Page 23 of Fighting for You
“Pro tip, it’s easier to find things when you’re in the right aisle.” The look on her face is priceless. She’s spent the last however many minutes looking at sink plumbing.
She brings her hands to her face, covering it as she mumbles, “Why did I think I could do this?”
I grab one of her hands, pulling it away and lacing my fingers through hers to pull her down the aisle. “Come on, Freckles, this way.” I try not to think about how perfectly her hand fits in mine or how it warms a part of me I didn’t know was frozen over. It’s not that I mind affection or human touch, I just don’t get it very often—unless it’s preceded by a few beers and a not-so-discreet look in a dimly lit bar. Definitely not in this way.
Her hand is small in mine, soft and warm. My own calloused palm engulfs it fully, my tattooed knuckles acting like a protective shell. It serves as just another reminder of how different we are, how precious and innocent she is and how hardened and jaded I’ve become.
Even without Hayes’ constant warnings for everyone to stay away from his sister, I know I need to steer clear. I can’t taint her with my uselessness.
But her sweetness is also drawing me in. The idea of corrupting her innocence just to hear the sounds she’d make, see the way the green in her eyes darken with desire, feel what her small hands would do to my body is too tempting.
I need to get my thoughts back on track.
Once I’ve led her to the next aisle over, I abruptly pull my hand from hers as if it burned me. I reach for the part she needs with that same hand, knowing damn well I didn’t have to let go of hers to grab it. I had to pull away before I allowed my delusions to run wild, before I crossed a line.
I clear my throat, ridding myself of the inappropriate thoughts about her hand and how good it would feel somewhere else on my body.
“This is what you need. It’s an easy fix, and I have full confidence you can do it by yourself, but if you need help, let me know,” I say as I hold the flapper out to her.
She takes it from me, looking down at it like the whole contraption is perplexing. “Thank you.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I nod my head and say, “Yeah, you’re welcome, I’ll uhh—”
“Hold on. Do you actually work here?” she asks, her head whipping in my direction.
“Oh, I… No.” I run my hand over my buzzed hair, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. “I’m renovating my parents’ house. Or well… I’m trying to. Turns out, people like modern hardware for cabinets and drawers. So I’m here to see what Billy has in stock, but I’m realizing I might not be cut out for the design part of reno.”
A spark of something—excitement maybe—shines bright in her eyes. “Let’s go look,” she says as she starts to walk towardthe end of the aisle where the knobs and handles are on display before I can respond. I follow close behind, a little bewildered and very enchanted by her enthusiasm for something as stupid as cabinet hardware, but more than willing to let her help me since I don’t have a clue what to choose. “What about that one?” she asks, pointing to a matte black round knob.
“Is that what you would pick?” I ask, partially because I didn’t expect her to pick plain black and partially because I’m curious which one catches her eye.
“Oh, no. If it were my house, I’d probably pick…” she trails off, scanning the display for her ideal cabinetry hardware. “That one,” she says more excitedly, pointing to a much more detailed option.
“‘Classic oil rubbed bronze,’” I read aloud from the sticker. “Why that one?”
She shifts on her feet a little before answering, “Well, it’s still classic but more modern looking than your usual gold or silver, and it has a rustic look to it. It’ll go well with whatever paint color you choose.”
I reach up to grab a few. “Sold.”
Her head whips to me. “What?”
Grabbing a few more, I count them as I pull them down to make sure I have enough for the whole kitchen. “What do you mean ‘what?’ I’m getting them, you convinced me.”
For whatever reason, this seems to make her uncomfortable. I try to use humor to break the tension, “Hey, the future owner of the house will thank you. I probably would have gotten pissed off at all the options, said ‘fuck it,’ and just kept the old ones.” I shrug my shoulders, hopefully letting her know it’s not a big deal.
“Probably,” she says with a small laugh.
“Anyway, I should go,” I say as I point over my shoulder, as if she doesn’t know where the exit is.
“Right, me too. I need to fix the toilet and finish some other things around the house.”
We walk toward the front in silence, all the while I steal quick glances at her profile. Billy sees us just as I’m setting the ten knobs on the counter. I got two extra just in case. Margot is standing behind me, so I reach back for the flapper in her hand and place it next to my things.
“Brooks—”
“Oh, there’s no sense in trying to reason with him about it, you might as well save your breath, sweetie,” Billy says, cutting her off before she can complain.
I throw a smirk over my shoulder at her, which only seems to annoy her more. Billy gives me the total, and I pull some bills out of my wallet. He hands me the two bags, and I hand Margot hers.
