Page 33 of Take My Hand

I watch for text bubbles to appear, but instead he calls me.

“We are, but I realized last night that I have exactly one hammer and a tape measure. That’s it. So I thought you might like to accompany me and help me get the basics? Since clearly you are fully stocked from when we built that dresser.” His voice is steady and smooth, calming my racing heart that started skipping when his text came through.

I look down at the old shorts and T-shirt I’ve been lounging in all morning, not having bothered to change since I wasn’t planning on leaving the house today.

“Umm,” I stall, taking another quick peek at the car and dashing into my bedroom and opening my closet door. “Sure, yeah. Yes, I can do that.”

Very cool, Carter.

The hanger spins around once on the bar before falling to the floor after I rip a clean shirt from it. Putting Hayden on speaker, I toss my phone on my bed and quickly change.

“I’ll see you down in a few,” he says before the call disconnects.

The dresser drawer slides open smoothly as I pull out a clean pair of jean shorts and slip them over my legs. A swipe of deodorant, a spritz of perfume, and a bit of dry shampoo before I’m grabbing my keys and am out the door.

I opt out of taking the elevator and jog down the stairs. As I round the corner, I spot what I’m still assuming is Hayden’s car and head toward it. As I get closer, the driver’s side door pops open and he steps out.

My steps falter as he unfolds himself from the car and walks around to the passenger side. He’s dressed in gray athletic shorts with black stitching, a black tank top with a hollowed-out neckline that showcases the ink across his collarbone and neck, and a black baseball hat.

Everything inside of me flips at the sight of him, heating me from the inside out.

He smiles shyly as I approach him. “Thanks for doing this. I owe you one.” An inked hand reaches for the car handle and opens the door for me.

I try not to read too far into the gesture, but my heart melts just a smidge.

“No problem. I’m happy to help,” I tell him. It smells like fresh leather and something minty, the entire interior sleek and monochromatic. Just what I would expect Hayden’s style to be.

He shuts the door for me and walks around the front of the car, my eyes trailing him the entire way.

“CONCRETE JUNGLE” by Bad Omens plays from the speakers. “You can connect your phone if you want,” he says, buckling his seatbelt.

“No, I love this album.” I also want to see what else he listens to. What has shaped his music taste? What influences the music he makes? Their sound leans more toward pop rock, but as we start weaving through the streets of LA and his phone shuffles through his music library, I see his taste is a little darker and heavier.

“How’s your place coming along? Feeling settled in?”

We creep along a main stretch of road, buildings passing by slowly as the lanes are filled with congestion.

I pull the sun visor down to help block out some of the light streaming in. “Yeah, pretty much. I got the last of my boxes unpacked and recycled, so that felt good. It’s quiet living on my own, but you know.” I shrug, and he nods in agreement.

I don’t hate the silence as much as I did when I first moved in. Now, there’s a sense of comfort in it. A newfound, serene safety that comes with having a space that is just mine and not waiting to be told what to do or hearing complaints that I didn’t clean something right.

“So, you didn’t get much from online shopping yesterday?” I ask, angling in my seat to face him as he keeps his eyes trained on the traffic.

“No. It got too overwhelming. Do you know how many types of wrenches exist? A fuck ton.”

I laugh, and he shoots me an exasperated look.

“I ended up just playing video games for the rest of the night and figured it was a problem for future me. And when I woke up this morning feeling better, I thought it would be good to go to an actual store and see what I need. But by bringing you with,” he says, peeking over at me, “I don’t have to talk to any salespeople. And plus, I trust your opinion over theirs anyway.”

“Now, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I think you’re hyping me up a bit too much.”

“Never.”

I adjust one of the vents, angling the air to cool my heated skin.

“Well, thank you for trusting my opinion. We’ll get you set up with the basics.”

We pull up to a stoplight and he turns to look at me as he says, “Thank you for coming with me. It’s easier for me when I have someone else with me sometimes when I run errands.” The tentativeness and vulnerability that he tries to mask cracks.

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