Fabulous, Gavin and his trusty side-kick were home.
“You know that’s my sister, right?”
“She’s not my sister,” came the response from Brett, Gavin’s best friend since high school. They both stood at the half wall watching us on the couch.
“Hi, Brett,” Fiona and I chimed in unison. It’s fun to play with dumb animals.
He may have whimpered a little while Gavin continued moving into the living room. “Who’s coming over tomorrow?”
I arranged my face into what I hoped was an innocent look.
“Your hot new boss.” Fiona threw my ass under the bus.
“No no no No NO,” Gavin’s voice escalated as he moved closer to me. “You promised me you were going to stay out of this! Jesus, Laney! You’ve spent the last two years nagging me to ‘get over it’ and I finally do exactly what you wanted and you start fucking it all up!”
“Be quiet! Rocco is sleeping!” I responded in only a slightly lower tone.
“You be quiet! I can’t believe you! Call him back and tell him you made a terrible mistake and you and the mom squad are backing down for good. I actually like this job and I don’t want to get fired before my first paycheck!”
“Get your damn feathers out of a twist, Donald Duck. Nobody’s getting fired. I didn’t even invite him over tomorrow. He invited himself.”
“Well, technically I invited him.” Fiona meekly raised her hand. We both ignored her.
“When exactly did this happen? How was it you and Nate were even talking to each other?”
“Listen, it’s no big deal. He stopped by earlier to apologize for being a dick yesterday—” I held up my hand to keep him from interrupting. “And he noticed a few things that needed fixing so he offered to come by tomorrow to help out.”
“Brett and I were going to fix things around here.” His tone calmed slightly.
Fiona turned to Brett who had also entered the living room by that point. “I didn’t know you were good with tools. How long has this been going on? I may need you to come over to my place and fix a few things.”
Brett’s upper lip appeared to be sweating.
“Since he was about thirteen, I think,” Gavin said, all tension gone and a repressed smile replacing it. Hissy fit finished.
“Wow, that long?” Fiona replied.
“Goddammit!” shouted Brett. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He slapped a five-dollar bill into Gavin’s already outstretched hand and stormed off to the kitchen. “Anybody want a beer?” he called out behind him.
If you haven’t already guessed, I am in no way, shape, or form a “tidy” person. When I know company is coming over, I stuff everything in my bedroom or a closet. When I do laundry, only about thirty percent of it ever gets folded and finds its way to a dresser drawer. When I cook a meal, which I don’t do as often as I should, I first need to wash the knife and cutting board because they are still sitting in the sink from last night’s meal prep. Essentially, I was freaking the hell out the next morning in anticipation of Nate’s arrival.
Expecting that he would probably want to check out the entire house, I was left with very few options for stashing my mess. Sure, he’d seen the kitchen and living room the night before, but I’d cleared those out before Fiona had arrived—although why I even bothered doing that for her anymore was beyond me. She was well aware of my cluttered and chaotic “decorating” style. When everyone was over last night, there had been no fewer than six pairs of Rocco’s shoes crammed into the pantry, not to mention the unopened mail behind a potted plant and the giant pile of toys and clothes on my bed (or, more recently, my floor, since I’d shoved them all off before I went to sleep last night). So today I spent the entire morning alternately chugging Diet Coke and doing my best to make the house look like it didn’t belong on an episode of Hoarders. A twinge of guilt almost penetrated when Rocco came out of his room and asked what was going on with his bed.
“I made it,” I told him, assuming this was explanation enough.
“Huh?”
“You know, I tucked the sheets in the sides and arranged the comforter and pillow and stuff.”
“I don’t get it. They’re just gonna get all pulled out when I go to bed tonight.”
My kid was a genius.
“Exactly.” I kissed him on the head just as the dying doorbell wailed.
Shit, poop, shit! I wasn’t ready! I was all sweaty and I’m sure my hair was a disaster. I needed another shower after running around the house like an insane person. Well, too late now. Both hands rubbed at my cheeks.
Whatever. It wasn’t like I wanted to impress him or anything. Pshhh.
I trailed Rocco to the front door like I was approaching my execution and watched him turn the finicky knob. And there, standing on my front porch, was my executioner—all six foot whatever of him in a threadbare t-shirt designed to render women speechless and send urgent signals right to their hoo-has. His shirt impeccably showcased his muscular chest and arms, and a pair of worn army green cargo pants showcased, well, all of that. And then there was the face, which looked even more flawless than it had yesterday, if that were possible—and next to the dazzlingly panty-melting smile sat one perfect dimple. The freaking puppy had had a full spa day. How the hell was I going to resist a fluffy puppy with not just a giant pink bow but a fucking dimple?
“Hey, Rocco. Laney.” Nate pulled a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts out from behind his back. Of course he did. My stomach joined my lady bits in celebration.
“Doughnuts!” Rocco squealed.
“Will this buy my entry?” Nate asked.
“Come on in, Nate.” I stood aside and he handed the box of doughnuts to me. Hmm, apparently he didn’t want any. He bent down and picked up a bag I hadn’t noticed by his booted foot. I assumed it held his tools and supplies. He followed Rocco and me to the kitchen, closing the front door behind him.
“So you did fix it,” he observed of the knob.
“Kind of.” I twisted my mouth to the side, resigned to letting him have his way with my, um, house.
“I brought a replacement anyway. I hope you don’t mind.”
Rocco was already at the table stuffing his face with a doughnut, bits of glaze sticking to his cheeks and chin.
My kitchen was super cute, but I could see Nate’s eyes assessing it the night before and I doubted he appreciated the awesomeness of my shabby chic table and my vintage fridge. I had to admit the linoleum needed to go, and in my dreams I’d get granite countertops and maybe even an island. But the kitchen as a whole was actually quite roomy, and nobody could argue against the big picture window that gave a primo view of the backyard. I’d dressed it in flowy white cotton curtains with turquoise tie-backs to match my table. I thought it looked amazing.
Rocco finished swallowing his last bite and spotted Nate’s bag. “You got tools?”
“Sure do. I’m going to fix a few things for your mom. Maybe you can help me out.” Nate leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. I checked my chin for drool.
Rocco looked to me and then back to Nate. “I don’t know if I’d be comf-ter-ble with that.” Nose twitch.
Nate looked a bit surprised and uncomfortable himself. I’m sure he had been anticipating drawing Rocco out with the offer of doughnuts and tools, but leave it to my kid to throw him for a loop.
“It’s okay, buddy. You can do what you want,” I told my son, knowing that pushing Rocco was never the best plan. “But can you thank Nate for the doughnuts and then go wash your hands and face in the bathroom?”
“Thank you for the doughnuts,” he recited and then dashed off to the bathroom.
Nate and I stood facing each other in silence. He finally pushed off the counter and said, “So, you mind if I take a look around the place?”
“Help yourself. It’s not big enough to require a tour so have at it.” Fingers crossed he wouldn’t open any closets.
He smiled for some reason and kept looking at me. Did I have something on my face? There was that dimple again and my lower belly started singing gospel hymns. He turned and headed for the hallway.
I craned my neck to watch him go far enough away before I pounced on the doughnut box and shoved half of a delicious treat in my mouth. Oh, yum.
A few minutes (and doughnuts) later, Nate returned. I discreetly ran a hand over my lips to hide any evidence and gave him my own smile. Nothing to see here.
He directed his thumb back toward the hall with an unreadable expression on his face. “Did you know your kid is in the bathroom singing about penises?”
Kill me now.
“Ah, ‘The Wiener Song.’ A perennial favorite.” Gavin unexpectedly appeared behind Nate.
A bit startled, Nate turned to face him and then stuck out a hand. “Hey, Gavin. Good to see you, man.” They exchanged macho pleasantries.
“Laney said you’re gonna help her with a few things around the house. You don’t really have to do that, man,” Gavin told his boss.
“Oh, no, I’m happy to. I was telling your sister last night that I haven’t gotten my hands dirty in weeks and I’ve got an itch for it.” That wasn’t precisely what he’d said. It seemed Fiona wasn’t the only one dropping double entendre around here. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too.
“Okay, man, it’s your funeral. I would stay and help you guys out but I’m supposed to meet my buddy at the gym.” He hiked up his backpack over one shoulder. “Later.” He passed by Nate, and before passing by me he discreetly pointed two fingers first to his eyes and then to mine. I flipped him off.
“What’s that one for?” Despite his earlier reservations, it turned out Rocco could not resist the lure of power tools. As soon as the electric drill had uttered its first growl, Rocco was glued to Nate’s side. I, on the other hand, was standing back but still enjoying the view and another Diet Coke.