Page 10 of Kiss Me Now
But he only nodded. “Sure. Broom?”
I had a shop broom in the laundry room, but I fetched a short-handled brush and dustpan instead. “Here you go.” I thrust it at him with a cheerful smile. Not that he could see it through the dust mask I didn’t bother removing.
I fired up the sander and set to work, moving along the boards, going with the grain of the wood at the steady pace that Hardware Grace and a dozen YouTube videos had advised. Ian knelt without a word and began sweeping the small area I’d already sanded, but it was only a couple of minutes before he started coughing, and two more before he set the brush down, mouthed something to me I didn’t catch, and walked out.
“I win,” I muttered.
I wished the sander weren’t quite so loud so I could listen to music or a podcast while I worked, but I settled for the company of my own thoughts, imagining all the books I’d fill the shelves with.
I’d organize them by frequency of use. The cookbooks definitely would go at eye level on the shelf nearest the kitchen. The classics from high school would go on the highest shelf. I wasn’t likely to pull those down again.
I was deep into mentally organizing my shelf of book club favorites when a movement out of the corner of my eye startled me into a yelp. The sander went skittering diagonally a few inches before I steadied my grip.
“Sorry,” Ian said, when I cut the power. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I ran into town and rented a floor edger. Figured it would be more helpful if I did that than sweeping, although I’m happy to do that when we’re done.”
“Okay,” I said, eyeing the shiny chrome machine he’d set on the floor beside him. “Good idea, I guess.”
Then I crouched to examine the damage I did when he’d surprised me. I sighed. It wasn’t good, but luckily, it was near the corner furthest from either door. The shelves might even cover the short strip I’d sanded against the grain. If not, I’d shelve the books over here that people would least like to read. Maybe that was where the classics could go.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I straightened. “I jumped when you came in. It sent the sander off track.”
He took a step toward me like he was going to examine the damage himself, but I waved him off. “I got it.”
He nodded and scanned the twenty feet of boards I’d sanded behind me. “Looks good though.”
He didn’t need to sound so surprised. I didn’t dignify that with an acknowledgment, merely moved the sander over and started its high whine again, content as it ate through years of old varnish, grinding down the old oak just enough to smooth out the divots. The floors weren’t in terrible condition, but they’d been stained in the medium gold color that had been so popular decades ago. I had a vision of dark floors to complement the pale putty-colored paint I’d used on the walls. Hardware Grace had told me about a contractor who could build me custom bookcases, and I imagined them in white. I wasn’t a gifted designer, but I could copy the pages I liked in the Pottery Barn catalog as well as the next person. So far, I liked the way the vibe in the house had shifted after I’d repainted the forest green with inviting neutrals.
Now that Ian was underfoot again, I was grateful for the noisy motor. I might not be able to hear my podcasts, but neither did I have to keep up a conversation with him.
We worked in silence for a couple of hours, and I found a groove, going faster and watching the sanded floor emerge behind me in long, satisfying strips.
Still, by the time I called a break to give my arms a rest from the vibrations, only about a quarter of the floor was done. Ian had finished half his section, but then again, he was only focused on the edges. Better him than me, I conceded. I hated the tedious finish work of edges and corners.
“I’m going to grab some water,” I said. “Can I get you some?”
“Sure, that would be great.” But when I walked into the kitchen, he followed me instead of waiting for me to return. I stifled a sigh and filled a glass for him from the dispenser in the fridge door. It was shiny and black, a sharp contrast to the beige and brown oven, but Uncle Fred’s fridge had failed shortly after I’d moved in, so I’d replaced it with a new model.
“Haven’t tackled anything in here yet, huh?”
“Brilliant deduction.” Then, feeling petty for being sarcastic when he’d been helping me all morning, I tried again. “Eventually, I’ll upgrade everything in here, but the kitchen is my lowest priority. It’s the biggest project, and I’ll have to contract out.”
“Expensive too.”
What was it with this guy and his constant comments on the cost of things? “Yeah. It’s not just that. My mother was constantly remodeling rooms in our house growing up, and I’ll survive a kitchen remodel better if I have places to escape to in the rest of the house. Sometimes you need to get away from the workers and the dust and noise. I need to get through this first school year and do this next summer when I’m off and I can supervise.”
I handed Ian his water and turned my back on the kitchen in favor of returning to the dining room and admiring my progress again. It was coming along. Good little sander. Totally worth the rental. Except...I crouched to examine the sandpaper.
Ugh. It was wearing thin and needed changing. I bit back a mild curse. Well, it looked like I might need Ian’s help after all. I glanced over my shoulder to see if he’d come in from the kitchen and found him leaning against the doorway, studying me.
“What?” I asked.
“Everything okay with the sander?”
“No. I have to switch the paper out, and I think it’s going to be a two-person job.”
“Happy to help.” He set down his glass and walked over. “Haven’t worked with a floor sander before. Do you know how to do this?”
