Page 13 of The Holiday Exchange

“Seriously,” she mimics me. “I don’t mind helping.”

“Fine.” I let go of the bowl. The sudden release sends her staggering back a step. “You clear the table while I wash.”

“Fine.” She leans around me to set her bowl in the sink, bringing her so close that I get a whiff of a subtle citrusy scent. Her shampoo, maybe? Whatever it is, I like it enough that I barely have the presence of mind to keep from leaning forward and inhaling deeply. I might not have many social skills, but even I know better than to sniff a woman.

She pulls back without a glance at me and begins gathering the dishes scattered across the counter and table while I run some water in the sink and begin washing. It only takes her a few minutes, and the next thing I know, we’re elbow to elbow as she begins drying the clean dishes I’m setting in the drying rack on the counter.

“You don’t have to do that. They’ll dry just fine on the rack.”

“I’m sure they will, but I’d just as well help a few of them along while I’m waiting on you to finish washing.” She reaches up to put away a stack of plates in the cabinet. She’s so tiny she can barely reach, but I resist the urge to help her. I’m betting she wouldn’t take kindly to that.

“You should really get a dishwasher.”

“That’s number one on my list of kitchen remodel priorities.”

Five minutes later, we’re done. “Alright, let’s paint,” she says cheerfully before I even have my hands dry.

“Do I have time for a bathroom break first?”

“Oh, sure, of course. Sorry.” She bites her lip. “I get a little carried away sometimes. I’m what my mother likes to call ‘goal-oriented’. My sister calls it ‘bossy’.”

I have to smile at that. “It’s fine. I’ll just be a minute.”

As I wash my hands in the bathroom, I ponder what I’ve learned about Kayla so far this morning. She’s a good cook, a hard worker, and I get the impression that she doesn’t make a lot of time for rest. I wonder what she’s learned about me. Doesn’t have many words to say or much food to eat?

Out in the garage, she’s pulling paint supplies out of the bag. “We probably need to move this outside to keep from painting your floor,” she observes.

I press the button to lift the garage door. “We can take it right out there into the grass.”

I move to lift the fireplace and stumble, caught off balance when she grabs one side and lifts too.

“Whoops,” she says. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

“Good, let’s try again. I’ve got this side. On three.”

She counts us off and I lift my assigned side obediently, walking backward and trying not to rush. Kayla huffs and puffs as she shuffles along with her side and I’m torn. Should I protect her pride and let her keep helping or should I reveal to her that I could move it more easily on my own?

Given how defensive she was about helping in the kitchen, I decide to stay quiet.

“Phew.” Kayla blows out a breath when we finally set the fireplace down in the grass beside the driveway. “This thing is heavier than it looks.”

It lists to the side on the uneven ground when she lets go and I lift it before she can grab it again, repositioning it a couple feet away on a smoother patch of yard.

When I look up, her mouth is in a perfect O. She clamps it closed and blinks.

“Well. I guess you had that handled just fine on your own.”

I shrug. “I appreciated your help.”

“Hmm.” She eyes me. “I’ll bring out the paint.” She returns quickly with the bag of supplies we purchased Tuesday. I pop open the little can and grab a stirring stick to mix up the brown color with. The temperature has warmed some since this morning and even with a cool breeze, it’s pretty comfortable here in the sun. I breathe deeply, glad for a chance to get outside for a few minutes.

“So, I’ve been thinking about how to teach you to talk to people and it got me wondering.” Kayla sinks onto the ground across from me and fingers the bristles of the paintbrush she’s holding. “Why is it so important to you? What are you hoping to get out of it?”

My eyes jump up to meet hers and my brain starts spinninga million miles an hour. I avert my gaze to the paint I’m stirring as I debate how honest to be. I decide to lay it all out.

“I’ve been realizing I’m…” I swallow. “I’ve been a little lonely. I want to be more comfortable spending time with friends. And…I want to find a wife.”

---