot longer way up for her.
“Hold on, I’ll come help you in,” I offer and reach to unbuckle my seat belt.
But she’s quick to deny me. “No, no. Just give me some tips. Some strategy.”
I laugh. Outright. I can’t help it. “I don’t know. I normally just climb in.”
She rotates her eyes toward the sky before focusing back on the challenge—the normally simple task of getting into my damn truck.
Once we finished our breakfast and said goodbye to Shell, I had to help Holley get sand out of her Rubik’s Cube of a sandal in the parking lot. And now, since we’re running late by at least fifteen minutes, having her figure this out quickly would be ideal, but still, I somehow find myself relaxing back into my seat and waiting without impatience. I have a strong, strong feeling this is going to be too good to miss.
“Okay,” she peptalks herself and tosses her purse up into the seat. “If I grab the handle here, maybe I can put a foot here,” she strategizes, stretching out her leg to place the bottom of her sandal to the tire. “And then, maybe, I can just sort of launch myself up.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from commenting on what sounds like a disastrous idea.
What can I say? Stopping her before she gets started would really spoil the fun…
She seems to figure it out herself, though, taking her foot off the tire and starting from scratch. “No, that seems like it’ll end in a concussion…” She pauses, staring at the door, and considers her options. “I could maybe put my elbows in the seat and lift myself up like I’m getting out of a pool, but that’s normally assisted by the buoyancy of water. I’m not sure a dead-lift of all my weight is going to happen…”
“Holley—” I start to interject, feeling a little bad that this is becoming such a big deal, but she silences me.
“Shh! I’m thinking over here,” she says, rubbing at her chin and then tapping it with her fingertips. “Can I reach this…?”
In a combination of fascination and amusement, I watch as she stretches to the tips of her toes and manages to wrap her fingers around the handle inside the truck by the windshield. Then, she turns her body and puts a hand to the surface of the seat before hiking up a leg awkwardly to try to get a knee in the floorboard. It is a sight to see. Truly.
But it also looks like it could end in catastrophe.
Hopping on the one foot still left on the ground, she gets a rhythm going, almost like she’s on a trampoline, before finally launching herself up and toward the floorboard.
I lean over the console quickly, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and pulling as hard as I can to make sure she ends up inside the cab instead of splattered on the pavement.
“I did it!” she shouts victoriously from her pretzel-like position—her body sprawled half on the floor and half on the edge of the seat.
It’s all I can do not to laugh as I congratulate her. “You did. And it was very impressive. Now, do you think you can make it all the way into the seat?”
She huffs out an exasperated sigh before getting to both of her knees, moving her bag from the seat, and lifting herself up. “Ugh! Finally!” Her breaths come out in hard pants when she sinks into the leather and clicks her seat belt into place.
“Do you need a bottle of water?” I tease, noting the way her face has flushed the prettiest shade of pink. “A cold towel, perhaps?”
She shoves my shoulder as hard as she can manage, but it’s not very hard. I have to imagine, though, she’s probably pretty worn-out after the gymnastics competition she just performed into my truck.
“Next time we ride together,” she announces with one pointed eyebrow raised in my direction, “we take my car. You just have to fall in.”
Damn, this woman cracks me the hell up.
“Sounds like a plan.” I wink. “The next day we spend together, we’ll take yours.”
She narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything. I’m almost positive it’s of great difficulty for her. And, somehow, she even manages to keep her sarcastic remarks to herself until I put my truck in reverse and back out of the spot.
“Where are we headed now?”
“To one of my jobsites. They’re preparing to put the roof on today, so I need to make sure they have all the trusses and bracing done right.”
“Is it a house?” she asks.
Oh yeah. I forgot she knows next to nothing about me. She’s just so easy to be around; it kind of feels like we’ve known each other much longer than we really have.
“Yes. I have a residential construction company. Mostly high-end stuff in the greater San Diego area, but we also do work in a couple other places when requested,” I explain and pull out onto the main road. “This house is for a tech mogul. Invented som
e kind of app that Chloe thinks is a big deal, but I can’t even remember what it’s called.”
She shakes her head on a snort. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know any of that stuff. I’m, like, the opposite of a pop culture savant.”
“So, you’re saying you’re old,” I tease with a laugh.
“Pretty much, I guess.” She shrugs, nonplussed. Most women would blow their fucking gasket if I suggested they were anything other than fresh from the womb, whether I was joking or not.
“Don’t worry,” I comfort. “I’m old too. In mind and spirit anyway.” I shake my head at myself. “Getting up there in the body too, to be honest.”
“Don’t worry, you…” She abruptly pauses, shuts her mouth, and turns her head to look out the passenger window like she’s embarrassed.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re… Forty is still pretty young, and you don’t even look it.”
I smile. “Thanks. You look young, too,” I assure her. She blushes. “Not so young that I’m wondering why you’re not in school, though.”
“So, you’re saying I’m, like, the Goldilocks of age right now?”
“Yep.” I nod. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Thanks.” She flashes a little grin in my direction. “I accept the compliment.”
Frighteningly, when I look away from her, I realize I’m already approaching the driveway to the construction site. I don’t even really remember getting here, but autopilot apparently took care of me this time.
I try to shake myself out of it, though. Getting yourself so distracted while driving that something stupid could happen is the exact kind of thing I’m always preaching to Chloe not to do. It’s just as bad as texting while driving and one of the easiest ways to end up in an accident.
“Is that it?” Holley asks, staring forward at the jobsite with wide eyes.
I almost laugh. It is huge. It makes most houses look like little miniature boxes. “Yep. That’s it.”
“Maybe I should get a little hipper to pop culture? Find out who this tech guy is and see if I can get his number.”
A weird current runs through my chest, but I ignore it. She’s really funny. I’m almost positive she’s joking.
Why does it matter if she’s joking? a little voice in my head asks annoyingly. I ignore it completely, concentrating on pulling the truck over to the side of the boom truck we have on-site from setting trusses this morning.
Holley looks around with unconcealed curiosity. It’s evident she’s never seen any of this stuff up close before.
Once I come to a stop, I put the truck in park and shut off the engine, but I don’t make a move to get out just yet. Instead, I reach into the back seat for some of the props I thought it would be fun to bring along. A safety vest, a hard hat, and big, heavy-duty gloves to complete the ensemble.
One by one, I move the items from the back floorboard to Holley’s lap. She becomes increasingly alarmed with each addition.
“Uh…what is all this stuff?”
“It’s for you,” I reply. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Okay, then. But why do I need it?”
“For the jobsite,” I say with a jerk of my chin. “There might be stuff falling or debris in unexpected places, and with your limited experience around it, this gear will help ensure your safety.”
She shakes her head, her eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t know if you were planning on getting some free labor out of me for the day or what, but Holley Fields isn’t the type of woman who wields a hammer.”
I grin. I can’t help it. The innuendo is just too much to ignore. “No?” I ask, disappointment in my inflection.
“Nope.”
“You’ve never…wielded a hammer before?” I push further.
“Sure.” She scrunches up her nose, visibly annoyed with my question. “When I was younger, my dad used to make me help with stuff.”
I have the sudden urge to cover my ears because, wow, my play on her words has taken a turn for the unfortunate. Unable to stop myself, I cringe.
“What?” she asks. “What did I say?”
I shake my head. I don’t need to relive it.
“Nothing.”
“Jake! Come on, I obviously said something.”
“It’s nothing. Really. I just thought you’d pick up on my pun-play with the phrase wielding a hammer, and you definitely did not. You really did not, and yeah…your father. Helping him.” I pretend to throw up.
“Oh geez!” she snaps, finally understanding. “Why are men such children?”
I shrug. “I think it’s biology.”
“It must be,” she grumbles. “Because you’re all like this.”
“Oh yeah? How many man-children have you known?”
Her face shutters for a moment before she turns to look out the window. “Enough. Trust me.”
It seems to kill the mood—I’m not sure why—but I am at least mature enough to pick up on the fact that teasing time has ended. It’s time to be kind and supportive and act…well…grown.
“Come on,” I say cheerfully, hoping I can distract her from whatever’s crept inside her head now. “You really don’t have to wear that stuff…except the hard hat. Something really could fall from one of the rafters, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I could just watch you from here,” she suggests, thankfully back to her playful self.
“No way, Holley from the Tribune.” I shake my head slowly to punctuate my words. “You asked for the whole shebang. The Jake Brent Experience. And it’s nowhere near complete without a little on-site blabbering between me and my guys. So, let’s go.”
Without waiting for her to come up with another excuse, I hop out of the driver’s seat and onto the gravel drive. It crunches beneath my booted feet as I turn to shut the door and round the hood to meet her on the passenger side.
She’s still trying to determine how to get down when I get there, but this time, I don’t wait for her to figure it out. I reach up into the cab, grab her by the hips—a move that makes her gasp—and lower her gently to the ground.
I’ve known she’s much shorter than me—about a foot, actually—but from this proximity, it’s even more obvious.
“Uh, thanks,” she says, and I smile.
I reach over her shoulder and up into the cab, grab the hard hat, and set it down gently on her head, knocking the top when it’s in position. “There. All set.”
I pull her away from the door with an easy hand at her elbow and shut it behind her. Her jade-green eyes sparkle in the sun as she stares at my head. “Where’s yours?”
“My head could stand to have a couple things dropped on it,” I mock myself. She laughs but frowns a little, too, at the thought of me getting hurt. And I can’t deny it’s a nice feeling, her caring about me, even though I didn’t expect to feel it.
I lead the way from the truck over to the house, where a couple of my main guys, Matt and Johnny, are working up on the roof. They’ve both been with my company for over a decade, and they’re some of the most capable carpenters in the business. The two of them working together can get more done than most crews of five in the same amount of time.
I put my fingers into my lips and whistle from the side of the building as we approach. Johnny covers his eyes to shade them from the sun as he looks down at us.
“How’s it going?” I ask, knowing they really hate when I ask that question. It’s a fluff question, one they’d rather not take the time to answer. That’s probably why I ask it every day. I can’t help but bust their balls.
“Swimmingly, boss,” Matt says with a laugh. He doesn’t look up from checking his measurement against his string line to ensure he’s still level but recognizes my voice all the same.
“Who’s she?” Johnny asks, still looking down the roofline at the two of us. When I glance back at Holley, I see she’s trying her best to make herself disappear behind me.
I bite my lip to stop from laughing.
Ole Matty, though—his ears have perked at the mention of a woman, and he’s no longer enthralled with the body of his work.
I jerk a thumb over my shoulder.
“Oh, her? That’s Holley. Holley Smith. She’s a state inspector,” I fib, looking back to watch her reaction.
Holley’s eyebrows shoot up, but I don’t acknowledge it. At least, not yet. “She’s just here to go over our plans and any upcoming code changes.”
“What happened to Jim?” Johnny asks about our regular inspector.
Matt laughs and smacks Johnny in the chest. “Who the hell cares about Jim?” He smiles down from the roof, charm and flirtation oozing out on us even all the way down here. “Nice to meet you, Holley. Really nice to meet you.”
She clears her throat, spears me with a glare, and shields her eyes as she looks up and into the sun. Matt and Johnny look like nothing more than shadows from our vantage point. “Uh…nice to meet you too.”
“So, Holley, do you need to know the blow count from the beams?” Matt asks. “I wrote it down. I can get it for you.”
“Do I need to know what?” Holley whispers frantically behind me.
I shake my head. My God, Matt has no idea just how fucking hilarious this is. I never even dreamed my giving her an alternate identity could be this fun.
“A blow count,” I repeat for her. “How many times they had to strike the beam with the hammer to get it in the ground.”
“The what?”
I almost snort. “Just ask him if they gave the count to the engineer.”
“Did you…uh…give the count to the engineer?” Holley raises her voice to ask, so painfully unversed in the terminology it’s ridiculous. I can’t believe Detective Sherlock Holmes hasn’t appeared to break this case wide open yet, but I’m going to enjoy it for however long it lasts.
“Yes, ma’am,” Matt responds, and Holley once again turns to me in question.
“Tell him that’s good enough. You can get it from him.”
“That’s good enough,” she repeats after me. “I can, um, get it from him.”