Page 36 of The Holiday Grump
His voice had a careful edge to it, like he was approaching an unpredictable wild animal. Was that me?
“Sure! Come on in,” I called back, meeting him in the dark, cold foyer. “It’d be good to get that bathroom finished.”
He gave me a hug, then a measured look. “You look better.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you look alive.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you say you wanted tofinishthebathroom? We’re not going to order original tiles handmade by monks on the foothills of Tuscany?”
“No. The one you showed me last time is fine. The zigzag.”
“The chevron?”
“Whatever. It’s fine.”
Jackson looked at me for a moment longer, then broke into a smile. “Hallelujah! I’ll go get my stuff before you change your mind.”
He ran back to his truck. I put on my slippers and followed, feeling guilty. Was he saying I didn’t want to finish the house? Maybe I’d been stalling a little, worried that I wasn’t going to do justice to the historical features. It had always been Uncle Glenn’s dream to restore the house to its original glory, and I wanted to respect that. However, after decades of renovations and alterations, it was hard to know what that even meant. He’d bought the place on a whim, like he’d done most things, and bequeathed it to me, possibly also on a whim. He had seen potential in everything. Buildings. Businesses. People.
He’d seen something in me.
It was dark outside, and so cold that every hair on my body instantly stood up. Maine winters were something else. I should have worn my boots and zipped up my jacket, but it seemed pointless to do so for a few minutes outside. Besides, it was probably good for me to get my nuts whipped by the icy wind. It’d wake me up for an all-nighter and get rid of the persistent hard-on I’d been sporting all day since that kiss. I had to stop thinking about it.
“Take that,” Jackson said, hoisting a cardboard box into my arms.
It must have been the tiles since the weight of it nearly buckled my knees. I adjusted to it and carried it inside. I wasn’t weak. Chopping firewood for myself, my parents, and my grandfather kept me from turning into a wet noodle, as did my occasional visits to Lobstah Lifts—whenever Jackson decided he needed a workout buddy. But I was getting lazy and sluggish, like my mind was stuck in some sort of tar. Not moving. Not feeling. Avoiding anything that might cause more pain.
And then she’d kissed me. Just like that, with no preamble. Or maybe she considered mentioning her curiosity a drumroll of some kind. It fucking wasn’t. She’d blindsided me, slipping through a crack and tilting everything until I lost sight of the horizon.
But I wasn’t feeling sluggish anymore. I wanted to move. To do something.
Jackson organized his tools outside the gutted bathroom and started measuring the walls. For a while, we worked in silence, laying tiles until the floor was ready for grouting.
“So…” Jackson said as he grabbed a bucket to mix the grout. “A little birdie told me you have a new tenant.”
“Tenant?” I asked, buying time.
“The cute girl living at your store?”
I sighed. “How do you know about that? She moved in like two hours ago.”
“Your sister came to clean a site we were working at.”
I shook my head in disbelief. Kailee must have texted her mom immediately. The gossip gene ran in the family. Why didn’t I have it? I’d never felt the slightest need to discuss other people’s business. I barely wanted to discuss mine,especially with my friend observing me like that, his eyes filled with glee.
“Yeah, she’s staying for a bit. Her boss came for a visit and told her she wasn’t allowed to sleep at the back of her store.”
“No shit! How was there even room for a bed in there? If they split the real estate office in three…”
“There’s no room! It was a child’s bed. Ridiculous.”
“Did she turn up at your door with a sleeping bag or something?”
“No. I happened to be there and heard their conversation, so I told her boss she was staying with me to get him off her back.”
