“I love that you did. And I’l say a prayer that you don’t get caught.” We laugh and say goodnight, and I lie there, smiling, for another few minutes. Until my thoughts cycle back to Reid, and the blocked kiss. Maybe I should have let him do it, before pushing him away.
But if I’d have let him kiss me, I might not have been able to push him away at al .
Chapter 20
REID
Just before I left yesterday, Darlene told me that I’ve been assigned to Dori for the next couple of days to help finish out the closets and pantry.
“I assume that means Gabriel e is off Tuesday and Wednesday?”
Her answer was her best squinty stare, while Frank, sauntering up behind us to wash his hands, wasn’t as restrained. “Son, you should take some lessons in when to keep your thoughts to yourself. See, women are always saying that they want honesty and communication, but that’s just because they don’t know al the jackass stuff we guys think about on a regular basis. A more intel igent fel a, like myself, knows to keep the mystery alive by knowing when to shut up.”
“Humph,” Darlene said, smirking.
***
Dori is removing six-foot-long boards from the supply storage unit when I arrive with her latte. Though less surprised than she was yesterday, she’s stil guarded. I drag the tips of my fingers over hers as I hand it to her. She glances at me as I feign interest in the trel is Frank is instal ing on the opposite side of the yard.
“So…these boards need to be painted before we put in the shelving, right?” When I look at her, she sets her cup on a stack of jagged shale stones and turns back to unloading the boards.
“Um, yeah.”
This morning, she’s wearing a white t-shirt that would fit a linebacker, the back of which is emblazoned with what I assume is the name of her church and the VBS theme: In His Hands. On the front is a child’s drawing of the globe covered in blue and green splotches. On the il ogical y green Arctic Circle are stick-figure kids of every color (including purple). The earth levitates just above two huge hands.
I hand her my coffee. “Hold this, and let me do that.” I grab a stack of boards. “Where are we going with these?”
“First, we have to trim them down to size. I already did the measurements.” She pul s a slip of paper from her back pocket, grabs her latte and leads me to the circular saw.
As I carry the remainder of the boards over, she measures and marks them, flips the switch on the saw and begins cutting. The process looks simple enough, and after a few minutes, I’m not content to stand and watch, so I ask her to show me how to do it.
We cut the first two boards together. The sensation of her palms on the back of my hands, guiding them firmly, is like a pulsing current. I feel almost high, standing close enough to inhale her subtle, familiar scent, coupled with running boards through a whirring saw that could lop off my hand in a split second of inattention. The adrenaline junkie in me is fired up.
While I cut the last few boards alone, my ears adjusting to the shril whine as the blade chews through the wood, she sands the rough edges on the finished products. A portion of the ground and the fence has been tarped where we’re doing the painting. She takes several of the smal er boards and I fol ow with the larger ones. “Lean them there; we’re spray-painting them.”
“Sounds fun.” She glances at me, unsure if I’m being sarcastic. I turn back to get the rest, letting her guess.
Keeping the mystery alive, as Frank would say.
Dori takes up the paint sprayer and quickly coats the first board with even strokes, leaving a smooth white surface. She hands me the sprayer. “Start towards the top and go slowly, side to side.” I aim it at the board and press the trigger just as she’s saying, “Back up first!” I basical y blast it with paint al in one spot, so it looks like shit—and bonus, since I’m holding it too near the flat surface—Dori and I end up with a rebound scatter of paint everywhere except where the goggles and particle masks cover our eyes and mouths. She blinks at me behind paint-misted goggles. There’s paint in her hair, on her shirt, and misted over every inch of visible skin.
“Oops.” My voice is muffled by the mask. I’m expecting anger or at least irritation, but she looks at my face and bursts out laughing and then so do I and soon we’ve caught the attention of everyone, including the photogs in the surrounding yards.
Shaking her head, she pul s her particle mask down and it hangs around her neck. “You have to learn everything the hard way, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I prefer to cal it learning by experience.” She laughs again and rol s her eyes, “Ooooh, wel in that case, far be it from me to interrupt your learning processes.
Next time, please warn me to wear head-to-toe plastic sheeting while you’re learning.” She uses air quotes around learning.
“Yes, boss.” I take a giant step back and so does she as I raise the sprayer. And then she takes another, pul ing on her mask while I mumble, “Funny girl,” through mine.
When I’m done, we stand surveying the boards, sipping our coffee drinks, masks around our necks, goggles pushed to our foreheads. She looks at me and smirks at my hair, which is sticking straight up behind the goggles. I push them back so they sit more like sunglasses on top of my head and point at her shirt. “So what’s the story with this VBS gig? Roberta said you were in charge of some musical program, and that’s why you disappeared last week.”
She watches me over the lid of her cup. “It’s just a few songs for the kindergarten class. For Parents’ Night.”