Page 11 of Salvage Him
Four
Brooklyn
Idroveby the house every few days and stopped at the park across the street. I stood on the sidewalk casing the joint. The same thought ran through my head each time—it was beautiful, but it wastoobig.
My brain ran wild with decorating ideas, but I couldn't picture myself and Paul livinginit.
Maybe when I put my touch on the place, I would learn tolikeit.
I separated each room into vision books. I sketched out each room and gathered fabric samples and images from the Internet of things I wanted. I spent countless hours in furniture stores and at the design market in Dallas. If I couldn't find what I wanted, I met with people who could build it. I put off meeting with Harrison until the house was furtheralong.
Paul stayed for a few weeks while we settled in our new place, but since then, he had been in Dallas for a total oftwentydays.
It didn't matter. I got a lot of work done and didn't need to check with him on everydecision.
It was unusual for him not to take me on his trips, but I didn't question it. I wanted some stability in my life. I needed to sit and be quiet for a while to awaken my dormantcreativity.
Six months from the day we tore down the old house, the new one had a roof and walls but not much else. Justin and I planned a walk-through with thecontractors.
I drove up per usual, but today, I parked on the street in front of the house. I had yet to call itmyhouse. It felt more like a job, but I was theclient.
As I stepped out of my car, it looked bigger. I shook my head and reminded myself, one room atatime.
I opened the trunk of my new SUV, a Lexus RX 430h. It was what women in Highland Park drove. I'd never owned a car before. In every city we lived in, we always had a car and driver. We also had a cook, which made me super uncomfortable, and a maid. I lovedthemaid.
In Dallas, we didn't need a cook, but I insisted on the maid. Especially after Paul's little comment about how, since I had so much time on my hands, I could clean the housemyself.
I kept my mouth shut, but inside my head, I screamed and cursed for him to clean his own fucking 9,000 square foothouse.
When I reminded him that wives in Highland Park didn't clean their own homes, he relented. He was into appearances since we’d moved toTexas.
I pulled my small black suitcase out of the trunk. It held my vision books. I yanked at the table the doorman had helped me load, but it wouldn'tbudge.
I pulled again, and it barelymoved.
I stepped back, bent my knees, and yanked. My hands slipped off the table, and the energy hurled my body backward into asolidmass.
It wasn't theground.
"Whoa. Careful." His deep voice vibrated off the back of my neck and crawled down my spine. I looked down at the hand wrapped around mybicep.
His other hand dug into my hip and settled meupright.
I swallowed as they lingered for a minute, but whimpered when they disappeared. I recognized thosehands.
"You okay?" heasked.
I pushed my hair behind my ear and turned toward the deep voice. I blinked a few times before his features came into focus. It was him, thecarpenter.
HarrisonCrawford.
I stared with no shame. I couldn'thelpit.
His eyeshaltedme.
Last year, Paul took me to St. Croix, and I couldn't stop looking at the water. It was the perfect blue-green hue, and it swirled and mixed and made me happy. I had searched for a photo that captured it. Scoured online to find a paint that matched the color. I thought it didn't exist anywhere else in the worlduntilnow.
His eyes captured it and gave me the samefeeling.
