Page 7 of Bang it Out

“I like your place,” I tell her sincerely.

“Sure you do,” she says sarcastically. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I know you just feel bad for me because I clearly have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this kind of stuff.”

I turn and look at Delilah, observing the way she’s shifting her weight from foot to foot and wringing her hands in front of her. I’ve never seen her so self-conscious, so unsure of herself. I don’t like it. Where is the fiery woman I met last week? The brazen, clever, and confident Delilah I’ve seen nearly every morning for the last seven days is gone, replaced with a heartbreakingly vulnerable woman who looks like she’s barely holding herself together.

“Hey,” I say softly, much more gently than I knew I was capable of. I get the sense if I spoke any louder, I’d scare her away. Taking a step closer to Delilah, I reach out and place one of my large hands over both of her smaller ones, stopping her nervous movements. “Everyone has to start somewhere. Do you think I woke up one morning and suddenly became the best Foreman the construction business has ever seen?”

I give Delilah a wink, loving when she rolls her eyes at me. A smile quirks up one corner of her lips, and a slight blush spreads across her cheeks and nose. Delilah’s hands move beneath mine until she laces our fingers together. My heart is pounding, and I want to beat my chest in pride that I got her to smile.

“Alright, Mr. Humble-Brag. Show me how the best Foreman in the world fixes a sink.”

There’s that spark. I’ve missed it in the short time it flickered out.

Delilah directs me to the sink in question, and I test it out, seeing exactly what she’s dealing with. After getting a look under the sink, I grab the bag of supplies we got from Higgins Hardware, laying out the tools I’ll need.

“The first rule of working with plumbing is to shut the main water valve off. Do you know where that is?”

She tilts her head to the side and sucks on her lips, thinking about my question. Delilah is too fuckin’ cute, which I didn’t know I was into. I guess I figured out my type of woman after all; Delilah.

“Yes!” she exclaims, pulling me from my ridiculous thoughts.

I’m helping my neighbor with her sink. That’s all. Delilah is beautiful, witty, complicated, and far too young for my thirty-eight years. She has to be a decade and a half younger than me. That should make me pause and re-evaluate the whole situation, but instead, my protectiveness toward Delilah only grows.

She leads me to the back closet where the water heater and main valve are located. I show her how to turn the valve off, then head back out to the sink.

I squat down, assessing the situation again with a closer look. To my surprise, Delilah kneels on the floor next to me, angling her head the same way mine is so she can see what I'm studying. She's too damn adorable for her own good.

“Sorry if I’m crowding your space,” she says, backing off slightly. I scoot over, urging her to get closer. I want her as close as possible. I know it would be inappropriate to touch her, but with her this close, I can smell her sweetness and feel the heat radiating off of her skin.

“It’s okay,” I tell her with what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Are you curious about a career change to plumbing?” I joke.

“Nope, just trying to learn all I can. I’m the only one I have to depend on, you know? So I better figure out this stuff while I have a professional around.”

Everything in me softens toward Delilah. She puts on a good front of confidence, covering up her insecurities with a joke and a sassy smirk. But I see her tender heart she keeps locked up so tight. I see the fragile woman just beneath the surface, longing for love and acceptance.

We work on the sink together, and while it takes twice as long to complete the repair than it would have if I just did it by myself, it’s totally worth it to see Delilah’s eyes light up when she gets something right. It’s like no one has ever taken the time to slow down and teach her anything. Or, more accurately, it’s like no one has ever complimented her, praised her, or acknowledged any good she’s ever done.

“Well,” Delilah says as we stand in front of the sink. She turned the main water valve on, and we’re just about to test out the water pressure. “Moment of truth…”

She twists the cold water knob and squeals in delight when a steady stream pours from the faucet. Delilah claps her hands, and I get a goofy smile on my face, absurdly happy with myself that I somehow contributed to this moment.

The next second, Delilah surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck in a hug. I automatically wrap my arms around her waist and lift her up, soaking up every drop of her excitement and joy. I want to carry this woman around with me everywhere I go just so I can show her new things and experience moments like this over and over again.

I reluctantly set Delilah back down on her feet, noting her blush and shallow breath. Could I possibly affect her the way she affects me?

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, for fixing my sink,” she says, her brilliant smile making her dimples pop out. “It would have set me back thousands of dollars toward paying off my loan for this place.”

“How long has Blushing Blooms been open?” I ask.

"The third anniversary is coming up in two months," she says proudly as she looks around her store. Delilah takes in the colorful petals and beautiful green leaves, while I take in everything about her.

She’s silhouetted by the late afternoon sun pouring through the front window, the yellow-orange light kissing her creamy skin. There’s so much more to this woman than I originally thought, and I need to know every little detail.

“Your parents must be proud of you.” As soon as I say it, I wish I could eat my words. Delilah’s shoulders drop, her entire countenance changing. Idiot, I chastise myself. She said earlier she’s the only one she can depend on. I should have understood that meant she likely doesn’t have a very supportive family.

“My grams was the one who sparked my love of gardening and flowers,” she all but whispers. I want to know what happened to the rest of her family, but I don’t want to push her. “She had a beautiful garden with a lattice archway covered in blooming vines year-round. I remember my grandma showing me which flowers attract butterflies, which ones attract bees, and which ones are susceptible to root rot and other common diseases.”

The look in her eyes is both wistful and heart-wrenching. Without her having to say it, I know her grams is no longer alive.

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