Page 145 of Something Tattered
"Does he know what?"
"Why you didn’t ask him to stay in the main house."
"No." I paused. "I mean, we didn’t really talk about it."
"Forget the guest house," she said. "Shack up. Live a little." She laughed. "If nothing else, it'll drive your lawyers crazy."
She was right. In truth, Derek was long past crazy already. Happily, he was still out of town, which was definitely a good thing.
"Don't worry," I said. "They'll go nuts enough with Joel in the guest house."
"Exactly!" she said. "So why go halfway? And besides, what if he's insulted?"
"Who? Derek?"
"Screw Derek," she said. "I'm talking about your hot artist."
I still wasn't following. "But why wouldhebe insulted?"
"Because you're putting him up in the guest house, like a servant or something." Her tone grew teasing. "If you really like him, don't treat him like your sexy gardener. Treat him like a partner. Trust me. He'll like that."
Her words found their mark. Joeldidtake care of the lawn. And he'd been acting like a handyman of sorts.
Still, I said, "Oh come on, he wouldn't think that. He's not remotely insecure. If you met him, you'd know."
"Alright," she said. "Then I'm coming for a visit."
"Really? When?"
"This weekend."
I had to laugh. "When did you decide that?"
"Just now. I want to meet this sexy gardener of yours."
"He's not a gardener. He's an artist, remember?" I smiled. "And he's amazing."
"Great. Then I can't wait to meet him."
I was still smiling when I got off the phone. And yet, her advice haunted me the rest of the day. Was I treating Joel like a servant?
One way or another, I'd have to ask him.
Chapter 64
It was late afternoon, and we'd spent most of the day working to set up the guest house and studio above it. The building itself had three stories. This included the garage on the lowest level, living space on the second, and the studio on the third.
In the guest house, I'd washed the sheets, made the bed, cleaned the bathroom, and polished the furniture.
Now, I was wiping down everything else, hoping to make every inch of the space feel fresh and new.
As for Joel, he'd spent most of the morning moving his supplies from the storage unit into the guest-house garage. Already, the garage was bursting with covered artwork, along with boxes and bins, all in various stages of being unpacked.
As we worked, we called up and down to each other and found plenty of reasons to invade each other's territory.
I was wiping down the baseboards in the small kitchenette when I heard Joel say, "You know I'm a guy, right?"
I looked up. He was wearing tattered jeans and a white T-shirt with grimy splotches down the front. His biceps bulged as he lifted an oak kitchen chair and moved it out of my path.
