Page 8 of Reckless Chances
“That’s it.” Emma put her hands on her hips.
Charlie turned to face the pile of lumber on the floor and pointed. “And that...” he turned to press his finger into the paper, “was this?”
“Yes,” Emma smiled, and her apple cheeks bloomed pink, and was that, a dimple?
Charlie cleared his throat and leaned in to look closer at the drawing. Emma pointed to the markings that Charlie recognized as Freddie’s electrical notes. Goosebumps prickled the back of his neck as she took a step closer and he couldn’t help but get a whiff of her hair, a citrusy vanilla. If he shifted a little to his right, either his forearm would brush hers, or his hip would meet her body. He gulped and then leaned away from Emma. His breathing had grown shallow and he tried to take an undetectable deep breath. Something about her was drawing him to her, an unconscious force pulling him to her like a magnet.
“This won’t take too long.” Charlie rolled up his sleeves. He surveyed the room and saw her lone hammer and pitiful tiny hand saw. “Let me go get my tools.”
“No, you don’t have to help.” She put her hand on his forearm.
He glanced down, her touch temporarily paralyzing him. Her light pink manicured fingertips rested lightly on his arm for a little longer than he was ready for. He looked at her and her eyes met his. “Oh,” she said at the same time she pulled her hand away from him. “It’s late.”
Charlie pointed to her attempted wall. “I can’t let the general public be exposed to that kind of shoddy workmanship.” He tried to diffuse the tension in the air with a little humor. Could she feel it too? He shifted, willing his body to calm down, he could already feel the pressure in his boxers, his desire for this woman pressing against the zipper in his jeans. “I’ll be right back. We can whip this off and then Freddie can do his thing.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Pausing, Charlie wondered if he would do this for someone who didn’t make his heart skip a beat? Of course, he would. That’s what small-town life is all about. “We’re going to be neighbors; I can’t have your place falling into mine.”
She laughed a little. “Okay but let me help you.”
“Deal.”
Charlie hustled next door and tossed all the tools he would need onto a dolly and then wheeled it into the flower shop.
“Isn’t that going to be too noisy?” she pointed to the air nailer and compressor.
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But there’s nobody around to complain.” Charlie plugged everything in and set to work dismantling Emma’s attempt at construction. He consulted the drawing and had her hold the end of the measuring tape, even though he could’ve done it himself.
She was a great helper and stronger than she looked. He wondered what she did to keep in shape, her body was tight in all the right places, and when she stretched to help him raise the walls, he caught a glimpse of a six-pack – not the hard bodybuilder kind, hers was softer, the kind formed by being active, like the abs on the rock climbers in town.
It was three-thirty in the morning when he clapped his hands together. “That should do it.”
They stepped back from the display, it was solid, and followed the plans to a tee.
“Oh, thank you. I’m Emma, by the way.”
“Charlie.” He stuck out his hand.
“Emma,” she replied. But instead of shaking his hand, Emma threw her arms around Charlie’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly then stepped back and marveled at their very basic construction. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Charlie’s heart thumped against his chest, but with it came disappointment - he had been hugged like that before - by friends. Was he imagining the electricity in the air between them? “No problem, neighbor.” He heaved the compressor onto the dolly. “Is it alright if I leave this stuff here tonight and get it tomorrow? It won’t be in Freddie’s way if he comes in.”
“Of course.” Emma was still staring at the display space. “It’s going to be perfect,” she whispered under her breath. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes wide with excitement.
Charlie knew the look on her face well, it was one he’d worn himself. “Starting your own business is exciting, isn’t it?” He asked, somewhat rhetorically.
“And scary,” she replied.
“I hear you. When are you opening your doors?”
“Good question.” She smiled and pulled a light army green jacket over her t-shirt. “As soon as this is done. If it all goes to plan, I’m hoping to have the open sign up in two weeks.”
“Perfect timing,” Charlie said. “I’m going to be about a week behind you. Maybe you can do some, what do you call them, arrangements? For my grand opening?”
“I’d love to.”
Charlie neatly coiled the hoses for the air nailer and set them on the dolly. He put on his grey wool hat and zipped up his red hooded sweatshirt. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow to get all of this out of your way.”
