Only Love
Page 9
Oh, Jesus.
It was totally obvious what Grams was doing, and I was embarrassed for the guy and for myself. “Uh, yes. But let’s let him work, Grams. Nice meeting you, Ryan.”
He nodded, meeting my eyes one last time. My breath caught.
Grams let the screen door close and we went back to our spots on the couch. We finished our drinks and looked at some more pictures, but I found myself distracted by the sound of the saw on the porch. Once or twice I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of his shape through the sheers. When Grams’s timer buzzed and she went into the kitchen to take the chicken out of the oven, I parted the curtains slightly and peered out.
He was doing something on the floor out there, maybe putting in some new boards? I’m not too handy, so I wasn’t sure. But I liked watching his arms as he worked, prying up the old ones. His green Cloverleigh work shirt was tight around his biceps, and his forearms and wrists were thick. He had something tattooed on the inside of his left arm below the elbow, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
I watched for several minutes. The way his muscles flexed as he hammered was mesmerizing. And his butt looked fantastic in his jeans. To get a better view, I got up on my knees and leaned closer to the window, pressing both my palms against the glass. Right as I did, he looked up and saw me.
Embarrassed, I hopped off the couch, moving away from the window. Jesus, what a creeper I was! Could I blame the gin? I took my empty glass into the kitchen, where Grams was pouring iced tea into a glass.
“Stella, darling, would you please take this out to Ryan on the porch?” She handed the glass to me with a smile. “It’s a warm evening and he’s working so hard.”
I didn’t want to, since he’d just caught me staring at his ass through the window, but I nodded. “Okay.”
On my way to the front door, I stopped in the living room and set down the glass so I could slip off my blazer. After rolling up the sleeves of my blouse and tightening my ponytail, I made my way onto the porch.
He looked up when the door creaked open, then quickly dropped his eyes to his work again.
Okay, then.
“Repairing the porch?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are you … a carpenter?”
“Not really.”
“Just good with a hammer?”
His eyes flicked up briefly. “Something like that.”
My cheeks grew warmer. “Ah, Grams asked me to bring you some iced tea. You must be thirsty.”
“Thanks.” But he didn’t stop what he was doing to take it from me.
“I’ll just set it here,” I said, placing the glass on the porch railing. I wondered if he was offended that I’d been looking at him through the window or if he was just unfriendly. It seemed odd to me that a guy who was so sweet to a little old lady was so standoffish with someone his age.
“Well, thanks for helping my grandmother out,” I said, feeling mildly disappointed. So much for a fuck fling with the handyman. “I know she appreciates it.”
“No problem.”
No eye contact, either.
Annoyed, I went back into the house, thinking that this was exactly why letting your hormones take the wheel was a terrible idea.
But I did take one more peek at his ass through the window before dinner.
Maybe two.
Grams and I were eating roasted chicken and vegetables at the dining room table when we heard a knock on the front door.
“That must be Ryan. He’s probably done for the evening.” She touched her mouth with her napkin and rose to her feet. “I’m going to invite him to eat with us.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to object, but I really had no good reason why. I kept silent while Grams went to the front door, wishing Sinatra wasn’t singing so loudly so I could hear what was being said. Glancing at the empty chairs at the table, I wondered if he’d take her up on her invitation.
A few minutes later, she returned to the dining room alone. I watched her sit down, then looked toward the front door. “He said no?”
She sighed and picked up her fork. “Yes. He always refuses my invitations. Just like he refuses to let me pay him for the work he does here.”
“You don’t pay him?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, I try, of course. But he won’t take my money.”
I glanced toward the front once more. “He seems a little aloof.”
Grams tilted her head. “You think so? I think he’s just a bit … reticent. The strong, silent type.”
“Maybe.”
“He was a Marine, you know.”
“Oh?” I picked up my water and sipped.
“Yes. I heard he was over in Afghanistan.”
“He told you that?”
“Well, no,” she admitted, “I heard that at the beauty parlor.”
I rolled my eyes and set my water glass down.
“I also heard that his wife left him when he got back.”
My heart softened a little. “That’s too bad, if it’s true. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear at the beauty parlor, Grams.”
“I think he’s lonely, you know?” Grams looked over her shoulder out the window facing what I figured was his house. “It seems so sad to me, his living all by himself in that big old house with no one to talk to.”
“I don’t think he likes talking.”
“Maybe he would if the right person was listening.” Grams gave me a meaningful look. “Someone who had experience listening to people who might be struggling with something. I was thinking, maybe you could—”
“No.” I cut her off before she could say more.
“But you’re a therapist,” she said brightly.
“I’m not his therapist.”
“That’s doesn’t matter, does it? He’s a lonely soul, I can see it in his eyes, Stella. And whatever he’s been through is eating at him from the inside. He needs to talk to someone.”
“Well, it can’t be me,” I said firmly, although the portrait she painted of the lonely, silent Marine with the beautiful eyes and nice ass was getting to me.
I thought about him a lot while I cleared the table and helped Grams with the dishes. Was she right? Was he suffering from PTSD or depression? Was he alone in the world with no one to reach out to? Had he been abandoned by family and friends when he most needed a sympathetic ear? I had to admit, I was curious. And moved enough to think maybe Grams was right and I should make another effort to be friendly.
So when the kitchen was all cleaned up and she handed me a plate of leftovers, suggesting I take it over to him, I said I would.
“Thank you, dear. I’d take it myself, but my hips are starting to bother me again.”
Of course they were. “You get off your feet and rest.”
“I will.” But she stood there looking at me for a moment, like she had more to say.
“What?” I asked.
“Well, it’s just … Are you going to wear that when you go over there?” She gestured at my clothing.
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Yes. I am.”
“Because I was just thinking—”
I moved around her and headed for the back door. “Go sit down, Grams. I’ll be back shortly.”
Carrying the plate with both hands, I walked down the back steps, followed the gravel ribbon driveway to the sidewalk, and headed up his front walk. The air had cooled a little and darkness had set in. Crickets chirped their encouragement.
As I got closer to the front door, I grew a little more nervous. My stomach had butterflies. Impulsively, I tugged the elastic from my ponytail, tucked it into my pocket, and shook out my hair.
What on earth, Stella? You’re bringing him some dinner, that’s all. Calm down.
But a moment after I knocked, he came to the door wearing only his jeans.
No shirt. Wet hair. Bare skin. Rippling abs.
As he stood there in the open door, my eyes traveled down his body to his bare feet and back up again. I’d never in my entire life seen a body like his. As my humble lady garden began to tingle, I wondered what his royal spade was like.
Jesus Christ. Stop staring and speak.
It was totally obvious what Grams was doing, and I was embarrassed for the guy and for myself. “Uh, yes. But let’s let him work, Grams. Nice meeting you, Ryan.”
He nodded, meeting my eyes one last time. My breath caught.
Grams let the screen door close and we went back to our spots on the couch. We finished our drinks and looked at some more pictures, but I found myself distracted by the sound of the saw on the porch. Once or twice I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of his shape through the sheers. When Grams’s timer buzzed and she went into the kitchen to take the chicken out of the oven, I parted the curtains slightly and peered out.
He was doing something on the floor out there, maybe putting in some new boards? I’m not too handy, so I wasn’t sure. But I liked watching his arms as he worked, prying up the old ones. His green Cloverleigh work shirt was tight around his biceps, and his forearms and wrists were thick. He had something tattooed on the inside of his left arm below the elbow, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
I watched for several minutes. The way his muscles flexed as he hammered was mesmerizing. And his butt looked fantastic in his jeans. To get a better view, I got up on my knees and leaned closer to the window, pressing both my palms against the glass. Right as I did, he looked up and saw me.
Embarrassed, I hopped off the couch, moving away from the window. Jesus, what a creeper I was! Could I blame the gin? I took my empty glass into the kitchen, where Grams was pouring iced tea into a glass.
“Stella, darling, would you please take this out to Ryan on the porch?” She handed the glass to me with a smile. “It’s a warm evening and he’s working so hard.”
I didn’t want to, since he’d just caught me staring at his ass through the window, but I nodded. “Okay.”
On my way to the front door, I stopped in the living room and set down the glass so I could slip off my blazer. After rolling up the sleeves of my blouse and tightening my ponytail, I made my way onto the porch.
He looked up when the door creaked open, then quickly dropped his eyes to his work again.
Okay, then.
“Repairing the porch?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are you … a carpenter?”
“Not really.”
“Just good with a hammer?”
His eyes flicked up briefly. “Something like that.”
My cheeks grew warmer. “Ah, Grams asked me to bring you some iced tea. You must be thirsty.”
“Thanks.” But he didn’t stop what he was doing to take it from me.
“I’ll just set it here,” I said, placing the glass on the porch railing. I wondered if he was offended that I’d been looking at him through the window or if he was just unfriendly. It seemed odd to me that a guy who was so sweet to a little old lady was so standoffish with someone his age.
“Well, thanks for helping my grandmother out,” I said, feeling mildly disappointed. So much for a fuck fling with the handyman. “I know she appreciates it.”
“No problem.”
No eye contact, either.
Annoyed, I went back into the house, thinking that this was exactly why letting your hormones take the wheel was a terrible idea.
But I did take one more peek at his ass through the window before dinner.
Maybe two.
Grams and I were eating roasted chicken and vegetables at the dining room table when we heard a knock on the front door.
“That must be Ryan. He’s probably done for the evening.” She touched her mouth with her napkin and rose to her feet. “I’m going to invite him to eat with us.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to object, but I really had no good reason why. I kept silent while Grams went to the front door, wishing Sinatra wasn’t singing so loudly so I could hear what was being said. Glancing at the empty chairs at the table, I wondered if he’d take her up on her invitation.
A few minutes later, she returned to the dining room alone. I watched her sit down, then looked toward the front door. “He said no?”
She sighed and picked up her fork. “Yes. He always refuses my invitations. Just like he refuses to let me pay him for the work he does here.”
“You don’t pay him?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, I try, of course. But he won’t take my money.”
I glanced toward the front once more. “He seems a little aloof.”
Grams tilted her head. “You think so? I think he’s just a bit … reticent. The strong, silent type.”
“Maybe.”
“He was a Marine, you know.”
“Oh?” I picked up my water and sipped.
“Yes. I heard he was over in Afghanistan.”
“He told you that?”
“Well, no,” she admitted, “I heard that at the beauty parlor.”
I rolled my eyes and set my water glass down.
“I also heard that his wife left him when he got back.”
My heart softened a little. “That’s too bad, if it’s true. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear at the beauty parlor, Grams.”
“I think he’s lonely, you know?” Grams looked over her shoulder out the window facing what I figured was his house. “It seems so sad to me, his living all by himself in that big old house with no one to talk to.”
“I don’t think he likes talking.”
“Maybe he would if the right person was listening.” Grams gave me a meaningful look. “Someone who had experience listening to people who might be struggling with something. I was thinking, maybe you could—”
“No.” I cut her off before she could say more.
“But you’re a therapist,” she said brightly.
“I’m not his therapist.”
“That’s doesn’t matter, does it? He’s a lonely soul, I can see it in his eyes, Stella. And whatever he’s been through is eating at him from the inside. He needs to talk to someone.”
“Well, it can’t be me,” I said firmly, although the portrait she painted of the lonely, silent Marine with the beautiful eyes and nice ass was getting to me.
I thought about him a lot while I cleared the table and helped Grams with the dishes. Was she right? Was he suffering from PTSD or depression? Was he alone in the world with no one to reach out to? Had he been abandoned by family and friends when he most needed a sympathetic ear? I had to admit, I was curious. And moved enough to think maybe Grams was right and I should make another effort to be friendly.
So when the kitchen was all cleaned up and she handed me a plate of leftovers, suggesting I take it over to him, I said I would.
“Thank you, dear. I’d take it myself, but my hips are starting to bother me again.”
Of course they were. “You get off your feet and rest.”
“I will.” But she stood there looking at me for a moment, like she had more to say.
“What?” I asked.
“Well, it’s just … Are you going to wear that when you go over there?” She gestured at my clothing.
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Yes. I am.”
“Because I was just thinking—”
I moved around her and headed for the back door. “Go sit down, Grams. I’ll be back shortly.”
Carrying the plate with both hands, I walked down the back steps, followed the gravel ribbon driveway to the sidewalk, and headed up his front walk. The air had cooled a little and darkness had set in. Crickets chirped their encouragement.
As I got closer to the front door, I grew a little more nervous. My stomach had butterflies. Impulsively, I tugged the elastic from my ponytail, tucked it into my pocket, and shook out my hair.
What on earth, Stella? You’re bringing him some dinner, that’s all. Calm down.
But a moment after I knocked, he came to the door wearing only his jeans.
No shirt. Wet hair. Bare skin. Rippling abs.
As he stood there in the open door, my eyes traveled down his body to his bare feet and back up again. I’d never in my entire life seen a body like his. As my humble lady garden began to tingle, I wondered what his royal spade was like.
Jesus Christ. Stop staring and speak.
